Own nothing

"We have to make camp!"

Phil could barely hear Tommy's voice through the rain. He was soaked to the skin, shivering and cold. Phil looked back at the two boys behind him. "I think I see a clearing up ahead!" He ran-a stupid move, he knew it, but he was so cold. So, so cold.

Phil, always clumsy, tripped over a root. His head hit a rock. The last thing he remembered were Lil's words, the ones she'd said to him before he'd left. "You come back in one, piece, you hear? I don't want to be hearing from Tommy or Chuck that you tripped over your own over-sized feet." Sorry Lil. Phil thought, then he let the blackness consume him.

"Phil. PHIL!" Chuckie called. He couldn't imagine where Phil could have gone. He had been right there. "Tommy, I can't see Phil!"

"I can't see anything!" The younger teen replied, then "Woah!"

Chuckie whipped around just in time to see Tommy slip. "Tommy!" Chuckie called, racing towards his falled comrade as fast as his pack would allow.

"I'm okay." Tommy assured. "I just tripped over-" his voice drifted off. "Shit. Phil."

Chuckie looked down and sucked in his breath. Phil was lying in the mud, a red patch forming next to his head. Automatically, the first aid skills his father had drilled into him since the day he was born came into play.

"I'll set up camp, Tommy, you stay with Phil." Chuckie dropped his bag and scooped up Phil's (Phil's had the tent.) He hurried towards the clearing.

Chuckie slipped and slid on the mud, blinking rain out of his eyes. Somehow, he managed to drive the stakes far enough into the ground so that they'd stay put. Somehow, he managed to put up the tent. Somehow, he managed to tie the knots.

Just don't ever ask him how he did all that stuff.

Chuckie quickly crawled into the tent, which, not being completely dry was at least not full-out wet, and deposited the now-empty bag. Then he raced back to Tommy.

He found Tommy trying to wake Phil up. "This can't be good." Tommy frowned. "Do you think it's all right to move him?"

Chuckie shrugged. "Better then leaving him out here." The two carried the unconscious boy fifty yards to their tent.

Once inside, they tried to make Phil comfortable, unrolling one of the sleeping bags and depositing him on top of it. Not knowing how else to help him, Tommy and Chuckie tried to make themselves warmer. They struggled out of their wet clothes and put on dry ones.

Chuckie was toweling his hair dry when he heard a groan coming from the direction of the sleeping bag.

"Phil!" He rushed over to the boy, kneeling beside him. Tommy came towards them, too. "Man, were we worried about you!"

Phil rubbed his head. "How ling was I out?" he questioned.

"Two, maybe two-and-a-half hours." Tommy responded. Phil groaned. "What's wrong?"

"Other then the fact that my head hurts like hell, it's raining, and we're probably losing the competition, you mean?" Phil shot at Tommy.

Chuckie tried to smooth things over. "Things will be better in the morning, you guys. Right now, we really need some sleep." When it was obvious that neither Phil nor Tommy were about to back down, Chuckie started singing (very off-key)

"The sun'll come out. Tomorrow. Bet you bottom dollar that to-mor-row...they'll be SUN."

Phil started smiling, caught Tommy's eye, and erupted in a fit of laughter that had him bent over double and did nothing to help his head-ache. Tommy was laughing, too, and all three ended up singing;

"To-morrow, to-morrow, I love ya, to-morrow. You're only a day a-way!"

They laughed at their own horrible singing and the mood lightened.

So Phil figured this was not a good time to mention that his headache had gotten worse, and he was dizzy.

You like it? I think three boys singing in the rain is, well, horrible. Anyways, review.