It's the start of sense-making!
“But...they said you aren't real. How can you be not real and like flowers?” The kid questions, not scared or angry, just confused. The doctor chuckles and takes a pen from his clipboard. The kid takes this in defense. “I'm not crazy, you know. I was joking.”
“I know,” the doctor says. “Can I draw with you?” The kid shrugs. The doctor takes this as a good sign.
“When do I get my coffee?” The kid asks, relaxing his pen on the shitty paper they gave him.
“Not for a while, Tweek,” The doctor draws a butterfly of three year old quality. He starts on another flower. The kid stares at him for a while, before shaking his head and turning to the paper.
“Your butterfly looks like shit.” He states, loosely sketching something he can't name. The doctor can't help but smile a little.
“Well, that's why you're here.”
“To make...butterflies? Fucking butterflies?!” The doctor knows the best thing to do when Tweek has his outbursts. The doctor has heard stories of Tweek twitching or stuttering, but he's never seen it. This was all before the incident. When Tweek outbursts now...he just stares. He yells something and stares. If you try to snap him out of it, he'll shout loud and he'll do anything to get away from you. So, the best thing to do is just let him be. He looks at the doctor now, eyes shimmering but not sadly. Just in defeat. “...butterflies.” He mumbles and snorts, quickly forgetting the fit he'd just had.
“So, do you have any plans for the weekend?” The doctor asks, picking up a purple crayon. Tweek thinks for a moment before smiling slightly at the doctor.
“Me and my pet Yeti dance all night long to the sound of werewolves screaming.” Though Tweek would never admit this, he actually doesn't mind the doctor too much. The doc laughs, which silently makes Tweek pleased because no one laughs at his jokes.
“I'm impressed,” the doctor states, looking at the kids' newest flower. It is quite amazing. The kid scrunches his nose up and shakes his head in disbelief.
“It's not impressive. It's bad. I fucked up on the center. Flowers are annoying anyway.”
“It's good, Tweek. Really good,” Tweek shakes his head again, almost laughing. The doctor sighs. “Wanna give my butterfly a makeover?” Tweek contemplates it before groaning and shutting his eyes.
“I couldn't do any better,” he states before dropping the pencil. He looks at the doctor and smiles lazily. “What's on the menu today, doc? Thorazine? Prozac? Shock therapy?”
“Tweek, you know as well as me that we don't do shock therapy.”
“Anymore.” Tweek added, with slight bitterness. He looks at the doctor with sincerity and clarity. “I'm really not crazy.”
“Then why the fuck am I here? This doesn't make any sense!”
“We hear you're not who you used to be...that something has changed...”
“How're you going to know? I'm the same person I've always been!”
“Where's your stutter, Tweek?” the doctor asks softly.
“My...my stutter? I never had a stutter.”
“Yes, you did. Back when you lived in Colorado.”
“I've never been to Colorado. You better fix yourself, man, before you even try to fix me.”
“Tweek, your parents are worried about you. They want to help.” Tweek rolls his eyes and looks painfully up at the doctor.
“Then why aren't they here?” He questions, brutally innocently. The doctor sighs and writes on his prescription pad. “Besides,” the kid starts as the doctor rips the paper off the pad. “Who the hell names their kid Tweek Tweek? Everyone thinks I'm enough of a freak, add the name and shabam, hot damn you got me. Which is unfortunate.”
“It's not unfortunate, Tweek. You're unique.”
“Where has that gotten anyone? Haven't you noticed that the majority of people who make it are like everyone else? And everyone else follows the same people? You can't possibly stand out under those odds. They'll hunt you down. Kill you. Look what they did to Simon and Piggy!”
“Weren't Simon and Piggy the best characters in the book?”
“But they died! I can't die, not yet, dude. I...I want to live...for now, at least...”
“Well, that's a start.” The doctor smiles and looks at the clock. He's three minutes late on his next appointment. “Sorry, Tweek. Time flies, doesn't it? How about you come back next week and tell me what's on your mind then.”
“If I know now can I tell you and not come back in?” The doctor laughs and hands Tweek the prescription slip. Tweek takes it and doesn't plan on looking at it.
“Tell your parents next Thursday at five,” the doctor holds the door open for Tweek, who walks through it eagerly and heads down the hallway.
“I would, but I think my 'stutter' will be too much for their poor ears.”
“Have a good weekend, Tweek. See you next Thursday.” Tweek doesn't say anything else, because he still doesn't like the idea of someone else fixing something unbroken. He walks out the door and is attacked with the coldness that comes with living in New England. He decides to see exactly what pill he can pull from the drugstore. Legally, too. He won't eat them...maybe it'll be something good enough he can sell to someone else.
“Everyone's looking for a fix...” he mutters quietly while pulling out the prescription slip. He frowns and crumples up the paper, shoving it in his left pocket. “Fucking happiness!” He shouts. Stupid little smile faces were drawn around the note. “Goddamn you, doc.” He mutters before venturing home.