Chapter Text
Tweek had woken up with a blistering fever. He could hardly move, almost toppling over, trying to get out of bed. He was covered in a layer of sweat and was having a difficult time breathing.
When he left his room, he felt the urge to retreat and create a barrier of pillows and blankets. But his paranoia pushed him to run to his parents and take him to the doctor.
His parents seemed a bit worried, noticing Tweek's lack of twitching and stuttering, but sheer panic in his eyes—at least, more than usual.
Tweek's mom drove him while his father went to open the coffee shop, not before handing Tweek his thermos full of coffee. On their way to the doctor, Tweek had practically curled in on himself. He felt like every sense was heightened, and it overwhelmed him.
He noticed how his mother smelled of freshly placed soil while his father smelt the purist coffee he could think of.
He could hear the chants of conspirators, even so early in the morning, rambling about werewolf sitings. But Tweek couldn't even see where the voices were coming from.
When he drank from his thermos, it was as if he could taste every last ingredient used to make it. He could even taste the very metal of his thermos. It didn't taste half bad, the coffee, not the metal, of course.
The crisp wind had felt sharp on his skin, and the car felt so claustrophobic suddenly. The ride made him feel nauseous, but the mixed smells of his family in the vehicle eased his tensions.
However, the hospital had him almost puking his guts out. He could barely stand at the entrance before hurling. His mother had to pull him into the godforsaken building gently.
From there, everything was a blur. His soul felt detached from his body, probably to cope with all the smells of death and disease.
I'm going to die here! Oh god, I'm going to die! Tweek couldn't stop his mind from repeating that mantra. He would almost rather die than spend another second feeling this way, almost.
The last thing he remembered was the doctor running a test before pulling his mother outside the room.
What the hell did he have? Why did it require them to tell his mom before himself?
He could remember her distraught look when they reentered the room. She quickly covered it up with a smile, but Tweek remembered a sharp, sour smell that seemed to be coming from his mother.
The ride was tense; Tweek's mother never told him what the doctor diagnosed him for. Considering his constant doctor visits, the paper she was holding didn't seem like a typical prescription paper.
When they arrived at the house, Tweek practically ran into his room. He had no idea why, just that he knew he would feel safe there.
He collapsed on his bed, not realizing the tension he'd released from his body. He was always tense, but this was an extraordinary new high.
The last thing he remembered was curling up in bed, too exhausted to do anything else. He didn't sleep. He never slept.
This was why he felt his parents say good night to him after the sun had gone down. He felt them kiss his cheek and envelope him in a hug.
Tweek was about to open his eyes and reciprocate when he suddenly realized how odd the situation was. He couldn't remember the last time his parents showed such open affection. What's going on? Are they preparing to kill me? Did I contract an incurable disease? Tweek was sure they heard the pounding of his heartbeat.
He was too panicked to realize they had left the room. He could feel that something was off, leaving his body on high alert. He was so panicked that his body seemed to shut down and froze into a fetal position.
It did him no good, though. Before he could register the multiple quick footsteps, he had a bag over his head, hands behind his back, and couldn't move his head.
He felt something sting in his neck and began slipping into unconsciousness. He was going to die here! Or worse, be taken and tortured! What if it's the government? Did his parent make good on their word to sell him to slavery?!
The last thing he felt was tight ropes on his wrist and ankles.