Hank Olson was seriously doubting the sanity in letting Abraham drive.

He wasn't the only driver – they'd taken a few different vehicles to the beach; Abraham drove the one with Baker, Parker, Barkovitch, Davidson, and him in a minivan. McVries had driven himself, Garraty, and Stebbins in a Prius. Scramm had taken a bunch of guys in a pickup. For some reason, Olson hadn't decided to get in beside Stebbins in the backseat of a Prius while McVries pretended that it was only Garraty and himself in the car, and instead was crushed between Baker and a door that could, he was pretty sure, open up if Abraham decided to use the automatic door opener.

Damn minivans.

Why was Davidson in the middle row with him and Baker? All that had done was let Barkovitch stretch out in the backseat alone, which was a) unfair and b) non-lifethreatening.

Abraham hit the brakes and Olson jerked forward, wishing that he'd decided to use a seatbelt as his nose connected with the back of Abraham's seat. He checked for blood, found none and was a bit disappointed, and got out of the minivan as soon as he could.

Baker hopped out beside him and half-heartedly tried to stop him from shutting the door in Barkovitch's face. It didn't quite work, and Olson grinned as Barkovitch swore, unlocked the door manually, and got out.

Parker came around the van with a cooler.

"What's in there?" Abraham wondered. "Alcohol?"

"No, dumbass," Parker said. "I'm not that stupid. It's a goddam public beach. Who the hell knows what kinda people could be here? Barkobitch don't look a day over twelve."

"True," Abraham said. "You look like you could be a college student, though. Manly stubble, and all."

Parker gave him a weird look and continued. "Just a shitton of energy drinks and stuff like that."

"I made sandwiches," Baker said. "McVries's ex-girlfriend helped me."

"Yeah, speaking of that, are they coming?" Abraham asked. "I mean, I heard Priscilla got her motorcycle license."

Baker gave a half-shrug and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. "She said they might show up, I dunno," he said. "Either way, let's get off of the sand and into the water."

"Agreed," Olson said. He'd had enough of standing around, listening to Abraham talk. He might have to snag one of those energy drinks, though. Providing that they were good.

He headed down the beach after Baker, swearing with every step on the sand. He wished he'd invested in sandals of some sort. Something that he wouldn't have to leave in the car wow fuck damn it his feet were burning off this was Hell.

He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it backward, grinning a little as he heard Abraham curse. Then his grin faded as Abraham threw it into the ocean.

"Great, douchebag," Olson said, turning around. Abraham was sans a t-shirt, too, and Olson marveled at just how white someone could be. Not that he wasn't white, but he wasn't color-of-a-piece-of-paper white. If-I-stay-in-the-sun-more-than-two-minutes-I-will-burn white. You-could-lose-me-in-a-blizzard white.

Abraham pulled a thing of sunscreen, probably SPF 5000, out of his pocket and tossed it Parker.

"What the fuck am I-"

"Have you seen me? I'll be bright red in about two seconds if you don't get this on me now."

Parker sighed, muttered something about 'stupid bastard who can't do anything by himself, and spread a towel out a ways back from the ocean. He sat down and patted the spot in front of him. "Sit."

Olson would have sat there and laughed about how ridiculous it looked if he hadn't seen Barkovitch try and edge his way away from the group. He ran straight into Scramm, who told him hello and tried to engage him in conversation. Olson snickered a little, and then someone took him down from behind and he was facedown in the water.

He came up sputtering and wiping salt water out of his eyes. He rolled over to see who it was.

Baker.

That was fine, then.

"Hello," Olson said. Baker grinned a little. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Well, we have been a little low on dead bodies recently," Baker said. He paused. "My aunt has, I mean. For her whole coffin deal."

"Right," Olson said.

As much as he liked Baker, the kid was a little creepy sometimes.

"Anyway," Olson said, clapping his hands and standing up. He spotted his shirt floating around a few feet away and tossed it back to shore. "I saw Barkovitch trying to get out of a conversation with Scramm, and now he's gone, and I really want to throw him in the ocean."

"Why?"

"Who doesn't want to throw Gary Barkovitch in the ocean?"

"Point."

"We can enlist Parker once he's done sunscreening his boyfriend's back," Olson said, thinking. "Maybe McVries, too… except he'll probably be sunscreening his boyfriend's back, too… ah, screw it, Barkovitch isn't that big, we can get him by ourselves."

"Okay," Baker said, following him dutifully across the sand. Olson once again cursed the sun and sand and his lack of shoes. Barkovitch looked like he was dying to get away from conversation, and didn't even struggle that much when Olson grabbed him under the arms and tipped him back.

Baker grabbed onto his feet, holding them still so that all he could really do was flail his arms and tiny little body all around. Which was, admittedly, making it difficult to hold onto him, but it was funny anyway.

They waded out into the ocean and his struggles got a bit more motivated. That was probably because he was still wearing a t-shirt. Olson laughed a little at his expense. Baker rolled his eyes.

They stopped when Olson was having to tip his head up to still be able to breathe and not swim at all. Baker, who was a bit taller than Olson, looked at him doubtfully. "He'll be totally underwater."

"Well, we've kind of let him drag underwater a few times already," Olson said, drowning out Barkovitch's cursing and insisting that they bring him back to shore. "He'll be fine. It's not like he'll die or anything."

"Well," Baker said. "If you'd been listening to him, he can't swim, so he probably will."

"Wow, that takes the fun out of everything," Olson said. He sighed and let go of Barkovitch for a second to run his hands through his hair. Barkovitch went under, and Baker pulled him back up. "Oops."

Baker rolled his eyes at him and dragged Barkovitch back to shore. Olson sighed and felt like just collapsing and floating away with the current, becoming one with the ocean and not having to try and win back what little of Baker's love he'd had.

Or he could go and buy him ice cream. Or a hot dog.

Or ice cream, a hot dog, and steal one of Parker's energy drinks. Even if he didn't spend money on that, Baker would have to admire his courage. That was, if he didn't get the shit beaten out of him for touching Parker's stuff.

But maybe Baker could admire a black eye.

…And two lost teeth, a split lip, three or four cracked ribs, and an ear swollen up so bad that he'd have to have a hearing aid the rest of his life.

So, no go on the energy drink then.

He got out of the water, cursing, as always, as his feet touched the sand. He was pretty sure the water steamed when it hit the sand. That couldn't be healthy. God, he was glad that they hadn't parked in the parking lot, because that would have been horrible.

He headed toward the van and grabbed his wallet. He'd go buy Baker an overpriced ice cream cone. Baker liked chocolate, right? Who didn't like chocolate? Baker had to like chocolate. He'd get one chocolate for Baker and a mint chocolate chip for him. Triple scoop on both.

He wasn't afraid to spend a ton of money to get Baker back.

He also wasn't afraid to grumble about prices and try to get the second one half-off, either, but that didn't really work out.

Baker had Barkovitch on a towel. Barkovitch was pale and small and angry-looking.

Oops.

"So, uh, Baker," Olson said. "I got you ice cream."

Baker glanced up at him. "Oh," he said. "Thank you. How about the guy you drowned?"

"No," Olson said. He handed the chocolate to Baker. "Come on, leave him to sulk, nobody likes him anyway."

"Nobody likes you, either."

"Nobody likes anyone around here!" Olson snapped. "We're all just a bunch of hormonal teenage boys who hate each other!"

Baker thought about it and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That makes sense."

"Well, everyone kinda likes you," Olson said, relenting. Baker shrugged.

"If you say so."

"So, come on," Olson said. "Let's go eat these, and then go swimming. Leave this douche alone, I want to swim."

"Go swim with Abraham," Baker said, jerking his head toward Abraham and Parker, who were having some sort of wrestling, fighting death match in the ocean.

"Did he wait twenty minutes before getting in the water? Because I don't think he did."

Baker contemplated it. "No, I don't think so," he said. Olson reached down his hand and Baker took it, and the two of them walked off into the midday sun, feet burning, ice cream making sticky tracks down their arms, leaving Barkovitch to his own devices.

Apart from the five minutes that Baker had been upset with him, it was shaping up to be one of the best days Hank Olson had ever experienced.

This was requested by a user on Tumblr, who wanted Long Walk 'beach episode. Barkovitch can't swim.' And it sort of turned into Baker/Olson, which is. Cool.