AN; She's baaaaaaack!

I'm back, yes I'm back, betcha know it feels good to be back~

Back in black, yes I'm in black!

This is actually a total reboot of one of the first stories I ever wrote. It sucked balls, but it was an interesting concept so I'm going to try again.

Here we go!

They giggled, drunk off wine coolers and each other. "I-I can't believe we're do-doing this!" Tweek snorted, face flushed red.

Craig nudged him with his shoulder. "BFFLs do everything together!" He swore. "I got you drunk and with God as my witness, in a few days I'll get you driving!"

"Try your best!" Tweek said.

"It's my duty as your BFFL!"

"To BFFLS!" His words were starting to slur together as he raised his glass.

"Whoo!"

They clinked glasses and drank deeply.

Tweek drove slowly, carefully. The music was turned down, the normally loud voice of Rihanna turned down to a low hum. Craig had only recently convinced him to get a license and driving still freaked him out a bit. He turned on his headlights, noticing that the sun had begun to dip and the moon had begun to rise. The sky turned a pretty shade of orange and blue. He shivered and cranked up the heater.

He was almost home.

He licked his lips, craving the still warm coffee sitting companionably in his cupholder. His hand reached out tentatively then slammed back to ten-and-two.

Shit, shit, SHIT! Is it ten-and-two or two-and-ten? Jesus Christ! Ugh, focus, Tweak, focus. You can do this. You're seventeen years old for God's sake, you can drive a fucking car.

He turned up the radio and reached for his coffee, taking a hesitant sip. He smiled.

Normal, happy teenager driving home from their part-time job. Nothing odd, nothing unusual. Just normal teenage behavior. Normal, happy. Normal, normal, normal.

He could do this. Just like riding a bike. Except he couldn't do that either.

Shit.

Tweek frowned as a car sped by him. The speed limit was forty, right? He slowed down as another passed him, one of the passengers hanging half-way out the car, the music blasting from the opened windows.

They were probably coming from Red's party.

He had been invited, but declined. Geometry was really kicking his ass lately. Craig had offered to stay with him but he was a seventeen year old happynormalhappyHAPPY and could stay home by himself.

Tweek turned off the radio and drove a bit slower. His heart beat dully in the back of his throat and he squeaked as another car roared past him, swerving through the lanes.

Jesus Christ, this was just like that scene from Tears of a Tiger! Except he's not laughing. This isn't funny. This isn't funny, this isn't-

His phone rang. He jumped in his seat and reached for it. It was just out of reach.

Should he go for it?

It might be terribly important.

He bit his lip and scooted over. His fingers brushed it, and he grinned shakily in triumph, closing his hand around it. He checked the caller ID and smiled wider.

Craig.

If the idiot needed a ride home then, well, he had another thing co-

"There's another one!"

"Get the jaws!"

"Keep back, keep back! We cannot disclose any information at this time. Sir, youi cannot cross the tape. Keep back!"

"Jesus Christ, is that Martha?!"

"I just saw her at the party!"

"Holy fuck, it's Tweek!"

"Where's Craig? Somebody call Craig! Somebody call his parents!"

"I have his dad's number!"

"Hang on, kid, you're gonna be fine. Tweek, is it? My name's Gabriel. You're going to be fine."

"Ah...huh, huh...I...urk."

"You're gonna be fine, Tweek. Keep breathing. That's good."

"Shelly! Girl, you cannot be thinkin' of drivin' home! You're fucking wasted! Let me find someone to-"

"Leave me the fuck alone, Sam!" She slurred. "I'm fine. I gotta get home before my turd parents do." She staggered to her car.

Sam stared after her, concerned as two more people clambered into the truck. She should do something to stop them. She really should, they were way too drunk to drive...but this was her first high school party and Bradley was going to be back in a minute to dance with her. Not to mention Shelly would not appreciate her efforts. She should take her keys away, at least. She stepped forward, hand hovering in the air.

"Sammy!" Bradley tossed his arms over hers and dragged her through the doorway. "They're playing our song, babe! Let's dance, yeah?" He ground against her and she giggled nervously.

"Yeah."

He followed her gaze over his shoulder and nudged her playfully. "Don't worry about them." He hummed into her cheek. "Shelly is, like, the best drunk driver there is." He kissed her forehead sloppily.

"What? Oh, I wasn't even worried." She lied. Sam closed the door behind her as Shelly sped off.

Craig lounged on the filthy couch, watching the blacklights twinkle above him, wishing he had worn more white. At least his wristbands glowed eerily. Shoving his way through the crowd, Clyde jokingly collapsed on his stomach, holding two red solo cups filled to the brim with only God knows what.

"Bottle sip, bottle guzzle!" He toasted, handing his friend one. Craig caught the straw with his teeth and drank deeply. It tasted like sweat socks and freedom. "So the big 1 8 comin' up soon." He said. "Got any plans?"

"Get wasted, get my own place."

"Hey, you find somewhere that isn't completely shitty and call us roomies! Unless, of course, Tweak already has the honor."

"We're just friends, dick!" He protested.

"Gay friends." Clyde snorted into his cup. "Don't even front, broham, I saw you sitting here with your little phone held to your little ear, waiting for him to call you back like a little girl. Tweak, oh Tweak, where for art thou, Tweak?" He said in a high-pitched voice.

"It's called being a good friend, Clyde, you great bag of dicks!" He pulled out his phone. "Tweek always answers, always."

"Maybe the underpants gnomes took his phone." He snickered. "I thought this was a party. Get drunk, get chicks, do drugs. YOLO, bro, YOLO."

"Not me, man, I believe in IBYF."

"IBFY? That a type of sex?"

"I'll be young forever, dude. I'll be young forever."

"Classy."

"As fuck."

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna do some trippin'...in the general direction of balls."

Craig noted his friends pupils. "What did you take?"

"Some reds, some blues. Maybe a few greens."

"Nice."

Craig's phone rang. He sat up abruptly, pushing Clyde to the floor.

"Ooof!"

He scowled.

Kyle.

What did he want?

"Talk to me." He answered over the steady thrum of deadmau5. He held the phone closer to his ear.

Fucking mau5.

"What?" He shouted.

"Craig...Tweek...his...number...parents...Tweek...Jesus it's..."

"What?" He demanded. "What about Tweek?" He crossed the crowded foyer of the house and was ouside in a few steps. Thank God for long legs. He reached into his pocket for his keys as the boy on the other line continued to cry.

Kyle sobbed. "There's so much...Jesus, man...it's crazy...we have to call his parents...!"

"Stay with me, Jewboy." Craig growled, revving the engine until it roared like an angry animal. "What's with Tweek? Why do you need his parents' number?"

More sobbing.

He torn down the road, a few loitering drunkards stumbling out of the way. The few sips of beer made him feel light-headed and nervous. He spat out the window.

"There's been an accident." Kyle said brokenly. "By Stark's Pond. It's Tweek and a few others. We...we...n-need to call his mom. Jesus, there's so much blood."

The world stopped spinning.

"We're losing him!"

"God dammnit!"

"Don't die on me yet, kid."

"Get the paddles."

"Clear!"

"Nothing!"

"Higher! Clear!"

"...He's gone."

"Call it."

"Time of death 8:53 p.m."

Stan flipped through his magazine. He glanced impatiently at his watch. Kyle was supposed to be by an hour ago to tell him how the party had went.

He scratched his stomach absentmindedly. He'd bet anything it was awesome. Kyle probably didn't want to leave. Stupid History, stupid report cards, stupid groundings. Stan sighed deepy, gazing out the window. How long ago had it been that Shelly had stopped by his door hours ago just to rub it in and flip him off before leaving herself? It couldn't have been more than a couple of hours.

She wasn't even supposed to go, she had a big test tomorrow. She had just snuck out like it was nothing. Like she always did. Not that his parents noticed.

Not that they ever did.

The front door slammed. He checked his watch.

9:08

He stood up, stretched and burped. Tossing his magazine to the side, he hurried down the hall to the stairs. "Kyle, you dumbass!" He called. "You're late!" He paused at the top of the stairs. "Dad?"

Randy swayed in the doorway. "Stan," He said oddly. "Stan..."

"Dad?"

"I have to pack your mother and I's overnight bag, go to the car. I'll be there in a sec."

"Is everything okay, Dad?"

"Stanley just do as I say."

"A-alright." Grabbing his coat and phone from his room, he passed his dad again in the hall. His eyes were half-lidded and emotionless. Stan swallowed hard and looked down.

"Stan."

"Dad?"

"You're driving."

"Yeah. Okay." He was really starting to freak out now. His dad loved his Mustang almost as much as he loved him.

Randy got into the passenger seat quietly. His hands shook as he lit a cigarette. Stan thought he had quit last year. "Drive."

"Where to?" He hoped his dad wasn't just drunk and hallucinating again.

Randy took a deep drag and exhaled, the smoke curling around his face like a mask. "Hell's Pass."

"What?" He exclaimed. "Who's hurt?" Deep down, he already knew.

"Shelly." Another exhale. "There...there was an accident. The police say she was drunk." The rest of the ride was dead quiet, Stan wondering what to say as his dad quietly cried next to him.

The waiting room was packed when they got there. Teens and parents alike filled up the chairs, red-eyed and snotty nosed, some still in their pajamas from when they first heard the news. They had barely passed through the doors when Randy was pushed against a wall.

"This is your fault." Mr. Tweak said with quiet anger. He was never one to shout. His hands shook as they clung to the other man's denim coat. Mrs. Tweak sobbed from her chair. "This is all your fault." Each word was punctuated with a hard shake. Stan noticed everyone in the room staring at them accusingly. "My boy's dead because of your daughter. Dead, do you hear me? Dead!"

It felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out.

"Dad?" Stan floundered, feeling eight years old again. "What did she do? What did she do?"

Randy sobbed.

He looked around for a friendly face, or at least one that didn't look like they'd be glad to see him dead. His mother sat stone-faced in the corner, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Stan sat next to her, taking one thin, cold hand in his, taking the time to examine her quietly. Spiderwebs of wrinkles marked her face and her normally pristine brown bob was dissheveled and threaded with grey. "Mom?"

She sighed deeply. "Shelly's going to be fine. The doctors are keeping her overnight for observation."

"And...Tweek?"

Sharon pursed her lips. "I don't know, baby. We just have to...to..." She sighed. "I just don't know. We spoiled her. This is just as much our fault as it is Shelly's."

"Mom, it isn't your fault." He soothed.

"It is." Fresh tears began to run down her cheeks. "We let her get away with everything and now...Jesus, poor Stephanie."

If Mrs. Tweak heard them, she didn't acknowledge it. Her hands were a blur of knitting needles and thread. She seemed to have aged twenty years since the last time he saw her.

Suddenly, it was too much. The sadness and anger in the room was practically suffocating him. "I'm gonna go outside for a while." Stan murmured. His mother smiled understandingly.

"Go ahead, I'll stay here and watch after your father."

The rush of cold air was a welcome relief. He breathed in deeply, leaning against the wall next to the door.

"Hey."

He jumped.

Craig crouched next to him, a cigarette dangling from his limp fingers. He was covered in a fine dusting of snow. "Oh hey." He shuffled closer awkwardly. "What are you doing out here?"

Craig snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Waiting. Just like you are. Any more stupid questions?"

"Ah...no. I'm fine." He dropped to his haunches and placed a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "How are you taking it?"

"Taking what? Tweek got in a fender bender. No big deal. It happens." Craig flicked the ashes into the snow.

Stan swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in the back of his throat. "Fender bender? Craig, oh..."

"My boy's dead thanks to your daughter! Dead, do you hear me? Dead!"

"What's that sound for? Oh?"

"Craig, Tweek's..."

"Gonna be out any minute." He said plainly. "Tweek hates hospitals."

"Craig, Tweek's not gonna be out any time soon." Craig looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh? Why not?"

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" He looked at him searchingly. "Sorry for what, Marsh?" He demanded. Craig stood to his full height. Stan stared at him like a man would stare at the sun.

"He's gone."

"No, no, no. You're lying. You're lying!" He backed away, stumbling over his feet. "Fuck you Marsh! Fuck you! Tweek's fine! He's gonna be fine!" Craig stomped away, growling under his breath.

"Craig-"

"That's fucked up, Marsh." He spat accusingly without turning around. "Even for you."

Stan watched as the other boy ran away, feeling cold and sick inside.

AN; I'll try to make it longer next time but for now this seems as good of a start as any. What do you guys think? Excuse me for any inaccuracies. I am an ignorant fanfiction writer without spellcheck.

Also I don't know Mrs. Tweak's name and Google isn't helping. I thought Stephanie seemed as good of a name for her as any.