"Ugh…," Tweek groaned as he changed into his gym clothes.
"What's wrong, Tweek?" Craig asked from a nearby bench, tying his shoes.
"My – my stomach hurts…," The boy twitched as he pulled on his shirt.
"Go to the office and call your mom, nothing wrong with going home early if you're sick," Kyle suggested from the other side of the locker room.
"Gah!" Tweek fumbled with his shoelaces, "We have that math test this afternoon, it'd be way too much pressure if I had to make that up another day."
"How many cups of coffee did you have this morning?" Craig asked.
"I don't know…," Tweek shifted his eyes quickly to the ground, "Like four or five…"
"Tweek…," Craig knew he was lying.
"Okay! Okay! Twelve!" He confessed.
"And food?" Craig followed up.
"None."
"You'll probably feel better after lunch."
"That is…," Cartman began, "Unless you have an ulcer…"
Craig sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Wh – What's an ulcer?" Tweek looked concerned.
"Oh, you know… It's where you bleed into your stomach because it has a hole in it," Cartman spoke very seriously, "Frequently caused by stress, you know?"
"Ah!" Tweek looked horrified.
Cartman broke into laughter.
"Would you stop?!" Craig pushed Cartman back.
"Hey!" Cartman staggered.
"You don't have an ulcer, Tweek," Craig reassured.
"How do you know?!" Tweek held his stomach.
"Have you been throwing up blood lately?
"No!" Tweek nearly yelled.
"You're fine!" Craig glared at Cartman.
"I don't feel fine…," Tweek settled down a bit.
Craig could see his face was pale.
"We're going to the field across the street to play softball for PE today," Craig began to whisper, "There won't be much running, you can make it through. We'll stand at the end of the batting line and just strike out when it's our turn so we don't have to run – not much running in the field either," he smirked.
Tweek smiled.
A whistle blew.
"Let's go!" The coach motioned the boys to the door, "We don't have all day!"
The field across the street was just that – a grassy field. Transformed into a makeshift ball field by throwing down some rubber bases.
The boys split into teams and began to play.
The innings went by quickly – only a few of the boys were decent batting and most were on the other team.
It was nearing the end of the period and Tweek and Craig had yet to bat or hustle for a ball in the outfield.
Craig stood behind Tweek in line to bat near home base.
"Damn…," Craig swore under his breath.
"What?!" A startled Tweek spun around.
"One of us is going to have to go this time… Only two people in front of us. Stan will make it onto base and even when Butters strikes out that's only two down."
"Ack!" The blonde boy fidgeted.
"I could cut in front of you and just end this now?" Craig offered, "There's only like 10 minutes left anyway."
"No!" Tweek stopped him.
"Why not?"
"If – If you cut in front of me the coach will get mad at you!"
"And…?" Craig deadpanned.
"And?! And you'll flip him off and get detention again! And we won't be able to play after school!" He squealed, shaking the other boy by the shoulders.
"Fine. I won't cut. Calm down," Craig straightened his shirt, "You can just end it then. Strike yourself out so we can go eat lunch."
"I can't do that!" Tweek glanced at him nervously.
"Why not…?" Craig sighed, "Don't you feel sick? If you hit that ball and actually make a run for it you might throw up…"
"Th – that's a chance I'm willing to take," Tweek composed himself, "We're only down one point and if I throw the game away I don't know how I'd live with myself. Everyone would hate me if I didn't even try!"
"You're up, then," Craig stated as Butters swung and missed his final ball.
"Awe jeez… I suck at this," Butters lamented as he handed over the aluminum bat. "You got this Tweek!"
"Just remember…," Craig spoke softly only a few feet behind Tweek as he readied himself, "If you puke the school makes you go home and you'll miss that math test."
The sudden thought of this dilemma flustered the boy so much he missed the first pitch by a mile.
"Come on, Tweek!" Stan yelled from second base.
The swing for the second pitch was off but not by as much.
"I always knew he was a loser," Cartman berated from the back of the batting line.
"Grr…," Tweek gritted his teeth and swung furiously at the final pitch - missing the ball as the momentum of his backswing threw him off balance and the bat slipped out of his hands, flying off behind him.
The immense force with which he swung the bat momentarily stunned him.
The collective gasp from the players rushing in from the outfield and the yelling behind him snapped him back to reality.
"Coach!" Butters screamed.
"What the hell, Tweek?!" Cartman shouted.
Tweek quickly whirled around, eyes widening at what he saw.
Craig lie motionless on the ground just a few feet behind him. Blood gushed from his nose onto his t-shirt and oozed from a large gash on his forehead.
"Craig?! Oh, Jesus!" He shrieked rushing to the boy's side.