Chapter Text
"Nngh... um... C-Craig?"
He shouldn't be doing this. He must be insane; seriously, he must have snapped the tether of sanity. Tweek didn't know WHAT had possessed him to try and approach Craig Tucker... alone... in the bathroom of South Park High.
"...'The fuck do you want?" The raven-haired teen asked distastefully: his face showing little to no emotion as he looked himself over in the bathroom mirror. Not to imply Craig was a person who really cared about his appearance; he had an effortless, but attractive vibe about him. Everyone in their high school knew that he was the resident badass of their year; he was moody, temperamental, stoic, and selfish. He didn't enjoy adventures (at least, not to the extent of some of his more 'notable' classmates), and edged on a dry sense of humor that left many of his classates wondering if his jokes were jokes at all. But for some reason, those negative qualities worked in his favor. The girls of the school loved him, pegging an overly romantic 'tragic hero' persona on him (where that had come from, he didn't know,) while some of the other boys both hated and feared him. He had a regular group of friends of course - which consisted of Clyde Donovan and Token Black - but they were the exceptions.
And here was Tweek, about to beg this bad boy for a favor.
The twitchy blond could remember getting in a fight with him in Third Grade. No one had really 'won', but Tweek distinctly remembered Craig being a very good fighter. He'd only gotten better as he'd gotten older... unlike Tweek, who seemed to get weaker, more cowardly, and more paranoid as he grew. He really had no 'build' to speak of either; following years of a mainly-coffee-diet hadn't done him any favours. He was quite scrawny. When the fight had been over and done with, they hadn't really become friends afterward. In fact, Tweek had next to NO friends. Everyone thought he was a bit too weird. And while they all grew out of their strange ticks and childhood phobia's, Tweek's had remained; this only made him more neurotic and noticeable. He wasn't popular, but that didn't mean he wasn't well-known. Tales and rumours of his murmurings and bizarre exclamations in class would remain long after he graduated, he was sure.
"C-Can I ask you -nngh- something?" The blond stammered. Craig ignored him and adjusted his chullo on his shaggy head of black, straight hair. Making a small noise, Tweek tugged on the bottom of his dark green button-up shirt (disheveled and buttoned incorrectly, as always). "A-Are you... uh, f-for... hire?" He asked.
The question actually caused the noirette to turn around; a look of angry, subtle confusion flickering across his features. "What the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?" He spat darkly.
"Oh Jesus!" Tweek exclaimed, throwing his hands into his hair. He tugged anxiously on some of the blond chunks. "I-I didn't mean ANYTHING! I-I... um, well, nngh," He continued. "I was just -GAH- wondering if m-maybe... maybe... uh, m-maybe I could pay you... to... nngh!" He struggled.
Growling, Craig shot out his arm and grabbed the front of Tweek's shirt; pulling the small, fragile blond up to him. "Spit it out!" He snarled.
"AGH!" Tweek flinched, closing his eyes and shielding his face. "CanIpayyoutoprotectme!?" He screamed all at once. And while he could still feel Craig's hand tightly gripping his shirt... nothing happened.
So, Tweek ventured to open one eye, and saw Craig looking at him stoically again. "...What?" He mumbled, quirking a brow.
"Nngh! I-I was wondering if... oh GOD... if I-I could PAY you... to... toprotectme." He rushed out awkwardly, still trying to shrink away from Craig's almost towering form.
The noirette gave him a small shove, releasing him. "Protect you from WHO?" Craig scoffed. There was a suggested tone of disinterest in his voice as he began to rummage through the pockets of his blue hoodie. Tweek watched him pull out a pack of cigarettes, remove one, and stick it behind his ear beneath his chullo for later.
"EVERYONE!" The blond continued, blinking rapidly. "I-I get beat up almost THREE times a day and -nngh- I-I just can't take it anymore, man! Jesus, I'm going to DIE soon! School is bad enough with work, and -nngh- I can't deal with bullies too! This PRESSURE!" He rambled. "They're trying to break me! Ack! It's a huge, school conspiracy! The teachers bet on how long I'll -nngh- last, I just KNOW IT!"
Craig shook his head, "Jesus, you're so fucked up... it's almost sad." He mumbled, more or less to himself. Turning around, the noirette casually strolled out of the bathroom - shoving his hands back into his pockets. Tweek made a small, surprised sound, and quickly followed and caught up with Craig.
"P-Please! I don't know what ELSE TO DO!" He pleaded sadly. "I-I'll pay you sixty dollars a week!"
The promise of money made Craig stop dead in his tracks. Slowly, he turned his cool gray-blue eyes over to look at the blonde. "Really?" He asked; his voice showing intrigue, even though his facial features didn't change (he still managed to look as unimpressed as ever).
"Nngh! Y-Yes." Tweek nodded enthusiastically. "A-All you need to do is... GAH... make sure p-people don't b-beat me up!" He clarified; his large, bright eyes shining with concern as his head wildly twitched in different directions.
It's like he thinks the entire school is bugged, or about to explode. He's so- ...off his fucking rocker, Craig thought bemusedly to himself.
"Alright." Craig finally answered. "I want to get paid on Monday's... not Friday's," he continued casually, "...and since today is Monday, pay up."
Flinching repeatedly, Tweek fished out his wallet from his long, dark brown corduroy pants and took out sixty dollars; handing it right over to Craig. He was kind of surprised that the blonde already HAD the cash on him... but then again, there was a chance he just knew Craig's reputation well enough to know that - as an asshole - he'd probably ask for the money up front before he'd even done anything.
He wasn't wrong.
Stuffing the money into the pocket of his black jeans, Craig looked back down toward the shorter teen. "Fine. I'll protect you from... whatever..." He mumbled, already distracted by his vibrating cell phone, fishing it out of his pocket. He flipped it open, and began typing a text message as he wandered away from Tweek in the direction of the smoking area.
"Nngh!" Tweek flinched, watching him disappear completely before finally taking a breath. A small, tentative smile crossed his lips; he wasn't dead! He hadn't been punched in the throat! Or stuffed into a locker! And Craig had ACTUALLY agreed to help him; to protect him. It would be nice not to have to cower in fear beneath Eric Cartman, or endure Stan's lame jokes, or Jason's physical torture.
All he could do now is pray that Craig would keep his word...