#lily mentions the hunting/camping trips she went on with her mom as a kid

[the-faultofdaedalus]

love creating characters that should rightfully be traumatized or at least a little bit fucked up by their parent's parenting style except instead they're just, like, fine

[uas-fics]

Title: Capturing Bigfoot's Heart With A Macrame Net

Summary: Tweek saw Bigfoot last weekend! This weekend he is going to catch him and prove he’s not crazy. It was all going well, too, until Tweek gets himself stuck in his own trap. He’s sure he’s doomed — until help arrives in the most unexpected way: Bigfoot himself.

Rating: T

Ships: Creek

Others: For @creekcrew​‘s Creek-Week 2019, enemies to lovers.

Y'all can blame Griffin McElroy for this.

Read one Ao3 ---

Tweek opened his arms and dropped his haul on the counter. Fishing line, rope, a swiss army knife, bug spray, bear repellant, everything he would need on his one and only trip to an outdoor supply store. The cashier looked up with a bored expression. She yawned.

"Going camping?" She asked. Her tone indicated her query came more from obligation to her job than actual curiosity.

"Hunting," Tweek corrected as she scanned the swiss army knife.

The woman frowned. She turned and craned her head to look at a sheet of paper tacked up to a corkboard behind her.

"Nothing is in season. It's spring. That's illegal." The woman set down the rope without scanning it. "Come back in November when the season starts."

"No, it's fine. I checked with my friend. He's a conservation officer. It's totally legal to hunt the animal I'm after any time of year." He stole a quick glance at her name tag. "Really, Trisha, it's fine! I'm not really 'hunting,' either. More...capturing. It's for science!"

Trisha cocked at an eyebrow at him but picked the rope back up. "What animal are you even talking about?"

Tweek grinned. "Bigfoot."

Trisha dropped the rope with a start. "Excuse me? Bigfoot?"

"Bigfoot. The Sasquatch. The hairy man of the forest. I saw it last weekend." Tweek tried to keep his nerves in check. Everyone else called him crazy when he told them about his bigfoot encounter. Trisha didn't know him, so maybe if he spoke professionally and calmly, she would think he was sane.

"And you're going to catch him," her voice sounded dubious, but she didn't accuse him of making it up, "with a rope?"

"Yeah. I'm setting a trap this weekend where I saw it," Tweek told her. "Near the lake, on the north side. I think leaving some beef jerky out will attract it, since I saw it take a package when it ran off."

Trisha hummed. "And how do you know you didn't just see a bear? Bears go out in the woods sometimes."

"I know what a black bear looks like, and they don't walk on their back legs."

"That wasn't the kind of bear I meant." Trisha chuckled at the frown across Tweek's face. "I'm kidding. It's ok, by the way. My brother is gay, so I can make those jokes."

Tweek opened his mouth, then shut it with a shake of the head. "No, it's really...I saw bigfoot, not a hairy man or an actual bear. I really did, and I'm going to catch it to prove it."

Setting the last of the items in a bag, she hit a key on the cash register. The total popped up on the digital display.

"If you do catch bigfoot, will you hurt him?"

Tweek handed her his card as he spoke. "I don't want to. Even just having a hair sample or clear photo is enough."

Trisha thought about that as she ran his credit card. While the receipt printed, she handed his bags over to him.

Their fingers touched as he took the plastic handles. She met his eyes.

"If you do see bigfoot, be careful." Her tone was dead serious and her eyes demanding. "He might be more dangerous than a normal bear."

Tweek swallowed and took a step back. He nearly tripped but awkwardly right himself. She never took her hard stare off of him.

"Y-yeah. I will. T-thank you?" Tweek stammered before making a beeline for the door.

--

"And you're sure," Tweek looped the rope around itself, "it's totally legal?"

From the other side of the phone, Stan sighed. "For the love of God, Tweek. Yes. You can 'hunt' bigfoot in our state without a permit. We're Colorado, not Washington. That said, if you bring a firearm into my forest and shoot something that isn't Bigfoot, I have the United State's Forestry Services on my side and will come and skin you alive."

"I don't even own a gun!" Tweek countered. "I'm taking a swiss army knife and a can of bear mace."

"With how noisy you normally are, any bear would go running." Stan laughed. "If Bigfoot was real, you're not going to catch it with beef jerky and a macrame net."

"Will too..." Tweek muttered under his breath, pulling the knot tighter.

"What did you say?" Stan shuffled on the other end. The humming of a microwave filled the background.

"Nothing..." Tweek held up his net and winced. He'd messed up some knots and the diamonds were uneven. Sighing, he began to pull at the rope. "You know, I don't get why you don't believe in Bigfoot. You're in the spookiest parts of the forest all day. You have to know there are things out there!"

"I know there are weird things out there. Demons and ghosts exist, but Bigfoot doesn't. Neither does Nessie or aliens or the Mothman." The clinking of a plate against the counter could be heard. "Those are made up."

"But ghosts and demons aren't?" Tweek rolled his eyes.

"I've seen ghosts and met a demon."

"And I've seen bigfoot!"

"Not the same."

The microwave beeped three times before Stan opened the door. With a chant of 'hot, hot, hot, hot! Hot bean burrito!' Stan dropped something onto his plate.

He sighed. "Look, Tweek, just don't bother getting your hopes up about actually proving Bigfoot is real. People have been trying for a lot longer than you with a lot of better equipment. If they can't catch it, then you can't either."

"I can catch him this weekend and I will!" Tweek tossed the net aside, too frustrated to continue. It landed over the top of his dwarf lime tree, knocking petals and dead leaves to the decorative macrame pot cozy.

"If you go this weekend, you'll have even less of a chance. It's going to rain hard on Saturday morning," Stan mentioned around a full mouth of his dinner. "If it's like a deer, it'll hunker down until the rain stops, and you won't be able to track it."

Tweek paused in hauling himself off the floor.

"So you think I should start looking on Friday instead?"

"I don't think you should look at all."

"Fuck you, Stan." Tweek reached for the phone as he stood straight.

"Talk to you later, Tweek."

Tweek dropped his phone back onto the coffee table. He looked over at his net draped across the lime tree and pursed his lips. What if Stan and everyone else was right? Maybe Tweek wasted his time planning to catch Bigfoot.

"No! I saw him. I'm going to get him!" Tweek shook his head and walked over to pick up his net and bring it to the table.

---

Tweek wrung his hands together in his apron as his dad wiped the counter and his mom went over the day's receipts. He took a breath.

"I need tomorrow off. I'll work on Sunday," He blurted out before he could talk himself out of it. His parents looked up from their respective tasks.

"Why do you need tomorrow off?" His dad threw the towel over his shoulder.

Tweek chewed his lip. He couldn't tell his parents he was going Bigfoot hunting. They wouldn't let him off for something like that. There was only one thing they would be totally ok with him taking the day off.

"I have a date," he lied. "I'm meeting him for a walk in the forest, and I figured going in the morning would be best so we could picnic before it got too hot. Late fall heat is the worst, right?"

His mom perked up. "A date? Do you have a date? That's wonderful, sweetie! What's his name? Where did you meet him?"

"I, uh, I don't know?" Tweek looked down at his feet. "Stan set me up with him? It's a blind date. He, that is my date, works in the forestry service, too. He's more comfortable there in town, but works nights in the forest house to watch for...wildfires? Yeah. He watches for wildfires."

That sounded so stupid. No way they would believe that! Why didn't he just call in sick tomorrow morning! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid--

"Well, of course, you can take the day off, son." His dad beamed. "You need to get a boyfriend. Be easier to continue the family name if you have a husband to adopt with you."

"Or use a surrogate," his mom added.

All the blood in his body rushed to his face. His family might have been supportive of Tweek being gay, but they still expected him to give them a grandchild and keep the Tweak name alive. Tweek didn't even know if he wanted kids, but he didn't get a choice. Why they didn't have another child instead of dumping the entire responsibility of it on him?

"It's easier to raise a child with another person, too. Right, dear?" His dad winked at his mom, who waved her hand in pleasant dismissal at him.

"I know, Dad," Tweek replied flatly. One day he would have to tell him this whole area of conversation made him uncomfortable, but not right then.

"You know, the 'Tweak' name was almost lost, son. When we came to America from Europe--"

"Great-great-great Grandpa Peter changed our name to 'Week' so we wouldn't be associated with the 'Tweaks' from the old country, but grandpa Tweek changed it back," Tweek recited the family story that he had heard a thousand times before.

Great-great-something-th Grandma Tweak was murdered back in Europe, and the family left that town, traveling around a generation until they caught a boat for the United States. The first Tweaks over changed the family name, until Grandpa Tweek got into a fight over with Great Grandma Lily because he didn't want to follow in the family tradition of pharisaical work, so he changed the name back to 'Tweak' and even changed his first name to another spelling of it and opened a coffee shop.

Then, years later, Richard Tweak had a son that he named after his father and fifteen years after that the family coffee shop was bought out by a Starbucks.

Despite his less than interested reply, his dad still started into the family lore for the umpteenth time. He finished with a tangent about how Grandpa Tweek's brave move proved how the Tweaks both valued traditional values and modern ones and that was why they made the best coffee.

"So, I'll take tomorrow off and work on Sunday?" Tweek cut in.

His mom nodded. "You may."

Tweek nodded back then made a beeline to the storeroom. The moment he shut the door, he slumped down and let out a sigh of relief.

---

It was Friday morning, and Craig was tired but amused. He sat amongst the thick foliage of a tree, hairy legs pulled to his equally hairy chest as that weirdo ran around the forest floor with a net.

The weirdo would set the net down in one place, start to pile leaves over it, only to stop and shake his head before pulling the net from the leaf litter and taking it to another spot and repeating the process.

Thus far Craig counted the weirdo moving his net from place to place five different times before finally nodding to himself and taking more rope from his pack.

Craig came to the conclusion he was setting up traps, but he didn't know for what--until he watched the weirdo dig around his bag and produce a king-sized package of beef jerky.

That weirdo came marching around the woods last weekend, loudly talking to himself about nature being healthy so long as a bear didn't eat him alive. He blocked the quick way home, so Craig waited while the weirdo sat down, crossed his legs, and played some sort of guided meditation on his phone.

Once the weirdo finished he stood up to take something from his backpack, only to dump everything out. Craig watched with great amusement as the weirdo scrambled to pick it all up before heading back towards the trail.

What happened next, Craig refused to take the blame for. His mom sent him with a bunch of "healthy" foods this month under the excuse that she worried about his sodium, so the moment the scent of beef jerky — teriyaki beef jerky, at that — came to his nose, he couldn't stop himself from hurrying over to pick up the fallen snack. Dried and canned fruit and vegetables could never hold a candle to jerky.

He had just started chewing when someone gasped behind him. He spun around in time to see the weirdo's blond chestnut-like hair poke out from behind a tree. Holding tight to the jerky, Craig took off and luckily the weirdo didn't follow.

With a snort, Craig shook his head at the weirdo as he set the jerky in the middle of the trap. Realizing he didn't open it, the weirdo tiptoed closer to the middle of the net. In a blur of yellow and greens, one of his traps sprung and the weirdo found himself swinging from his ankle in a snare trap.

His hands waved around wildly as he tried to stop himself from swaying back and forth. The weirdo groped towards his ankle in a desperate attempt to free himself. Craig snorted a laugh into his paw.

Wow, this guy was a real winner! Gets stuck in his own snare. That what he gets for thinking Craig could be so easily captured.

Seeing as his entertainment current dangled like a wild animal a foot off the ground, Craig saw no point in staying around any longer. He climbed out of the tree and lowered himself to the ground. Taking his long coat from a nearby tree branch, he pulled it on, shoved his paws in his sweatpants pockets and walked towards home. He readjusted his hat, pulling the brim to shield his face.

One weirdo trying to find him was more than enough. At least he was lucky this weirdo was incompetent. He really thought a rope and a net could catch someone like Craig? Craig was nearly six-and-a-half feet tall — a trait surprisingly thanks to his red-haired giant of a father and not his mother's cursed genetics.

If he was swept up in a trap, he could just use his stupidly long arms to escape, if the trap could even get him off the ground.

The weirdo sobbed loudly, his voice carrying through the trees.

"It's not fair!" He wailed. "I just-I just wanted to prove I'm not crazy! Now I'm going to die and everyone will think I'm just making it all up again. I'm so stupid...stupid and going to die..." His cries trailed off into softer mumble that Craig couldn't hear until the weirdo blurted out, "Who will water my plants and take care of my parrot?! They'll all die too! I'm a terrible plant and pet parent..."

Craig stopped. He squirmed, tapping his fingers against his sweatpants.

"Don't do it, Craig. Don't fucking do it," he muttered to himself, even as he turned around and stalked towards the weirdo stuck hanging in the air.

---

Tweek tried to blink the tears away but failed. It was all too much. If he didn't catch bigfoot today, he could have handled that disappointment. If he at any other time sprung a snare trap on himself, he could have handled the embarrassment. But both of those feelings at the same time? Not a chance.

He sniffled, defeated and alone. No one would come out this far into the woods. He was going to starve or be eaten alive by bears like some flesh pinata! Worse yet, his plants will wilt without him there. Ok, the golden pathos by the window in the self-watering pot might be ok for a while, but his lime tree, lucky bamboo, peace lily? They were going to suffer and wither away!

And his parrot, Kiwi, what about Kiwi? He was going to be lonely without Tweek to talk to, then he'd run out of birdseed in a day or two and water not long after that. The plants could die in silence, but Kiwi would go out with a racket. Maybe his noises would bring the neighbors to call the landlord and he would help save Kiwi and the plants.

Oh, who was he kidding? The landlord didn't do anything. That's why the rent was so cheap.

Tears rolled from the corner of his eyes down his forehead to his hairline. Sniffing up the mucus in his nose, Tweek swung himself up. He reached for the rope but couldn't bend forward enough.

He couldn't reach the rope and his knife fell out of his pocket on the net trap, so what escape did he have?

His lip quivered. How was this fair? All of Tweek's life was an uphill battle: His parents using him as a free labor since he could walk, school kids teasing him for being different in ways he couldn't ever help, being the only gay kid in a little hick town, believing in thoughts and ideas that no one else around did.

His parents wondered where on Earth his anxiety disorders could have come from, but Tweek knew it was all that pressure constantly crushing him under its massive weight of grief and doubt and worthlessness.

And now, just as the cherry on top of the world's worst sundae, his attempt to prove himself and get a confidence boost backed fired and let him hanging from a tree.

Tweek didn't even mean to set off the snare trap. He was being careful to step around it so he could open the jerky. This was what he got for trying to be clever, he supposed glumly.

"Hey, need some help?"

Tweek spun himself around best he could see a person standing near a tree in a long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face.

"I-uh-" Tweek hiccupped a sob. "Yes. Please, get me down."

The person nodded. "How?"

"Cut-urk-cut the rope. There is a knife there near the beef jerky." He added as the person walked towards the jerky, "be careful. It's a net--"

The net trap sprung, sending the knife flying up over the person's head. Unlike Tweek, the person didn't get pulled into the air. The net tangled around his legs and the person fell forward. His weight kept the trap from fully closing around him, but it did ensnare his limbs.

Swearing the person flailed around. He attempted to keep himself from falling by planting his massive foot down through the net until he pulled his body back, leaving his coat left with the beef jerky bag in the trap. His hat flew off, exposing a hairy face with a pig snot with tusks.

With the net around his leg, he twisted and went down. He threw his hands forward to break his fall.

"FUCK!" He shouted, holding his hand to his chest.

Tweek's mouth gaped. "You-you're--Bigfoot?!"

Bigfoot glared at him. "No shit, dipwad! Fuck, dammit..." He clenched his hand before holding it out. A long gash opened across his large, bear-like paw.

"Jeez!" Tweek flailed. "You're hurt! You're bleeding! Let me down! I have a first aid kit! Ohmigod! What if you get an infection? They'll cut your hand off and it'll be all my fault! Please, please, let me down!"

Bigfoot paused and stared at him, his strange face wearing an unreadable expression. Slowly, he reached for the bloody knife then stood. He took a step and winced, but didn't speak. While holding the bleeding paw to his chest, he went to the rope and sliced through it.

The ground hit Tweek's cheek, hard and cold. He yelped, falling over himself. After blinking the stars from his eyes, he scrambled on hands and knees towards his bag. Throwing protein bars, rope, fishing wire, and a flare to the ground, Tweek pulled the first aid kit from the bottom of the pack.

Bigfoot slumped to his knees next to Tweek.

"That is a whole ass first aid kit," Bigfoot commented.

"What, do you think I'd go into the woods with just a box of bandaids?" Tweek opened the kit.

As Tweek pulled the rubber gloves over his hands, Bigfoot shrugged, "I thought it would be one of the pocket ones."

Tweek unscrewed the top to the antibiotic cream and held out his hand for Bigfoot to offer up his wound. He squeezed the cream along the gash. He probably should clean it first, but he didn’t have any water he hadn’t already drunk out of and didn’t think Gatorade would be the best way to clean a wound.

"I would never come so unprepared." Tweek set the cream down to take up the gauze. "What if I fell and broke my ankle?"

Bigfoot scoffed, "Yeah, well, I think I hurt mine in the rope."

Tweek gasped, pulling the gauze tightly. "What?!"

Bigfoot yelped, jerking his paw back as Tweek dumped the first aid kit onto the forest floor.

"Ah no! shit!" He swore. "The ice pack! There should be an ice pack thing in here? Where is it? Did I forget to take it out of the freezer from last time?"

As he frantically researched the first aid's kits contents, Bigfoot began to snort, then burst out laughing.

"Fuck. You came to catch me and put me in a zoo or kill me or some shit, and now you're freaking out over me being hurt? The hell kind of guy are you?"

Tweek frowned. "I never wanted to put you in a zoo or kill you. All I wanted was to prove you're real, but you got hurt because of me. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Run away screaming like everyone else in the world?"

This time, it was Tweek who laughed. "I'm told I'm not like everyone else. It's why I'm out here in the first place — to prove to everyone else you are real and I'm not crazy."

Bigfoot raised his eye ridges up in surprise at Tweek's earnest words. He hummed and looked down at his wounded paw. Finally, he took a breath.

"If you can help me get home, I have an ice pack there."

Tweek flinched, nearly dropping the container of cotton balls. He turned his gaze over to Bigfoot. "Would that make it up to you?"

Bigfoot nodded. "It would."

Quickly, Tweek threw the medical supplies into the kit. He had to crunch a box to shut it but didn't mind. He scrambled to shove everything back into his pack before picking the net up in his arms. After holding it for a moment, he shook his head and set it over a tree branch like drying clothes over a line.

With a little guidance from Bigfoot, Tweek hauled him to his feet. Tweek's legs bowed under the weight, but he took a breath and powered on carrying Bigfoot through the forest.

---

"My name is Craig." Craig told the weirdo after the weirdo erroneously referred to him as 'Mr. Bigfoot.'

"That's a very...normal name?" The weirdo gently shouldered Craig around a log that they couldn't step over. "I mean! I didn't expect bigfoot--a bigfoot--to...urk...um..."

Craig eyed weirdo for the millionth time. He liked him. Most people Craig knew weren't earnest and didn't admit when they'd messed up. Most people Craig knew would have run screaming or killed him. The weirdo blew his expectations out of the water.

"I'm not really bigfoot bigfoot, you know." Craig watched his expression carefully as he went on. "I'm cursed, actually."

"Cursed?" He frowned. "It's not contagious, is it? I work at a cafe. I don't want to wear a whole body hair net."

Craig snorted before realizing the weirdo wasn't joking.

"No, of course not," he said and the weirdo sighed in relief.

"So, why? What caused it? Wait, err, am I allowed to ask that? Is that rude?"

"A little," Craig admitted, "but I started the topic, after all. Turn here. My home is at the next bend. I'll tell you all about my stupid family curse when I've down a few aspirins."

---

"No one expects a monster to live in a cozy cabin!" his dad used to say, but only when Mom wasn't around since she would glare at him for calling their son 'a monster.' Looking at Tweek's awed expression, though, Craig had to agree with his dad’s assessment.

As Craig threw a couple of aspirin in his mouth, he watched the weirdo sink down into the ancient floral couch to take in the one-room cabin. Craig sucked a pouch of Capri Sun to down the pills while the weirdo crossed his ankles, picking up the lacy doily on the coffee table.

"My grandma decorated it," He answered the unasked inquiry about the frilly decor. "Grandad use to use the place when the curse happened to him. She wanted to give it a 'homey touch.'"

Finishing off the juice pouch, Craig attempted to overhand toss it into the trash can near the stove but missed.

He went to stand and flinched, having forgotten about his ankle. The weirdo jumped to his feet to put the pouch in the trash before stooping down to readjust the ice pack across Craig's ankle.

"Um, thanks?"

"No, this is all my fault. I should help however I can," he told him without standing up. He perched on his toes, looking at the swollen, hairy ankle and giant foot.

"The curse," he started, "you said it was a family curse?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah, my great, great, great, great, great grandfather pissed off a witch and she cursed him."

"A witch?" The weirdo rested his wrists on his knees. "How?"

"He had her burned her at the stake."

"What?!" The weirdo fell backward. "He killed her!?"

"Yeah. He was a trained doctor. Apparently, she was offering free medical care so people weren't going to him, and he accused her of being a witch. So he was, technically, right. Before the set the fire, she cursed him." Craig took a breath then soberly quoted, "'Be a beast upon the outside that is on the inside, a month a season, foul man and his sons and sons and sons until repentance is spoken and a kiss be given from my line to yours.'"

"What does that mean?" The weirdo asked. "I'm confused."

"It means once a month every season, every man born on my mom's side of the family has to look like this." He held out his paws, glaring at them. "The only way to break the curse is to tell the witch’s descendants that we're sorry for what our ancestor did then hope one of them forgive us enough to want to kiss one of us."

The weirdo righted himself, sitting cross-legged. "Do they not forgive your family?"

Craig slumped down, crossing his arms. "We can't even find them. They moved after the witch died but before the first month of the curse. My grandad tried to track them down but..." He shook his head.

"But?"

"But he lost them when they left for America." Craig leaned his head back and shut his eyes. How many times had he heard Grandpa complain about that? More than a thousand times, probably.

'We were so close! How could they just disappear?' He'd say. Grandpa search for that family until the day he died. Craig never bothered. He wanted the curse gone, but he wasn't going to waste his time as a normal human grasping at straws to find this mysterious family line that might not even exist anymore.

The weirdo leaned forward. "Are you sorry? For what your grandfather did?"

"I can say with one hundred percent honesty that I am sorry that my grandfather got a woman killed because she was a better doctor than he was. We kept some of his journals and the guy was a dick." Craig scoffed. "He would lie to people about what they were sick with so they would keep coming back. He deserved this curse. I don't."

The weirdo hummed and looked at Craig's ankle again.

"It's a clever curse," The weirdo mused under his breath. "You can't fully live as bigfoot but you can't fully live as a person either."

"Yeah, it sucks. I can't keep a job or a boyfriend or an active social life," Craig ticked off on his fingers, "and I hate it." When he noticed the weirdo frowning at him, he added, "But at least I have a nice place to crash during the months I'm cursed. Mom always sends a bunch of supplies."

At the reminder of Mom's all fruit and veggies supplies, Craig reached out for the pack of jerky. They lapsed into silence as Craig ate. The weirdo wore a contemplative look, his eyes rolling around to take in the cabin as he thought.

When the silence grew too awkward, Craig asked, "So, did you believe in 'bigfoot' before you say me last week or did you always believe?"

The weirdo jumped from his thoughts. "Oh! Of course. All my friends said I am crazy for believing in Bigfoot and aliens and ghosts. But I was right about one of them, so maybe the rest are real too."

"Well, of course, aliens are real. You'd have to be really dumb to think we're the only planet with sentient life in the universe." Craig tossed another piece of jerky into his mouth. "Ghosts are probably real too. There is too much evidence of them to be completely fake."

"Thank you!" The weirdo threw his hands up. "That's what I keep telling people! What about Nessie? Do you believe in the Loch Ness Monster? What about Mothman?"

---

Craig tilted his Capri Sun as he spoke. "Clearly the Fresno Nightcrawlers are aliens."

Tweek scooted a little closer on the couch towards him, his knees nearly touching Craig's side. If it bothers Craig, he didn't make a protest for Tweek to move back. That was fine with Tweek. He really liked Craig, bigfoot cursed monster or not. Once he accepted Craig's weird appearance, he found Craig to be one of the best conversations he'd had with a long time.

"They have to be. No animal could walk like that," Tweek agreed. "The weird way they walk is probably because of Earth's gravity. I think their home planet must have higher gravity."

"What do you think they came here for? To study us?" Craig reached into a bag of banana chips. He held out the handful to Tweek. His fingertips brushed the gauze across his paw. Instead of picking up the chips, he slowly dragged his fingers off the gauze onto Craig's leathery pad, lingering against the warm skin, before he took the chips from Craig's paw.

Craig closed his paw around the rest before dropping it to his lap. The tips of his furless bear ears burned red. Tweek smiled softly. That was adorable.

"I think they're here just to check us out. Earth is a very interesting place," Tweek threw a chip in his mouth, "don't you think?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah. Really interesting. Just like you..." He furrowed his brows a moment. "I don't know your name. I never asked."

"You didn't?" Tweek scrunched up his face in thought. "You didn't."

"I guess I have to ask now." Craig flashed a smile, showing off his tusks and teeth. "What's your name?"

Tweek took a chance and moved close enough that his knees touched Craig's side before leaning until he was close enough to be completely in Craig's personal space. Craig's smile wavered into an embarrassed expression for a second before it returned more pleased than before.

"My name is Tweek." Tweek introduced himself in a low voice.

The smile fell and he started shaking his head. "'Tweek'?"

His face flushed with embarrassment, Tweek scooted back until there was a couch cushion between them.

"Yeah, um, it's a dumb name. I was, eer, named after my grandpa. His name was Tweek, or it was when I was born, or ugh! His name was Tyler Week, then he changed it to Tweek Tweak, since 'Tweak' was our name back in the old country--I mean, before the family came to the US, from Europe--because," Tweek realized then he was rambling, but couldn't stop himself now, "he didn't want to be a pharmacist, which is what the family had been for generations. Grandpa Tweek wanted to be a coffee shop owner."

Tweek covered his mouth to keep him from talking any more when he noticed the wide-eyed look on Craig's face.

"'Tweak'..." Craig repeated slowly. "It can't...no. That's impossible." He shook himself.

"Sorry," He muttered, "I, uh, I know 'Tweek' is a weird name, but it is my real name. I swear. I'll get out my driver's license."

"Where in Europe did your family come from?"

"Huh?"

"Where in Europe did you family come from? What country? Or do you know why they left?"

Tweek tilted his head. "Um, I think it was...um, Belarus? Ukraine? Somewhere in Northern Europe. Once my great something-th grandparents came here, they tried to distance themselves from the 'Tweaks' in Europe, so they didn't talk much about it, or that's what I was told."

Craig looked at Tweek like he just solved the biggest secret of the universe. He beamed and grabbed Tweek's hands in his own.

"You can break the curse!"

"I can what?!" Tweek nearly choked on his tongue. "What are you talking about?"

"The witch's family? Their name was 'Tweak'!" He squeezed his hands.

"But-but-but I can't do magic. I'm not a--" The word caught in his throat. This couldn't be possible. If Tweek's family was the same in Craig's story, then his murdered grandmother was burned at the stake for being a witch.

"Maybe it got diluted? Your family stopped marrying other witches after one of them was burned. Tweak isn't a common name. My family couldn't find them after they left Europe. Yours changed their name when they left. You don't think that's a coincidence?" Craig looked into Tweek's eyes.

"A lot of families changed their names, and, um," Tweek floundered. "You really think I might be able to lift your curse?"

Craig nodded. "Yes. If you accept my apology and kiss me, it should break it. I can live normally." He paused then added, "And not to brag, but I am told I am very handsome. You're missing out on seeing my good face, just saying."

Despite himself, Tweek snorted a laugh. With a breath, he pulled his hand from his paws and dropped his palms on Craig's arms.

"Ok, if my 'magic' was diluted, I don't know if it'll work, but we can try," Tweek offered.

Craig planted his paws on either side of Tweek.

"I apologize for my ancestor and what he did against your family," Craig apologized, leaning in closer to Tweek.

Tweek moved his head to the side, muttering, "I forgive you for what happened." His eyes flicked up once more to Craig's monstrous face. Nerves twisted his gut. He wanted to be the right person. He wanted to be the Tweak with the magic kiss to fix Craig.

Before he could psyche himself out of it, Tweek kissed Craig. His lips were chapped and oddly cold, but the massive paws lifted to his sides were warm enough to make up for it.

As Tweek squeezed Craig's arm and leaned in deeper, the door to the cabin swung open.

"Hey, Craig, some guy is coming to hunt you this weekend. Being the best little sister I am, I...see you already met him." the shop clerk from the outdoor store froze with one foot in the air.

They gasped and pulled back from each other. Tweek could feel the tips of his ears burning while Craig gently pressed the bear-like claws of his paw protectively into Tweek's side.

"Trisha!" Craig snapped. "Haven't you heard of knocking! Damnit!"

"How was I supposed to know you were going to seduce a man who literally bought a knife to gut you with from me!" Trisha stomped her foot.

"I wasn't going to gut him!" Tweek tried to interject, but Craig and Trisha ignored him.

"You still need to knock. I could have naked."

"I've seen it all before. Are you that desperate for company! Mom told you to bring your pet with you."

"A, I don't want Stripe to see me like this. It would scare him. B," Craig gestured to Tweek. "His name is Tweak, like the witch? There was a reason for this kiss, you butt-sniffing brat."

At this Trisha paused to give Tweek a critical eye the moved her gaze to Craig.

"Doesn't look like it worked," she commented dryly. Craig glanced down at himself and winced.

"Sorry," Tweek apologized, slipping his hand from his arm.

Tweek didn't know how many more Tweaks there were in the world, but whoever the right Tweak was, they were a lucky bastard, Tweek decided, wishing Trisha hadn't shown up. He really wanted to kiss Craig again or keep kissing him as the case may be.

"It's fine. I shouldn't have been so sure about it." Craig raised a shoulder. "Thanks for helping anyway." Tweek felt Craig's soft gaze on his face, but he couldn't look him in the eyes.

Trisha looked between then. She rolled her eyes, shouldering off her backpack.

"So, I brought some Sonic," Trisha took out a paper bag, "but only two orders, so, like, you have to share, because I am not giving up my tater tots."

As she dropped the Sonic bag on the table, Tweek started to stand up. He didn't look at Craig's face. He couldn't stand the disappointment he would see if he did.

"I should get home, actually. I--"

"It's going to storm. You'd either not make it to your car," Trish commented idly as she took out a foil-wrapped burger, "or you'd be driving in heavy rain on shitty roads. You might as well stay the night."

Craig grabbed his wrist. "You should. Safety and stuff."

Tweek squirmed, unsure, before accepting the invitation and sitting back down with his side nearly touching Craig's.

---

The smell of cinnamon and apples filled the cabin. Craig poked his nose out of the sleeping bag.

"You actually know how to make this off the top of your head?"

"Before Starbucks bought out my family's cafe, I baked muffins every day."

Oh, that's right. The cute weirdo Tweek stayed the night sleeping on the couch. Craig snuggled back down deeper into his sleeping bag than he already was, enjoying the warmth and listening to the conversation near the stove.

As Trisha mocked her brother for not knowing how to make pancakes--that was a lie--Craig wondered if he could get away with taking her wallet and switching all her cards around without her noticing.

He needed to get brotherly revenge for both mocking his expert pancake skills as well as taking the cot. Tweek was the guest. He should sleep on the cot, not her. If not for the crochet blanket hidden under the couch, one of them would have had to sleep without any covering.

Craig nearly offered to let Tweek share his sleeping bag but stopped himself before he could make the night awkward. He didn't think asking Tweek to sleep next to him, in and of itself, would make anything weird. He had a hunch Tweek like him as much as he liked Tweek. With Trisha there, however? He shelved the idea.

After a couple of seconds of debating Craig decided against messing with Trisha. He'd get her back in the future when the possibility of backfire and making himself look like a loser in front of Tweek wasn't there.

With a sigh, Craig wriggled out of his sleeping bag. He stood, careful not to put too much wait on his ankle, and looked towards the stove.

Tweek and Trisha wore matching grimaces with a muffin in each hand.

"These taste, ah..." Trisha stuck her tongue out.

"You can say 'bad.'" Tweek dropped the muffin in his hand to the stovetop. "I think I messed up with the powdered buttermilk--or maybe it was expired. Hand me it."

Trisha reached into the cabinet over the sink. As she handed the powdered buttermilk to Tweek, Craig commented, "It's probably just bad. All the powder milk tastes disgusting."

Trisha's jaw dropped. Tweek's hand fell limply to his side while his face went the color of a tomato. The powdered buttermilk fell to the floor. It bounced once then rolled towards Craig. He raised his foot to stop it and nearly fell over himself.

The massive hairy foot he had lived with for four months every year of his life, and should have lived with for another two weeks, had shrunk and shed back down to its normal size. Heart pounding in his ears, Craig held out his arms then felt his face.

No thick layer of wiry hair. No bear claws. No pig snout. Just normal, human, features.

"Oh...oh my..." Craig blinked hard. "I'm..."

"You're an eight! Shit dude!" Tweek blurted out. "You said you were handsome, I didn't know you were this good? Why didn't you warn me better?"

"An eight?" Trisha scoffed. "He's a six and a half at best."

Craig opened his mouth to make a smart remark at his sister but stopped when the first tear rolled down his cheek. He blinked again before giving up and running over. He pulled both Tweek and Trisha into a warm bear hug.

Trisha fake gagged, "Blech. Gross. PDA from my brother." but patted his arm with a smile anyway.

Tweek kept quiet, but his eyes never left Craig's face. Everything from the collar of his shirt up glowed with a blush.

Craig squeezed them then took a step back. "Ok, sorry, had to, um, had to get that out of my system." He wiped his cheeks on his wrist, his completely human wrist.

"So--" Tweek's voice cracked. "So does this mean I am magic?"

"I guess so." Craig ran a hand through his hair, enjoying how soft it was compared to the stiff wiry bristles he used to have. Feeling slightly more composed he added, "maybe it was the magic of love at first sight."

He winked, Trisha rolled her eyes, and Tweek laughed.

Tweek leaned against the stove, his hand brushing the muffin he dropped. He looked at it then back up at Craig and Trisha.

"Even if I helped, I still did try to catch you yesterday, Craig. I haven't really made up for that, but do you think taking both of you out for breakfast is a good start?"

Craig didn't even have time to speak because Trisha threw her hands up and shouted, "Yes! Oh, thank God! I thought I'd be stuck here eating dried fruit sandwiches all weekend."

"Well, the sister as spoken." Craig raised a shoulder then reached out and took Tweek's hand. "Let's go."

Tweek beamed at him and squeezed his hand as Trisha went to gather her thinks.

“You know that I lied to my parents so I could get the day off yesterday,” Tweek commented.

“Oh? What did you say?”

“That I had a date in the forest.” He scooted a little closer to Craig’s side. “So, I was wondering, would you mind pretending that I came to meet you?”

Craig grinned, unable to help himself. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“If you want to go on one with me.”

Before Craig could answer with an enthusiastic agreement, Trisha threw open the door. The scent of rain and wet leaves filled the cabin with a cool breeze.

“You two can get all goo-goo eyed and stuff later. It’s a long hike back to the car, and I’m doing it on half a bite of bad muffin. You have ten minutes to get clean clothes on or you’re walking all the way to town.” She spun around and started off into the crispy morning.

Craig rolled his eyes and offered an apologetic smile at Tweek. Tweek hesitantly dropped Craig’s hand and took a step towards the door.

“I’ll wait outside with your sister.”

Craig gripped his hand, already missing the warmth of Tweek’s in his grasp, but nodded.

“I’ll be quick and grab some granola bars on the way out. We can eat them on the way to the car. While we discuss this date of ours.”

---

AN: Not gonna lie. I really had to stop myself from just continuing writing the last scene becuase of all the fluff. x3

[raisingsupergirl]

A New Age Dawning

I once met a Freemason who said he changed his career ever seven years, a concept he based on the seventh sabbatical year of the Old Testament. And it wasn’t like he moved to a different position within the same career field. He made drastic changes: professor, salesman, laborer, etc. And in different parts of the country, too. At first, I thought he was lying. Then I thought he was running from something. But in the end, I envied him. We only get one life, so why spend it working toward a singular goal, no matter how grand? Why not reinvent yourself? Who wouldn’t jump on the chance to be reborn? And that idea stuck with me in a subtle way until I ran across it again in my Bible reading about a year ago. The year of Jubilee, it’s called. A year in which all debts are forgiven, all land is returned to its original owners, and everyone starts anew. Once every seven years. And do you know what’s a multiple of seven? Thirty five, which is exactly what I was going to be turning the next year. And not a moment too soon. You see, my life has been a series of seven-year “ages” in which I’ve grown and found new exciting experiences, but at the end of each age, I become anxious, bogged down with mundane frustration until I finally burst through into some new adventure. And like any good adventure, mine started with the First Age…

The First Age: Ignorance (0-7)

The first seven years of my life are my mobile home memories. A little trailer home on Dorlac Road. Avoiding cactuses in our dirt basketball court. Digging through overgrown lily pads and cattails to get to our fishing hole. Going to daycare with the lady who played the piano and the man who threw a fake duck to his Golden Retriever. And family. So much family. The four of us boys crammed onto the broke-down couch and drawing funny faces on TV Guide pictures. Mom cooking a four-pound meatloaf to feed us. Watching my older brothers play Zelda and Punch Out and Techmo Superbowl. Going fishing at the Mississippi river with Grandpa Winch. Watching baseball with Grandpa Collins. Playing Ninja Turtles and Dungeons & Dragons with my cousins. Being mad when everyone went to Grandma’s and had chicken pox, but I wasn’t allowed to go and have any for some reason. You see, Grandma was the BEST cook, and I was SURE Chicken Pox were delicious. Because at that time, I didn’t understand it. Any of it. All lights and colors and awe-inspiring mystery. But when I turned eight, my parents began taking us to this other place. A spot in the woods. And we started cutting down those woods, clearing a space big enough for a castle. And men came out and blew up the ground, making a big hole. Walls went up. So many walls. And then mom said I had to start going to school. Away from my family. Away from everything I knew. But there was one thing I knew then: Fear.

The Second Age: Innocence (7-14)

I remember my first night in the new house. How could anyone keep from getting lost in such a place. It was so dark, quiet, and cavernous. I got a cat soon after that, and he felt the same way. Skittish, hidden, afraid. I named him Kitty. Kitty was my first real pet, and he was one of my closest friends through that Second Age. But slowly, something started to happen within me. I started to realize that the new house wasn’t scary. The new house was warm, solid, enduring, safe. Even the woods around us were peaceful and inviting. Our pond didn’t have any lily pads or cattails. But it did have catfish. Huge ones. And they bit best at night on doughballs. The deepest parts of the woods had caves and bluffs and creeks. And I could wander as long as I wanted without a watch or a compass, and somehow I’d always end up back at home just before dark.

School wasn’t so bad, either. I was nice to the kids, and they were nice back. I even made some friends who lived within bike-riding distance. I think Greg and Zach were the first. They were older, but they lived on the same gravel road. And they liked cards. Not the boring ones that my brothers liked—the ones about sports. No, these new cards had superheroes on them. And some of them were games that let you BE a superhero and fight against your friends’ superheroes. They brought my Saturday morning cartoons to life, and my love for fantasy and imagination started to blossom. I met Brandon next. He was a new kid on the bus, and he had a cool toy. He became my best friend for many years. Together we explored the wilderness, conquered the FIRST Warcraft game, and discovered girls. And as I approached the end of the Second Age, a dark, hormonal shadow spread over my life of innocence.

The Third Age: Independence (14-25)

Middle school. I shouldn’t have to explain further, but I will. My friends grew armpit hair, and I didn’t. My friends made the basketball team, and I didn’t. My friends paired up with girlfriends, and I didn’t (except that one time when Elizabeth Stroble let me cut in the lunch line by her). I found purpose in football, and I found God at Bates Creek church camp. A girl said she liked me in high school, so I started dating her. Then she cheated on me with my previously-mentioned best friend. It was then, at the peak of puberty’s angst, that I first felt heartbreak. I forgave them both and remained friends with them. I then met some more lifelong friends of the most interesting kind—skaters. There was something about them that I identified with. Not the skating (I lived on a gravel road, remember?). But they were honest, raw, adventurous, unafraid. A little broken, but also honest and loyal. And they all had the best senses of humor. I was friendly toward everyone in high school (even nominated for “most congenial”), but it was with those skaters that I learned to really push the boundaries of my reality.

This epic Age, extending through college to a couple years beyond, was the most adventurous and transformative of my life. There’s so much to tell. My first drink of alcohol (a “hey, mister” bottle of Jack Daniels in the back of my friend’s van). Wild parties that ALWAYS ended with deep conversations. Cruising the strip in my red 1995 Camaro. A heart-wrenching breakup with my second girlfriend, which left both mental and physical scars. Finding true peace in my empty college bedroom with a cup of tea, a candle, and my first copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. And then finding my love of reading, writing, and LEARNING. Education was a concept that had been forced down my throat throughout school, so I never realized I actually LOVED learning new things until it became an option. But it wasn’t long into my college career when I started devouring philosophy, history, religion, and fantasy of all kinds. And then I met my future wife in a bowling alley, and everything changed. She wasn’t from my hometown. She didn’t know any of my family or my childhood friends. She had no interest in fantasy books or emo music. She was an enigma and an emotional mess. And she was perfect. From that point on, I plowed through the middle of the Third Age. My future wife graduated from college, I graduated the following year, and that summer, I passed my Boards, married the love of my life, went on my first vacation outside of the country (a blissful honeymoon to Cancun), and moved from Missouri to Virginia Beach to start my first “adult” job as a physical therapist. And just like that, I found myself sitting on a beach next to my wife, 1,000 miles from home.

It’s odd that it would take getting married to feel true independence. But college was just an evolution of high school. And in Virginia, the only person I knew was my wife, and I barely knew her. So as you can imagine, the next couple of years were hard. I had no big brothers or parents to show me how things were done. No friends to vent to. No familiar pets or woods to feel perfectly at home. No, this was an entirely new adventure for my new wife and me. We fought, we cried, we kissed, we fought some more, and we didn’t think we were going to make it. And then, one night after my shift at Busch Gardens Howl-o-Scream (yes, I moonlighted as a 6’5” axe-wielding zombie), I received a call. Well several calls, actually. And all of them said I needed to call home. Dad had been in a car accident. He was dead.

The next year was a blur. The darkest of my life. Gray. That’s all I remember. Grayness, confusion, doubt, hopelessness. I felt overworked and underqualified at a miserable job surrounded by immaturity, manipulation, and spite. I let the unresolved depression from losing my father destroy my relationship with my wife. And finally, at my wits end, I dragged said wife back home to Farmington (not my WIFE’s home, mind you. And that fact plagued our relationship for many years). Thus ended our time at Virginia Beach and the longest Age of my life.

The Fourth Age: Interlude (25-28?)

If the Third was the longest age, the Fourth was the shortest. From twenty-five to twenty-eight, in the wake of tragedy and what felt like betrayal, I slipped back into the comfort of things I knew. I found healing in writing—transforming memories and ideas into worlds and adventures that couldn’t harm me the way the real world had—and I was actually good at it! I also started work at my hometown clinic with my physical therapy mentor, which meant I was suddenly surrounded by people who knew everything about me. They UNDERSTOOD me. They comforted and uplifted me. For that I am forever grateful. But my dependance on the past also nearly broke the bond my wife and I had begun to forge in Virginia. She was jealous that I was home. I was jealous that she still had both parents. But slowly, after a lot of tears and a few broken pieces of furniture, we found each other again. There was no single epiphanous moment, but the defining word between us was commitment. Commitment to God and commitment to each other. Life started regaining some of its color, and I started trusting again. And then, after coming home from a hunting trip with my brothers one weekend, my wife told me she was pregnant.

The Fifth Age: Inquisition (28-35)

Gosh, what a whirlwind. My daughters’ stories are written in detail on this blog, so I won’t rehash them, but talk about nonstop adventure! In some ways, this has been the best Age of my life, but as I neared its end, the horizon again grew dark.

You see, through earlier tragedy and hardship, I had developed an, “If it is to be, it’s up to me,” mentality. Mostly because there were some unfortunate things that I couldn’t control but there were so many that I could. And it seemed like anything I really set my mind to was attainable. I’d landed my dream job. I’d also written novels, and those novels were getting closer and closer to publication. But slowly, my dream job became a monotonous chore, and my fledgling writing career started hitting one dead end after another. To the point where my literary agent finally broke ties, and after writing five novels, I didn’t have the strength to write another one. And tragically, I let those facts define me.

Of course, it’s such a tragedy because I was finally living a fruitful life with my wife and two super girls! On top of that, I’d become a freemason and met more lifelong friends, and toward the end of the Age, I’d embarked on a nearly year-long introspective journey with five other Christian men. But none of that mattered because I didn’t know who I was. I’d failed at writing, my “day job” became a drain on my spirit, and no matter how much I tried, there didn’t seem to be an end in sight.

And here we are. On the cusp of a new age. Last week, I finished my last meeting with those five amazing Christian men, and they have saved me. Truly. Well, they have helped me back to God’s purpose in my life: Achieving Adventure. Before that, I was dying inside, and I didn’t know why. I HAD to achieve something. ANYTHING (as if a wife, kids, and a successful career weren’t enough). But the ruts were so deep that finding a new path felt impossible. Too late in the game. Another has-been who had come so close but ultimately wasted all of his God-given potential. Talk about a classic mid-life crisis. And then came those 6 a.m. meetings. The conversations will likely fade into distant memory, but the effects will stay with me forever. Those men helped me realize what I’ve been chasing my whole life: adventure, exploration, the unknown. I LOVE learning, remember? I love growing. Not achieving, just growing. And the energy that burst from that realization has pushed me out of my ruts. It’s renewed my passion for physical therapy to the point where I’ve landed a promotion that promises new adventures. And my passion for writing, though still not quite renewed, is starting to flicker in my soul again. I have my strongest manuscript back in my hands, professionally edited and full of potential. Even if it’s never published, I will soon dive back into that adventure of my own creation. And that’s not all.

Next week I will attend my final meeting as Master of Farmington Masonic Lodge #132, and I will thank those Freemason brothers for an amazing five-year adventure that I will forever be grateful for. On that same day, I will celebrate the ribbon cutting of a new physical therapy clinic, and I will act as it’s clinic coordinator. Soon, my family and I will move to a new home—a place with explorable woods and a blank canvas of possibility.

The Sixth Age: Untitled

I have no clue what this Sixty Age will bring. I don’t know how many more Ages I’ll get to experience after that. But as I write this, I find myself smiling. The mystery fuels me, and my anxiety finally feels more like excitement again. I’m on a new adventure, and I get to take it with my three best friends: my wife is more of a trusted and true co-pilot than ever, my nearly four-year-old is in the midst of her blissful Age of Ignorance, and my seven-year-old is on the cusp of her own Second Age! What a time to be alive.

I’m about to enter the Sixth Age, friends. Another chapter of my life. And I can’t wait to share the adventure with you.