Chapter Text
Heroes ride—Be it on their team's shoulders or in a Cadillac Coupe de Ville—and goats walk.
Charlie Brown was all too familiar with being a goat—after all, he was the goat in Sebastopol. No matter what he did, he always found a way to ridicule himself, and by extension his team, in the most spectacular possible way, in front of the most possible people. Somehow—but not so familiar, right then, with walking.
One way or another, he'd be walking home, he knew that much. Everybody'd gone home, even the winning team and some of his own team's players. Only Linus and 'Peppermint' Patty stayed behind. And, of course, Charlie Brown, still standing in the infield, paralyzed by shame and mentally preparing himself to be eastern Sebastopol's laughing stock for the next week, maybe month—not that it would be anything remotely new.
But you kind of asked for it, didn't you? he asked himself, By dropping an easy fly ball that would cost you the whole season. Not just the inning, not just the game, the whole—Something small hit him in the back, like a pebble. …Yes, I suppose I did. He looked over his shoulder to see Patty trotting up to him. Someone's already ready for Football season. He sighed, and turned around all the way. Maybe it would be better not to say that, actually.
"I just can't believe it. You did it again, Chuck!" Patty groaned when she got close enough.
"I know," he sighed.
"This was the last game of the season! We had one shot left. It was the least we could have done, and you blew it!" She kicked the ground again, sending another chunk of dirt skipping across the infield. "I can't believe you."
"I know."
Just then, Linus appeared, his school bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, nursing a plastic water bottle, before offering it to Charlie when he drew near enough. He accepted it, relieved both by the cold water, and that he no longer had to face Patty's ire alone.
"Patty," Linus sighed, seemingly having caught on to what was going on. "Cut him some slack. I think he already knows, you don't have to tell him. Besides, I thought we were here to have fun. And we did, didn't we?"
"But winnin's part of the fun!" she gestured wildly, like they were both crazy for not understanding that. Linus just stared daggers at her. "Okay, whatever." She turned around, kicking up a little bit of red dust as she stepped away, grumbling: "'Just wait 'till next year,' he said, 'We'll win 'least one game', he said. And now all that matters is havin' fun."
Charlie watched her stomp off, then heaved the biggest, saddest sigh to have ever been heaved.
"Hey, don't fret it." Linus placed a hand on his shoulder. "It happens to the best of us."
"And the worst," he muttered.
"There'll be other chances. It's not the end of the world, not like Patty seems to think it is."
A shy grin crept onto Charlie's face. "Because it's already tomorrow in Australia."
"There you go." He smiled. "But next season isn't for another six months, so we're not going to think too hard about it. In the meantime, are you ready to go?"
"I was ready to go home before I even got on the field, Linus." he said. "Just give me a minute to get my things and we can go."
"You got it," he beamed, strangely chipper despite the humiliating defeat their team had just faced.
Briskly, he walked over towards the empty bleachers, which weren't terribly full to begin with, where he'd left his bag. He tugged the zipper open to shove his baseball glove inside, then threw it over his shoulder. When he'd made it back across the field, Linus, who'd busied himself by cleaning the dust from his glasses, looked up at him, and smiled. "Alright?"
He nodded, and smiled shyly back. "Yeah." Linus started walking, bumping their shoulders together. Charlie trailed not far behind, watching the tall shadows cast by the afternoon sun. His gaze drifted back up to his friend, whose wild black hair refused to be contained by his baseball cap, and whose eyes flitted around curiously like a little bird from behind the lenses of his glasses, even though he'd been in their high school's baseball field a million times, and there was nothing new to see.
When they stepped out into the nearby street, Linus slowed down, digging in his pockets for something, then pulled out a few coins. Charlie stopped to watch as he held them out in his palm to count them. "Thirty cents," he announced, looking up at him.
"What for?"
"I was thinking maybe we could get ice cream cones. It's still warm out, and we both have time to kill, if I'm not mistaken. Thirty should be plenty, right?"
"But we lost."
"And what does that have to do with anything? We can still get ice cream. And, I'm not saying it's a cure-all, or anything, but ice cream has never really made anyone feel worse, to my knowledge."
"I guess not, I just don't think I've earned it."
"Sure you have. You tried your best all season, you never gave up once, and that's got to count for something."
Linus smiled at him fondly—he sighed. How could he resist that face? "Well, if you insist, then I won't say no," he admitted, earning him a smug, 'that's more like it' look from Linus.
"Let's go, then." he grabbed Charlie's wrist to pull him into motion as he started walking again. He felt his stomach tie itself into a knot—well, it was really more of a pathetic little squirm—at the contact. He couldn't, for the life of him, tell why it did.
As the day dragged on and the sun drew closer to the horizon, Charlie felt the adrenaline of the game wash away and settle into the usual exhaustion. He and Linus had found a place to sit and enjoy their ice cream—moose tracks and mint chocolate chip respectively—just outside the parlor.
The pitiful little boxelder maples that lined the street swayed in the early autumn breeze. He watched them, leaning on Linus's shoulder just to stay upright. The sun was starting to set earlier, with autumn on its way, coloring everything bright orange. Another season, he thought, shot to hell.
Linus spoke, pulling Charlie from his thoughts. "I read that box elders don't live very long. 'Hundred years at most."
"A hundred years is still a long time," he answered drowsily.
"Not for trees, it isn't. Just think of the redwoods."
"Right..." he drawled, then smirked. "Not very elderly then, are they?"
Linus turned to face him, a look of feigned exasperation on his face. He knew that look. Charlie clamped his mouth shut, trying really hard not to laugh at his own pun until Linus did.
Despite his weariness, conversation came easily—with Linus, it always did. He didn't have to think too hard about it, it just came naturally: reminiscing on the season, wondering and worrying about the school year to come, complaining about their teachers (and sisters).So they sat, and talked, Linus in his usual composed, philosophical manner that was only broken by Charlie's awful jokes. He knew very well how bad they were, getting Linus's goat was the whole point.
The conversation died down eventually, giving way to comfortable silence broken only by the wind sighing in the trees. Normally, his mind would have wandered, but the gentle pressure of Linus's head resting on his shoulder made it difficult to think of anything else. He was almost too aware of it—of his hair brushed against his cheek, the way it set his glasses slightly askew. Maybe that was for the better, though, knowing what would have been on his mind otherwise.
"You know," he piped up, "I'm glad we're friends."
Linus hummed. "Yeah?" He sat up straight. Charlie would never have admitted it, but he might've been just a little disappointed. "Me too."
"Do you ever think about if we'll still be friends when we're adults?"
"Sure we will. Don't worry about it."
"You promise?"
"I've promised a million times, Charlie," he chuckled, "I'm not going anywhere."
He nodded, and leaned forward a little bit.
"Hey." He threw an arm around Charlie's shoulders, who jolted upright at the touch. "I promise you, we will. As long as the redwoods stay upright, we will."
He smiled, and nodded again, more genuinely this time. "Okay," he breathed.
"Anyhoo," Linus started to yawn, uncurling his arm from Charlie's shoulders, which immediately slackened, though he hadn't even realized they were tense to begin with. "Maybe we should beat it before it gets dark."
"Good call," he agreed, standing up, Linus following suit. "I might have fallen asleep right there otherwise. I'm completely fried."
"Tell me about it," he laughed, following Charlie as he started to walk back up the street.
Despite the weather growing colder, and the baseball team's chilling defeat, he felt this warm feeling sprouting in his chest.
…It was probably nothing.