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avandell2008-03-30 01:52 pm
theladyscribe) wrote in avandell2008-03-30 01:52 pm
Entry tags:
From Small Things [Big Things One Day Come]
Title: From Small Things [Big Things One Day Come]
Characters: Bill Harvelle, Ellen Gunnar (Harvelle), Bobby Singer, OCs [Bill/Ellen]
Rating: PG-13 (for language and content)
Word Count: 7175
Summary: “I never got to introduce myself,” he said, hopping off the car and moving closer. “I’m Billy Harvelle, from down around Georgia way. And I’m sorry for callin’ you sweetheart earlier; it won’t happen again.”
Notes: Part of the Bruce Springsteen Title Project. Song used is “From Small Things.” Set circa 1980. Many thanks toneetha, joans23, and elaeazeph for the hand-holding and beta work.
From Small Things [Big Things One Day Come]
When she turned sixteen, Ellen Gunnar dropped out of her Montana high school and took off. It was an escape if there ever was one; she couldn’t stand her momma’s steady string of boyfriends any longer, not after the way the last one had leered at her. So she dropped out of school and got as far away as she could.
She finally ran out of gas and money in northern Texas and found a job at a steakhouse in Amarillo. Life was difficult under the harsh Texan sun, but it was still far better than it had been in Montana. She soon learned that her best assets were her tits, a snappy comeback, and a wicked right hook. And that the rough-and-tough cowboys could usually be sweetened up by a couple of beers and a helping of apple pie.
She’d been working at the Big Texan Steak Ranch for a year – had turned seventeen not even a month earlier – when the guy walked in the door. He was younger than most of the truckers who passed through here; in his mid-twenties, if she had to hazard a guess. He was tall and handsome in that movie-star cowboy kind of way, though there were shadows under his eyes that made her think he’d been travelling for a long time. Ellen idly wondered where the man was headed and how far he’d already come.
“What’ll you have tonight?” she asked instead, and he smiled.
“Got any recommendations?” he inquired, surprisingly keeping his eyes on her face and his smile from turning into the leer she usually got from the men who stopped here.
“The steak’s always a good bet, of course, and the prime rib’s tender, too.”
“Mmm, I like ‘em tender.” Ellen blushed a little; he was flirting with her. He handed her the menu. “I’ll have a Bud and the prime rib, good and rare, sweetheart.”
She bristled. “Don’t call me that.”
“My apologies, Miss,” he said earnestly, as if he really was sorry. “What should I call you instead?”
“My name’s Ellen,” she said quickly and walked away before he could say anything else. Still, she could feel his eyes follow her all the way back to the kitchen.
“So who’s the stranger?” Karen asked while Ellen was posting his order.
She shrugged, trying not to show how much he’d startled her, flirting and then apologizing like he actually meant it. “Just some trucker-cowboy passing through, I guess.”
“He’s cute.”
Ellen eyed her. “You wanna take over his table?”
Karen’s eyes widened. “You serious? I’d love to!”
“Great. He wants a Bud, and his prime rib’s rare.” She handed off his tab with no small amount of relief. He set her on edge, making her feel like she was all of twelve years old again, with a crush on Glen Frey and her walls covered in Eagles posters.
She tried to ignore the guy, but every time she glanced his way, his eyes were following her. Karen said he had sounded disappointed when she told him she was taking over his table, and Ellen wasn’t sure what to make of that. After all, Karen was older and prettier than she was; surely the guy would have been more interested in her. Still, she could practically feel him watching her as she worked. He ate his prime rib and finally left, but Ellen continued to feel jittery even after he was long gone.
She got off work late – it was nearing one in the morning when she clocked out – and was headed to her pick-up truck when she saw the guy sitting on the hood of his car smoking a cigarette. She had to walk past him or walk around the other side of the building to get to her truck. Of the two options, the former was less conspicuous, so she steeled herself and began walking.
“Hey, Ellen,” he said, and this time she could pick out a distinct Southern twang in his voice, as if maybe the smoke and the hour drew it out.
She nodded once and kept going.
“Hey, Ellen,” he said again, and this time she stopped and turned toward him.
“Can I help you?”
He grinned.
“I never got to introduce myself,” he said, hopping off the car and moving closer. “I’m Billy Harvelle, from down around Georgia way. And I’m sorry for callin’ you sweetheart earlier; it won’t happen again.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, if I see you again while I’m in town, I won’t call you sweetheart.”
“You’re not just passing through?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether there’s a job for me around here.”
“If you’re in construction, you’re in luck,” she said without thinking. “They’re gearing up to build a new interstate connecting Amarillo to Lubbock.”
“That so?” He laughed, and she blushed again, wondering why the hell she was giving this guy career advice in the first place. “Well that’s all well and good, but it’s not my kinda job.”
“What kinda job you looking for?”
“I’ll know it when I find it.” He shrugged. “But where you headed? Goin’ home for the night?” he asked with a merry glint in his eye.
“Depends,” she answered, wincing slightly when she realized that it sounded like she was flirting back.
“On what?” He mimicked her tone effortlessly, that infectious smile brightening his features.
“On if you’re gonna follow me.”
“Only if you want me to.” His grin faltered at her glare. “Very well then,” he said briskly. “I’ll leave first, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” He crushed his cigarette under his boot and got into his car. “Have a good night, Miss Ellen.” She watched him drive out of the parking lot and listened as the engine’s rumble faded into the night.
She should have been relieved that he left, but there was a tiny spark of disappointment that he hadn’t cajoled her more. She shook her head at the thought, deciding that it was best if Billy Harvelle was far away.
The next evening, he was back again, sitting at the bar. And when she got off work, he was outside, waiting.
“Hey, Ellen!” This time she ignored him completely. He jumped off the hood of his car and started following her to her truck. “Ellen?”
“What?” she snapped. She hadn’t meant to, but it had been a bad night – too many loud drunks who thought a slap on her ass made a good tip.
He stopped short, seeming to sense that she was in no mood for his antics. “I was just wanting to apologize for last night. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
His apology surprised her; as she well knew, most of the guys who came through town weren’t even aware of coming on too strongly. She mustered a smile. “Apology accepted.”
He grinned and ducked his head. And then he surprised her again. “Hey, have you had dinner yet? ‘Cause I know this great little all-night diner. Serves the best bacon ‘n’ eggs this side of the Mississippi. And that’s saying something.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You never quit, do you?”
His grin widened. “Nope. Besides, it’s my last night in town – that job didn’t pan out like I’d hoped, so it’s back on the road for me.”
She bit her lip, considering her options. On the one hand, this guy completely unnerved her, flirting with her and going so far as to wait for her to get off work to take her to dinner. But on the other hand, he was offering to take her to dinner, and she knew that all that was waiting for her back at her apartment were cold cuts and Coca Cola. Besides, he was leaving in the morning and probably wouldn’t be back.
“So does this diner serve blueberry pancakes?”
He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow comically. “Dunno. I only ever have bacon ‘n’ eggs. But we can find out.”
Turned out the diner not only had blueberry pancakes, but they also had blueberry syrup. “And a tall glass of milk, please,” Ellen asked, handing her menu back to the waitress.
“Sure thing, hun,” the woman drawled. “And for you?” She turned to Billy.
“Eggs over easy with a side of bacon, hashbrowns and grits. And toast. Oh, and coffee, black.”
“Will do.” She finished writing down the order and left.
Ellen raised her eyebrows at Billy. “Didn’t you eat at the Steak Ranch?” she asked.
He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning. “Nope.” He leaned forward, as if imparting a secret. “I already had dinner plans with a pretty girl.”
She laughed nervously, sure that she would never quit blushing around him. “And what if the girl had turned you down?”
“Then I would have starved to death.”
“You’re lying,” she accused.
“But I’m not! I would rather starve to death than eat dinner alone when there are pretty girls available!”
She couldn’t stop herself; she laughed. “And what if I’d not been available?”
He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it abruptly. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” He smiled again. “But it didn’t really matter, now did it?”
“I suppose not.”
They lapsed into easy silence, and the waitress brought their food. Billy immediately began tucking in, piling his fork high with bacon and eggs and hashbrowns, using his toast to sop up the bright yellow yolk. Ellen couldn’t help but stare at him; she’d never seen anyone so intently involved in life, whether he was chasing down a girl he’d met in a Texas steakhouse or chasing down eggs with black coffee.
“What?” She jumped; he’d caught her staring, and he smiled, gooey yolk staining his grin a sunny yellow.
“Nothing. I just… Where did you say you were from?”
“North Carolina, originally, though my family moved to Georgia when I was thirteen.” Ellen had never been further east than the Mississippi herself, and he regaled her with tales of fishing crawdads out of the creek and sneaking bites of his mama’s peach cobbler when she wasn’t watching. “My mama would set it on the window sill to cool, and on occasion she’d come back to find chunks of it missing. She never caught me outright, because I’d always blame it on the blackbirds.”
“And she believed you?”
“Of course not!” he laughed. “She just never did anything about it.”
“So what kind of job would bring you all the way from Atlanta?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation away from families.
He gave her a piercing look, as if he was evaluating her, and then said, “I saw it advertised in the newspaper. It promised good pay, but didn’t give specifics on what it was. I came to check it out, but it wasn’t quite what I was looking for.” He smiled. “But what about you, Miss…?”
“Gunnar,” she supplied.
“Miss Gunnar. What brings you to Texas? You’ve not got that Southerner’s drawl, so you can’t tell me you’re from around here.”
“I’m from Missoula, Montana. Came here about a year ago.”
“Why’d you move?” She glanced away, biting her lip, and he back-pedaled. “Sorry, not my place to ask.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s alright. I, um, I didn’t exactly move,” she admitted. “I left.” She hesitated. “My mom… My dad died when I was just a kid, and Mom’s never quite figured out how to live without a guy. Thing is,” she laughed hollowly, “she’s also not quite figured out how to find a good one. There’s been a steady string of dead-beat boyfriends since I was about seven years old. I finally couldn’t take it anymore, so I left. And here I am.”
“Ah.” They fell into an awkward silence, Ellen quietly contemplating the design on her placemat and thinking that she needed to write to her mother again soon. It had been a couple months since her last letter home.
She heard an odd squelching sound, and she looked up just in time to see Billy shoving an orange peel in his mouth. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying not to smirk at his antics.
He tried to tell her something, but she couldn’t understand him around the orange peel.
“More coffee?” asked the waitress from behind Billy, making him jump.
He turned to her, peel still in his mouth, trying to say, “Yes,” but only succeeding in making a garbled noise from the back of his throat. The stern waitress frowned at him, and Ellen had to bite back a laugh as he attempted to get the peel out of his mouth before she walked off without refilling his mug.
“He does want more coffee,” Ellen told her.
The woman nodded slowly, her frown only deepening. “I’ll bring you your check.”
As she walked away, Billy finally managed to get the peel out of his mouth. “You could have warned me she was coming,” he said.
Ellen shrugged. “She was right behind you when I looked up. There wasn’t time.” She smirked. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”
The waitress came by with the check, giving them both a disapproving glare as she walked away. Billy yawned widely and said, “I suppose we should go – she probably wants us to leave so she can nap in the back room.” He insisted on paying for her meal and walked her out of the diner to where their cars were parked.
“So,” Ellen said.
“So,” he repeated. “I’ll see ya around, Ellen Gunnar.” He made a half-bow that would have looked comical had it been anyone else and then climbed into his car. For the second night in a row, she watched him drive away until his tail lights faded into the night, this time leaving her wondering when he’d breeze back through town.
---------------------
Weeks passed, and pretty soon Ellen was convinced that Billy’s “see ya around” had been nothing more than his standard farewell. She tried not to admit it to herself, but she was a little disappointed he’d never come back.
And then one night, about a month later – after she’d finally decided to forget about Mr. Billy Harvelle from Georgia – Karen asked her to take over a table for her. “The guys’re giving me hell tonight,” she said. “I think you could handle them better than I can.” Ellen nodded and picked up her receipt pad and beers to take to the guys in question.
When she got to the table, there was Billy Harvelle with his blond hair and bright blue eyes sitting with a guy a few years older wearing a ratty old trucker’s hat.
“Why, it’s Miss Ellen Gunnar,” Billy exclaimed, grinning widely. “How are you this evening?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, aware she was blushing furiously and a little angry at herself for getting so flustered about a man she thought she wouldn’t be seeing again.
The guy in the trucker hat coughed, and Billy blinked. “Oh! Where are my manners? Ellen, this is Bobby, a friend of mine. Bobby, Ellen.”
“How d’you do?” the guy said.
Ellen mustered a smile. “So what can I get you boys this evening?”
They placed their orders, and Ellen rushed back to the kitchen, where she gave Karen what-for. “What were you thinking, sending me over there unprepared?”
Karen shrugged. “The guy requested you especially. Said not to tell you who it was.” She grinned wickedly. “If you ask me, he’s sweet on you.”
“Sweet on--?” She faltered and then found her reasoning. “Guys who’re ‘sweet on’ someone don’t disappear for a month and just show back up again like nothing’s happened,” she insisted.
Karen smirked. “Whatever you say, Ellen, whatever you say.”
The rest of the night was relatively uneventful. Billy and Bobby ate their dinner, and aside from leaving her a huge tip, Billy didn’t flirt overmuch. Still, she wasn’t terribly surprised to find him hanging around outside after she got off work.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked, her pickup between them.
“He’s back at the motel,” Billy answered. “Why?”
She didn’t have an answer to that, so she said, “You just passing through again or do you actually have a job this time around?”
He cracked a smile. “Got an honest-to-God job this time. Bobby’s helpin’ me out with it.”
“What kinda job you got, anyway?”
“Ghost-hunting,” he answered casually, but there was laughter in his eyes that proved he was joking.
“Yeah, whatever. You could just admit you’re truckers.”
He looked affronted. “But we’re not, Ellen.”
“Then what are you?”
“I told you, we hunt ghosts.”
“You’re crazy,” she laughed.
He grinned. “So they tell me.” He chuckled a little and then said, “We track down reports of supposed hauntings. We’re collecting the stories for a book we’re writing. I guess you could say it’s kinda like the Grimm brothers, only it’s American ghost stories instead of German folktales.”
“Sounds interesting. You find any good ones?”
“Yeah. We’re touring the Natatorium tomorrow.”
“Good luck with that.” Ellen climbed in her truck and started the engine. Billy tried to open the passenger side door, but it was still locked. Sighing, she crossed the cabin and unlocked it, letting him climb in. “What?”
“You wanna come with me?”
“To the Natatorium?” He nodded. “To look for ghosts?”
He shrugged awkwardly and worried at the fraying corner of the passenger seat. “Well, there’s a dance there tomorrow night, so if you don’t wanna go ghost-hunting afterward, you don’t have to. We can just dance.” He glanced up at her, a small smile at the edges of his mouth.
“Why, Mister Harvelle, are you asking me on a date?”
He bit his lip sheepishly. “Maybe?”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, amused. “I’ll go. How formal is this thing?”
“Casual dress, I think. I’ll meet you there?” She nodded, and he scrambled out of the truck again. “Bye, Ellen Gunnar,” he said with a flash of a grin and a wink.
--------------------
Billy turned out to be a pretty good dancer. His friend from the night before was not to be seen, and he explained it by saying, “Bobby’s not too fond of dances. He said he’d rather do a little more research back at the motel.”
“He’s pretty anti-social, huh?”
“Nah, he just doesn’t like people.”
The rest of the evening went much the same, with friendly and easy banter between the two of them. By the end of the night, Ellen’s feet were aching from the dancing and she had tears in her eyes from the laughing. Billy walked her to her truck again.
“So,” he said.
“I had a good time tonight,” she said.
“Good. I’m glad.” He paused. “You’re sure you don’t wanna come ghost-hunting with me and Bobby?”
“You’re never gonna give up on that, are you?”
“Nope.”
She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”
He leaned forward. “So they tell me.” She laughed.
“Good night, Billy.”
“Good night, Ellen.” She turned to get in her car and then turned back, kissing him impulsively.
“Good night,” she whispered and ducked into her truck, too surprised with herself to look back at him. She was sure he’d be laughing, though, and the thought brought a smile to her face.
--------------------
Life continued in much the same way for Ellen. She worked long days and went weeks without hearing from Billy, but he always showed up again. Eventually, she gave him her phone number, and he’d call when he could to wish her good night or sometimes good morning. When he came through town (and that was getting to be more and more frequent), they’d go out to dinner or to a movie or dancing at the Nat, which he assured her with a cheeky grin was quite empty of ghosts.
When she turned eighteen, he came calling with a bouquet of summer flowers. “Picked especially for you.” She tried to invite him in, but he refused, saying, “You need to put on your best dress. We’re going out.”
“Out? Where?”
He shook his head. “Can’t tell you that. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Okay… Gimme a couple minutes?” She ran into her room and began pulling clothes from her closet, looking for an outfit suitable for ‘going out.’
“Wear good shoes,” Billy said from behind her. She turned to give him an inquiring frown. “Just saying,” he laughed. “You probably don’t want to wear heels.”
She finally chose a yellow skirt and white blouse, matched with her sensible brown boots. “How do I look?” She took a spin and found Billy smiling.
“Perfect. Now come on, or we’re gonna be late.”
Outside, he blindfolded her with a bandana and bundled her into his Charger. “Where are we going?” she laughed, trying to tug at the bandana.
“Uh-uh, Elle, you have to keep the blindfold on.” A warm hand pulled her own away from the knots. “If you see the way we’re going, I’ll be forced to kill you.” She could hear the grin in his voice.
“Come on, Billy, can’t you tell me?”
“It’s a surprise!” he insisted. “You’ll see when we get there.”
After what felt like a lifetime of bumpy roads but was probably only about twenty minutes, Billy finally put the car into park.
“Can I—?”
“Not yet!” He opened the car door and got out. “Don’t peek!” She could hear him rummaging around in the trunk, and then her door was opening and he was taking her hand and guiding her out of the car. “We have to walk a little way, okay?”
“Okay,” she breathed, confused.
“It’s worth it, trust me.” He led her along, and she could feel the gritty dirt beneath their feet.
“Billy, where are we?”
“Almost there,” he said and continued walking, his hand warm against hers. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Wait here for just a moment.” She stood impatiently, scuffing her feet in the dirt, glad she was wearing her boots instead of the heels she’d originally chosen. “Okay,” he said again, his voice coming from behind her. His hands brushed against her shoulders as he raised them to remove the blindfold. “Now you can look.”
She gasped. They were standing on a ridge overlooking the lake; Billy had laid out a blanket and picnic basket – things she hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying – and the sun was just starting to set on the other side of the lake. She turned to look at him.
“So?” he asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice for the first time that night.
“It’s—” She couldn’t find the words, so she settled for kissing him. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.
Their meal was light, sandwiches and chips and macaroni salad from the grocery store, topped off with cool beer. Ellen laughed when she turned to see Billy shoveling macaroni in his mouth like there was no tomorrow, only for him to be chagrined when he realized he’d eaten most of what was in the container. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly around the food in his mouth, offering her the dish.
She shook her head. “I’m full,” she explained, stretching her arms into the sky and lying back against the blanket.
He swallowed the last bite of macaroni. “But we haven’t gotten to the dessert yet!”
She sat up on her elbows. “Dessert?”
He dipped a hand into the picnic basket and pulled out a small box of cherries. “Dessert,” he repeated, pulling a cherry out of the bundle and putting it in his mouth, stem and all. After a few moments of intense concentration, he pulled the stem back out. It was tied in a neat little knot.
“How’d you do that?”
“Easy.” He tossed a second cherry into his mouth and pulled the knotted stem out a few moments later.
“Are you going to share those or eat them all yourself?” Ellen asked with a smile.
“I thought you were full,” he countered, moving closer to her.
“Please, Billy?” She pouted. “Share?”
“Alright,” he sighed, picking up a cherry and popping it in his mouth, only to spit out the seed a moment later.
“Ass!” she began to say, but she was cut off when Billy kissed her. She could taste the juice from the cherry mingled with something distinctly Billy. She surged upward and kissed him back fiercely, heart stuttering as a hand found its way under her shirt.
She shivered as he slowly began to raise her shirt, inching his way up her torso with kisses until he could pull her top over her head. He stopped for a moment to palm her breasts, eliciting goosebumps all across her skin.
“Please tell me you brought condoms,” she whispered breathlessly.
She could feel his grin against her collarbone as he spoke. “I thought it’d be best to be prepared.”
--------------------
The weeks after her birthday were marked by phone calls at home from Billy. Actual visits were few and far between, but his voice over the crackling line never failed to bring a smile to Ellen’s face. He’d call to tell her stupid jokes he’d thought up or to tell her stories he’d picked up on his travels. Sometimes he’d ask her to tell him something new, and she’d have to come up with a story from her childhood, the steady rhythm of his breathing the only thing to prove he was still on the other end of the line. Occasionally, he’d whisper in her ear just what he’d like to do to her, his voice deepening with every hitch of her breath.
And then one night he called her while she was at work.
“Ellen? There’s somebody on the phone for you,” Bob said, concern in his voice. “Sounds real urgent. You can take it in my office.”
Ellen smiled. “Thanks, Bob.” She passed her orders along to Amanda and went into Bob’s office. “Hello?”
“Elle?” Billy’s voice was tight, like he was in pain.
“Billy? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m at your place. Hope you don’t mind—” a sharp intake of breath “—I let myself in.” He paused and she could hear his uneven breathing over the phone. “Hey, you think – could you pick up some painkillers on your way home from work tonight?”
“Billy Harvelle, what the hell is going on?” She tried not to let panic seep into her voice, but she knew she wasn’t succeeding.
“Don’t worry ‘bout me, Elle. I just… got a little beat up on my last job.”
She scowled at the phone. “How the hell do you get beat up writing down ghost stories?”
“It happens.” He tried to chuckle, but the laugh sounded more like a gasp of pain.
“Dammit, Bill. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hung up the phone and went back into the main restaurant, heading for the bar where Bob was chatting with some of his regulars. When he saw her, he excused himself and came toward her.
“You got trouble at home?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “I think it might be best if I go get it taken care of.”
He nodded. “I’ll have Amanda take your tables for you.”
“Thanks, Bob, you’re the best. Tell Amanda I owe her one.”
She hurried home, too worried to even care that she still wore her work apron. Billy’s car was parked haphazardly outside her apartment building. That only made her worry increase. She parked, stumbled out of the truck, and raced up the steps two at a time. The door to her apartment was slightly ajar, and the doorknob had a smudge of blood on it.
“Billy?” she called as she walked in, dreading what she would see.
“Yeah?” He was sprawled across her couch, clutching a reddening towel to his side.
“Shit, what happened?” she asked, falling onto her knees beside him.
“Was hunting down a poltergeist over in Sayre. Bastard flung a knife at me. Got me in the side.”
Ellen frowned at him.
“A poltergeist? And somebody knifed you? You’re not making any sense. We should get you to the emergency room.” She began to rise, mentally trying to figure out if she would have the strength to help him move if he needed.
“No!” He surged forward and then laid back again. “Just… you’re good with needle and thread, right?” He waited for her to nod slowly before continuing. “Give me something to hold onto and stitch me up, okay? Not worth the hospital bill.” She started to protest, but he grabbed her hand. “Please.”
“But you’re… There’s so much—” She felt a little faint, her eyes darting between his face and the wound in his side.
“Ellen!” The sharpness in his voice snapped her from her stupor. “Please.”
“Okay,” she breathed. “Let me… I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom.” She grabbed the kit and some extra towels and returned to where he lay. She handed him an ace bandage to squeeze and slowly peeled back the sodden towel, trying to ignore the way he hissed in pain. She methodically cleaned the wound, startlingly efficient despite her shaky hands. “What happened?” she asked softly.
“I was in Sayre on a job. It was a poltergeist.”
“And you got into a fight with a local historian?” she attempted to joke, hoping he’d laugh with her.
“No,” he sighed. “It was the poltergeist. Got me with a steak knife.”
She paused in her work to glare at him. “The truth, Billy.”
“Elle – you gotta believe me. I lied to you about the book. I don’t just write down ghost stories; I hunt ghosts down and take them out.”
“Now’s not the time to be shitting me.”
He stared back at her. “I’m not. I swear. And I’ll understand if you want to finish patching me up and kick me out for good, but it’s the truth. There’s things out there – things you wouldn’t believe unless you saw them, and maybe not even then. Ghosts, werewolves, demons – they’re all real. And I chase ‘em down so they can’t hurt anyone.”
She frowned down at her stitches, trying to decide if he was delirious or just drunk. It was one thing when he told her some of the stories he’d heard, but this was getting scary. If he’d lost enough blood to be delirious…
“Billy, we really should take you to the hospital.”
“I-I know what you’re thinking. I’m suffering from blood-loss right?” He shook his head. “I’m tellin’ you the truth, Ellen. I swear.”
“You should get some rest.” She stood, gathering up the bloody towels as she went.
Billy closed his eyes and pursed his lips. “My older brother was drafted in 1968,” he began slowly. “I was only ten at the time, so I didn’t really get it. Joe was just going on a vacation and he’d come back a hero, you know?”
She froze. He’d never mentioned having a brother before.
“When he came back, he was different. That war took so much out of so many people. He was hardly recognizable – a mere shadow of what he’d once been. He had nightmares every night, and all I could do was lie awake in the next room and listen to him scream.” He looked down at his hands, still stained red from his own blood. Ellen silently handed him a damp rag, and he wiped his hands distractedly. “We moved to Georgia – my parents thought it’d be good for him to have a change of scenery, but it didn’t help any. I finally asked him about the nightmares, and he tried to pass them off as nothing.”
He looked up at her. “Years later, he told me what had happened. They were in the jungles of ‘Nam, hunkered down in makeshift foxholes. A couple of friendlies showed up and started opening fire on them. No rhyme or reason to it, no way they could have been mistaken for Cong. Joe said they were lucky. They had a guy – Jim Murphy – who knew exactly what was up. He started shouting in Latin, and the two guys hissed, their eyes turning black. Both of ‘em flung their heads back and black smoke poured from their mouths. Afterward, they fell to the ground, dead from their wounds.”
He looked her in the eye.
“They’d been possessed, and the memories haunted my brother for the rest of his life.” He looked away again and said quietly, “Joe took his own life not long after he told me. He couldn’t take the nightmares anymore. I left home to find Jim Murphy – I didn’t want the same thing happening to anyone else.”
“Did you find him?”
He smiled tightly. “I did. He showed me the ropes, and I’ve been hunting ghosts and the like ever since.”
“You’re crazy. Or delirious.”
He shook his head. “I’m not. Ellen, I’ve not told anybody that whole story except for you and Jim. Not even Bobby Singer’s heard all of it. You gotta believe me. Please.”
“You can stay on the couch for the night, but tomorrow you should probably go.” She picked up the bloody rags and first aid kit again, moving into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She dumped the towels in the tub and stored the kit under the sink before washing her hands and splashing her face with water.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She was still wearing her work clothes, her cowgirl shirt and her apron stained with grease, sweat, and now blood. It was gonna be a bitch getting that out – she’d probably just have to buy new ones.
What Billy had said was crazy and he wasn’t thinking straight, no doubt due to the pain he was in. But then again… he joked all the time about hunting ghosts, told her in great detail about the ghost stories he’d picked up. He was crazy – it was crazy – but she almost believed him. She almost wanted to believe him. He was the best thing to come into her life in a long time, and it didn’t seem fair that he’d be crazy.
Sighing, she stepped out of the bathroom to find Billy snoring gently on the couch. She laid a blanket across him, careful of the white bandage she’d placed over the stitches in his side.
She retreated to her room and slowly stripped out of her blood-stained clothes, dropping them in a pile by the door before putting on her pajamas and sliding into bed. Sleep was slow to come, and when it finally did, it was restless.
When she awoke in the morning, she felt more tired than she had when she went to bed. Still, she’d thought it over and had decided that crazy or not, she loved Billy. She wasn’t sure whether she believed everything he had told her (surely demons weren’t real), but he’d been nothing but good to her since they’d met. She came out of her room only to find the blanket folded and set on one end of the couch, the blood wiped off the doorknob, and a note on the coffee table. It had a phone number and a simple message: Call if you change your mind.
She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
It rang twice before anyone answered. “Roadhouse,” said a gruff voice that sounded like too many shots of whiskey.
“He-hello? Is Billy there?” she responded, knowing it was a long-shot that he’d gotten to wherever this ‘Roadhouse’ was.
“Bill Harvelle? Sorry, lady, he ain’t here. Said he had business down in Texas. Prolly won’t be back for a few days more.”
“Oh.”
“You wanna leave a message?”
“N-no. I’ll try again in a few days.”
When she called later that week, it was Billy who answered. “I didn’t think you’d call,” he said, audible relief seeping through the crackle and background noise of the line.
“I almost didn’t.” It was true; it had been hard enough to try calling the first time, and she nearly didn’t attempt the second call. She had even thrown the scrap of paper with the number away, only to dig it back out of the trash bin an hour later and dial with shaky hands. “I still think you’re crazy,” she said quickly. “But I was worried, and I wanted to make sure you got where you were headed okay.”
“You did, huh?” She could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Yeah. And, well, if you’re not dead, I guess that’s it, then. I—” She stopped short when she heard glass crashing on his end. “Where are you anyway?”
“I found me a job, Elle. I was gonna tell you, but I didn’t get the chance the other night.”
“A job?”
“Yeah, I’m working at a roadhouse here in Nebraska. The guy – Herb, you probably spoke to him earlier this week – he’s semi-retired and wants me to take over. And I’m thinking I’ll take the offer. It’s good – it’s good to not be on the road all the time, you know?”
“Oh.”
Billy hesitated. “The worst thing, of course, is that I won’t be around as much. I’ll still come visit you – if you want me to, that is—”
“Yes!” She blushed, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I mean, that’d be nice.”
The boom of Billy’s laugh covered up any other noise going on around him. “Good. Good.”
“Besides, we – you have to explain what you meant the other night, about the poltergeist. Because really, Bill, a poltergeist?”
He chuckled. “How about I come see you next weekend, Elle? I’ll explain it all then.”
--------------------
“So poltergeists and vampires and demons are real?”
“And werewolves and garden-variety ghosts and most urban legends.” Billy smiled. “But Frankenstein’s a fraud and, as far as I know, so’s Bigfoot.”
“You’re nuts.”
“So they tell me.”
“Can you prove it to me?” she asked, still unconvinced.
“That I’m nuts?” he laughed.
She gave him a playful shove. “No. That these things are real.”
Billy took a slow breath. “I can, but I’d rather you trust me.” She started to protest, wanted to say that she needed solid proof, but he put a hand over her mouth. “It’s dangerous, Elle. Hunting – ghost-hunting – isn’t exactly a safe little desk job. I know more than a couple hunters who were taken out by the very creatures they were trying to stop. And if I took you on a hunt… I don’t know if I’d be able to keep you safe.” He looked at her intently. “Will you trust me?”
“I…” She paused and saw how his face fell, as if she’d broken his heart with her disbelief. “Yes. You might be crazy, but I trust you.”
---------------------
After that, things changed slightly between them. The phone calls became more and more frequent, but Billy’s visits were dwindling. He tried to placate her with gifts and sex, but his brief stays couldn’t keep her from missing him.
He missed her birthday in May, and not long after, the phone calls stopped.
She had begun to imagine the worst, when Billy finally returned to Amarillo. It had been almost two full months since she’d last heard his voice, but there he was, standing in the doorway to her apartment. Her first order of business was to slap him as hard as she could.
“Ow, Elle, what was that for?” he asked, rubbing at his cheek.
She set her jaw. “For not callin’ or writin’ or comin’ for well over a month, and leaving me here to worry about you for all that time without even a warning.”
He looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, Elle, it won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” she sniffed, and then she leaned up and kissed him as hard as she could.
He returned the kiss with equal measure and backed her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. She pushed him back against the door, her hands roaming everywhere, desperation and desire and need flooding through her. He laughed against her lips, and she stepped back for a moment.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” he assured her, that infuriatingly wonderful smile of his on his lips. He picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. “Now, where were we?”
---------------------
A month and a half later, Karen finally convinced Ellen to visit the doctor after she’d called in sick to work every day for a week. “The least they can do is give you something to settle your stomach,” her friend said, and Ellen had to agree.
The doctor didn’t have a cure for her, though, and Ellen went home dreading Billy’s next visit.
He called that night and immediately knew something was wrong. “What’s up, Elle?” he asked, concern obvious even over the static on the phone.
“Nothing,” she lied. “I’ve just been sick recently, that’s all.”
“You see a doctor about it?”
“Yeah. Today, actually.”
“What’d he say?”
“Nothing he could do about it. I’ll just have to weather it through. I’ll be all right.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she answered weakly.
“Okay. I’ll be rolling through in a week or so.” He paused. “Love you, babe,” he breathed into the phone and then hung up.
The rest of the week was spent worrying and trying to figure out how to tell Bill the news. Ellen fretted about, nervous to the point that Karen forced her to write out exactly what she would tell him when he showed up.
Finally, Billy got into town on her night off. He took one look at her and said, “Elle? Are you alright?” His concern was written all over his face, and she burst into tears. “Elle?” He led her to the bed that doubled as a couch. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant,” she sobbed, and he blinked at her.
“You’re what?”
“Pregnant, you asshole,” she said through her tears. “And I’m nineteen, and you’re…not, and we’re not married and we don’t have a house or a plan or anything, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Ellen, honey, darling, calm down,” he said forcefully. She hiccuped. “Now, what – exactly – is wrong?”
She turned away from him. “I’m pregnant, Bill,” she whispered. “About a month and a half along.” She looked up at him. “What do we do?”
He raised a hand to her cheek, brushing away her tears and leaned forward so his lips brushed against her forehead. “Ellen Rose Gunnar, would you do me the pleasure of being my wife?”
She pulled away from him. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “If you’ll have me.”
“No.”
“No?” he echoed dumbly.
She bit her lip, unable to look at him. “I-I don’t want you to… I don’t want to be an obligation. I – my – that’s why my parents married.”
“I love you, Ellen,” he said. “Whether you’ve got a baby in your belly or not.”
------------------------------------------
A/N: This story has been in the back of my mind for a long time (even before I began writing it out formini_nanowrimo). When I first came up with the idea, it was going to be a Dean/Jo AU, and then I decided that Bill Harvelle probably looked like Robert Redford, and I realized that this was his and Ellen’s story. Most of the initial plotting comes pretty directly from the first stanza of the song it was based on.
And for those of you curious, there really is a Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, Texas. They serve a 72-oz steak, and if you eat it (and all the sides, salad, and dessert) in one hour, your meal is free. I don’t know if there’s really an all-night diner in Amarillo that serves blueberry pancakes and bacon and eggs, but I’m sure if there was, it’d have blueberry syrup, too.
Characters: Bill Harvelle, Ellen Gunnar (Harvelle), Bobby Singer, OCs [Bill/Ellen]
Rating: PG-13 (for language and content)
Word Count: 7175
Summary: “I never got to introduce myself,” he said, hopping off the car and moving closer. “I’m Billy Harvelle, from down around Georgia way. And I’m sorry for callin’ you sweetheart earlier; it won’t happen again.”
Notes: Part of the Bruce Springsteen Title Project. Song used is “From Small Things.” Set circa 1980. Many thanks to
neetha, joans23, and elaeazeph for the hand-holding and beta work.From Small Things [Big Things One Day Come]
When she turned sixteen, Ellen Gunnar dropped out of her Montana high school and took off. It was an escape if there ever was one; she couldn’t stand her momma’s steady string of boyfriends any longer, not after the way the last one had leered at her. So she dropped out of school and got as far away as she could.
She finally ran out of gas and money in northern Texas and found a job at a steakhouse in Amarillo. Life was difficult under the harsh Texan sun, but it was still far better than it had been in Montana. She soon learned that her best assets were her tits, a snappy comeback, and a wicked right hook. And that the rough-and-tough cowboys could usually be sweetened up by a couple of beers and a helping of apple pie.
She’d been working at the Big Texan Steak Ranch for a year – had turned seventeen not even a month earlier – when the guy walked in the door. He was younger than most of the truckers who passed through here; in his mid-twenties, if she had to hazard a guess. He was tall and handsome in that movie-star cowboy kind of way, though there were shadows under his eyes that made her think he’d been travelling for a long time. Ellen idly wondered where the man was headed and how far he’d already come.
“What’ll you have tonight?” she asked instead, and he smiled.
“Got any recommendations?” he inquired, surprisingly keeping his eyes on her face and his smile from turning into the leer she usually got from the men who stopped here.
“The steak’s always a good bet, of course, and the prime rib’s tender, too.”
“Mmm, I like ‘em tender.” Ellen blushed a little; he was flirting with her. He handed her the menu. “I’ll have a Bud and the prime rib, good and rare, sweetheart.”
She bristled. “Don’t call me that.”
“My apologies, Miss,” he said earnestly, as if he really was sorry. “What should I call you instead?”
“My name’s Ellen,” she said quickly and walked away before he could say anything else. Still, she could feel his eyes follow her all the way back to the kitchen.
“So who’s the stranger?” Karen asked while Ellen was posting his order.
She shrugged, trying not to show how much he’d startled her, flirting and then apologizing like he actually meant it. “Just some trucker-cowboy passing through, I guess.”
“He’s cute.”
Ellen eyed her. “You wanna take over his table?”
Karen’s eyes widened. “You serious? I’d love to!”
“Great. He wants a Bud, and his prime rib’s rare.” She handed off his tab with no small amount of relief. He set her on edge, making her feel like she was all of twelve years old again, with a crush on Glen Frey and her walls covered in Eagles posters.
She tried to ignore the guy, but every time she glanced his way, his eyes were following her. Karen said he had sounded disappointed when she told him she was taking over his table, and Ellen wasn’t sure what to make of that. After all, Karen was older and prettier than she was; surely the guy would have been more interested in her. Still, she could practically feel him watching her as she worked. He ate his prime rib and finally left, but Ellen continued to feel jittery even after he was long gone.
She got off work late – it was nearing one in the morning when she clocked out – and was headed to her pick-up truck when she saw the guy sitting on the hood of his car smoking a cigarette. She had to walk past him or walk around the other side of the building to get to her truck. Of the two options, the former was less conspicuous, so she steeled herself and began walking.
“Hey, Ellen,” he said, and this time she could pick out a distinct Southern twang in his voice, as if maybe the smoke and the hour drew it out.
She nodded once and kept going.
“Hey, Ellen,” he said again, and this time she stopped and turned toward him.
“Can I help you?”
He grinned.
“I never got to introduce myself,” he said, hopping off the car and moving closer. “I’m Billy Harvelle, from down around Georgia way. And I’m sorry for callin’ you sweetheart earlier; it won’t happen again.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, if I see you again while I’m in town, I won’t call you sweetheart.”
“You’re not just passing through?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether there’s a job for me around here.”
“If you’re in construction, you’re in luck,” she said without thinking. “They’re gearing up to build a new interstate connecting Amarillo to Lubbock.”
“That so?” He laughed, and she blushed again, wondering why the hell she was giving this guy career advice in the first place. “Well that’s all well and good, but it’s not my kinda job.”
“What kinda job you looking for?”
“I’ll know it when I find it.” He shrugged. “But where you headed? Goin’ home for the night?” he asked with a merry glint in his eye.
“Depends,” she answered, wincing slightly when she realized that it sounded like she was flirting back.
“On what?” He mimicked her tone effortlessly, that infectious smile brightening his features.
“On if you’re gonna follow me.”
“Only if you want me to.” His grin faltered at her glare. “Very well then,” he said briskly. “I’ll leave first, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” He crushed his cigarette under his boot and got into his car. “Have a good night, Miss Ellen.” She watched him drive out of the parking lot and listened as the engine’s rumble faded into the night.
She should have been relieved that he left, but there was a tiny spark of disappointment that he hadn’t cajoled her more. She shook her head at the thought, deciding that it was best if Billy Harvelle was far away.
The next evening, he was back again, sitting at the bar. And when she got off work, he was outside, waiting.
“Hey, Ellen!” This time she ignored him completely. He jumped off the hood of his car and started following her to her truck. “Ellen?”
“What?” she snapped. She hadn’t meant to, but it had been a bad night – too many loud drunks who thought a slap on her ass made a good tip.
He stopped short, seeming to sense that she was in no mood for his antics. “I was just wanting to apologize for last night. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
His apology surprised her; as she well knew, most of the guys who came through town weren’t even aware of coming on too strongly. She mustered a smile. “Apology accepted.”
He grinned and ducked his head. And then he surprised her again. “Hey, have you had dinner yet? ‘Cause I know this great little all-night diner. Serves the best bacon ‘n’ eggs this side of the Mississippi. And that’s saying something.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You never quit, do you?”
His grin widened. “Nope. Besides, it’s my last night in town – that job didn’t pan out like I’d hoped, so it’s back on the road for me.”
She bit her lip, considering her options. On the one hand, this guy completely unnerved her, flirting with her and going so far as to wait for her to get off work to take her to dinner. But on the other hand, he was offering to take her to dinner, and she knew that all that was waiting for her back at her apartment were cold cuts and Coca Cola. Besides, he was leaving in the morning and probably wouldn’t be back.
“So does this diner serve blueberry pancakes?”
He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow comically. “Dunno. I only ever have bacon ‘n’ eggs. But we can find out.”
Turned out the diner not only had blueberry pancakes, but they also had blueberry syrup. “And a tall glass of milk, please,” Ellen asked, handing her menu back to the waitress.
“Sure thing, hun,” the woman drawled. “And for you?” She turned to Billy.
“Eggs over easy with a side of bacon, hashbrowns and grits. And toast. Oh, and coffee, black.”
“Will do.” She finished writing down the order and left.
Ellen raised her eyebrows at Billy. “Didn’t you eat at the Steak Ranch?” she asked.
He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning. “Nope.” He leaned forward, as if imparting a secret. “I already had dinner plans with a pretty girl.”
She laughed nervously, sure that she would never quit blushing around him. “And what if the girl had turned you down?”
“Then I would have starved to death.”
“You’re lying,” she accused.
“But I’m not! I would rather starve to death than eat dinner alone when there are pretty girls available!”
She couldn’t stop herself; she laughed. “And what if I’d not been available?”
He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it abruptly. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” He smiled again. “But it didn’t really matter, now did it?”
“I suppose not.”
They lapsed into easy silence, and the waitress brought their food. Billy immediately began tucking in, piling his fork high with bacon and eggs and hashbrowns, using his toast to sop up the bright yellow yolk. Ellen couldn’t help but stare at him; she’d never seen anyone so intently involved in life, whether he was chasing down a girl he’d met in a Texas steakhouse or chasing down eggs with black coffee.
“What?” She jumped; he’d caught her staring, and he smiled, gooey yolk staining his grin a sunny yellow.
“Nothing. I just… Where did you say you were from?”
“North Carolina, originally, though my family moved to Georgia when I was thirteen.” Ellen had never been further east than the Mississippi herself, and he regaled her with tales of fishing crawdads out of the creek and sneaking bites of his mama’s peach cobbler when she wasn’t watching. “My mama would set it on the window sill to cool, and on occasion she’d come back to find chunks of it missing. She never caught me outright, because I’d always blame it on the blackbirds.”
“And she believed you?”
“Of course not!” he laughed. “She just never did anything about it.”
“So what kind of job would bring you all the way from Atlanta?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation away from families.
He gave her a piercing look, as if he was evaluating her, and then said, “I saw it advertised in the newspaper. It promised good pay, but didn’t give specifics on what it was. I came to check it out, but it wasn’t quite what I was looking for.” He smiled. “But what about you, Miss…?”
“Gunnar,” she supplied.
“Miss Gunnar. What brings you to Texas? You’ve not got that Southerner’s drawl, so you can’t tell me you’re from around here.”
“I’m from Missoula, Montana. Came here about a year ago.”
“Why’d you move?” She glanced away, biting her lip, and he back-pedaled. “Sorry, not my place to ask.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s alright. I, um, I didn’t exactly move,” she admitted. “I left.” She hesitated. “My mom… My dad died when I was just a kid, and Mom’s never quite figured out how to live without a guy. Thing is,” she laughed hollowly, “she’s also not quite figured out how to find a good one. There’s been a steady string of dead-beat boyfriends since I was about seven years old. I finally couldn’t take it anymore, so I left. And here I am.”
“Ah.” They fell into an awkward silence, Ellen quietly contemplating the design on her placemat and thinking that she needed to write to her mother again soon. It had been a couple months since her last letter home.
She heard an odd squelching sound, and she looked up just in time to see Billy shoving an orange peel in his mouth. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying not to smirk at his antics.
He tried to tell her something, but she couldn’t understand him around the orange peel.
“More coffee?” asked the waitress from behind Billy, making him jump.
He turned to her, peel still in his mouth, trying to say, “Yes,” but only succeeding in making a garbled noise from the back of his throat. The stern waitress frowned at him, and Ellen had to bite back a laugh as he attempted to get the peel out of his mouth before she walked off without refilling his mug.
“He does want more coffee,” Ellen told her.
The woman nodded slowly, her frown only deepening. “I’ll bring you your check.”
As she walked away, Billy finally managed to get the peel out of his mouth. “You could have warned me she was coming,” he said.
Ellen shrugged. “She was right behind you when I looked up. There wasn’t time.” She smirked. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”
The waitress came by with the check, giving them both a disapproving glare as she walked away. Billy yawned widely and said, “I suppose we should go – she probably wants us to leave so she can nap in the back room.” He insisted on paying for her meal and walked her out of the diner to where their cars were parked.
“So,” Ellen said.
“So,” he repeated. “I’ll see ya around, Ellen Gunnar.” He made a half-bow that would have looked comical had it been anyone else and then climbed into his car. For the second night in a row, she watched him drive away until his tail lights faded into the night, this time leaving her wondering when he’d breeze back through town.
---------------------
Weeks passed, and pretty soon Ellen was convinced that Billy’s “see ya around” had been nothing more than his standard farewell. She tried not to admit it to herself, but she was a little disappointed he’d never come back.
And then one night, about a month later – after she’d finally decided to forget about Mr. Billy Harvelle from Georgia – Karen asked her to take over a table for her. “The guys’re giving me hell tonight,” she said. “I think you could handle them better than I can.” Ellen nodded and picked up her receipt pad and beers to take to the guys in question.
When she got to the table, there was Billy Harvelle with his blond hair and bright blue eyes sitting with a guy a few years older wearing a ratty old trucker’s hat.
“Why, it’s Miss Ellen Gunnar,” Billy exclaimed, grinning widely. “How are you this evening?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, aware she was blushing furiously and a little angry at herself for getting so flustered about a man she thought she wouldn’t be seeing again.
The guy in the trucker hat coughed, and Billy blinked. “Oh! Where are my manners? Ellen, this is Bobby, a friend of mine. Bobby, Ellen.”
“How d’you do?” the guy said.
Ellen mustered a smile. “So what can I get you boys this evening?”
They placed their orders, and Ellen rushed back to the kitchen, where she gave Karen what-for. “What were you thinking, sending me over there unprepared?”
Karen shrugged. “The guy requested you especially. Said not to tell you who it was.” She grinned wickedly. “If you ask me, he’s sweet on you.”
“Sweet on--?” She faltered and then found her reasoning. “Guys who’re ‘sweet on’ someone don’t disappear for a month and just show back up again like nothing’s happened,” she insisted.
Karen smirked. “Whatever you say, Ellen, whatever you say.”
The rest of the night was relatively uneventful. Billy and Bobby ate their dinner, and aside from leaving her a huge tip, Billy didn’t flirt overmuch. Still, she wasn’t terribly surprised to find him hanging around outside after she got off work.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked, her pickup between them.
“He’s back at the motel,” Billy answered. “Why?”
She didn’t have an answer to that, so she said, “You just passing through again or do you actually have a job this time around?”
He cracked a smile. “Got an honest-to-God job this time. Bobby’s helpin’ me out with it.”
“What kinda job you got, anyway?”
“Ghost-hunting,” he answered casually, but there was laughter in his eyes that proved he was joking.
“Yeah, whatever. You could just admit you’re truckers.”
He looked affronted. “But we’re not, Ellen.”
“Then what are you?”
“I told you, we hunt ghosts.”
“You’re crazy,” she laughed.
He grinned. “So they tell me.” He chuckled a little and then said, “We track down reports of supposed hauntings. We’re collecting the stories for a book we’re writing. I guess you could say it’s kinda like the Grimm brothers, only it’s American ghost stories instead of German folktales.”
“Sounds interesting. You find any good ones?”
“Yeah. We’re touring the Natatorium tomorrow.”
“Good luck with that.” Ellen climbed in her truck and started the engine. Billy tried to open the passenger side door, but it was still locked. Sighing, she crossed the cabin and unlocked it, letting him climb in. “What?”
“You wanna come with me?”
“To the Natatorium?” He nodded. “To look for ghosts?”
He shrugged awkwardly and worried at the fraying corner of the passenger seat. “Well, there’s a dance there tomorrow night, so if you don’t wanna go ghost-hunting afterward, you don’t have to. We can just dance.” He glanced up at her, a small smile at the edges of his mouth.
“Why, Mister Harvelle, are you asking me on a date?”
He bit his lip sheepishly. “Maybe?”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, amused. “I’ll go. How formal is this thing?”
“Casual dress, I think. I’ll meet you there?” She nodded, and he scrambled out of the truck again. “Bye, Ellen Gunnar,” he said with a flash of a grin and a wink.
--------------------
Billy turned out to be a pretty good dancer. His friend from the night before was not to be seen, and he explained it by saying, “Bobby’s not too fond of dances. He said he’d rather do a little more research back at the motel.”
“He’s pretty anti-social, huh?”
“Nah, he just doesn’t like people.”
The rest of the evening went much the same, with friendly and easy banter between the two of them. By the end of the night, Ellen’s feet were aching from the dancing and she had tears in her eyes from the laughing. Billy walked her to her truck again.
“So,” he said.
“I had a good time tonight,” she said.
“Good. I’m glad.” He paused. “You’re sure you don’t wanna come ghost-hunting with me and Bobby?”
“You’re never gonna give up on that, are you?”
“Nope.”
She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”
He leaned forward. “So they tell me.” She laughed.
“Good night, Billy.”
“Good night, Ellen.” She turned to get in her car and then turned back, kissing him impulsively.
“Good night,” she whispered and ducked into her truck, too surprised with herself to look back at him. She was sure he’d be laughing, though, and the thought brought a smile to her face.
--------------------
Life continued in much the same way for Ellen. She worked long days and went weeks without hearing from Billy, but he always showed up again. Eventually, she gave him her phone number, and he’d call when he could to wish her good night or sometimes good morning. When he came through town (and that was getting to be more and more frequent), they’d go out to dinner or to a movie or dancing at the Nat, which he assured her with a cheeky grin was quite empty of ghosts.
When she turned eighteen, he came calling with a bouquet of summer flowers. “Picked especially for you.” She tried to invite him in, but he refused, saying, “You need to put on your best dress. We’re going out.”
“Out? Where?”
He shook his head. “Can’t tell you that. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Okay… Gimme a couple minutes?” She ran into her room and began pulling clothes from her closet, looking for an outfit suitable for ‘going out.’
“Wear good shoes,” Billy said from behind her. She turned to give him an inquiring frown. “Just saying,” he laughed. “You probably don’t want to wear heels.”
She finally chose a yellow skirt and white blouse, matched with her sensible brown boots. “How do I look?” She took a spin and found Billy smiling.
“Perfect. Now come on, or we’re gonna be late.”
Outside, he blindfolded her with a bandana and bundled her into his Charger. “Where are we going?” she laughed, trying to tug at the bandana.
“Uh-uh, Elle, you have to keep the blindfold on.” A warm hand pulled her own away from the knots. “If you see the way we’re going, I’ll be forced to kill you.” She could hear the grin in his voice.
“Come on, Billy, can’t you tell me?”
“It’s a surprise!” he insisted. “You’ll see when we get there.”
After what felt like a lifetime of bumpy roads but was probably only about twenty minutes, Billy finally put the car into park.
“Can I—?”
“Not yet!” He opened the car door and got out. “Don’t peek!” She could hear him rummaging around in the trunk, and then her door was opening and he was taking her hand and guiding her out of the car. “We have to walk a little way, okay?”
“Okay,” she breathed, confused.
“It’s worth it, trust me.” He led her along, and she could feel the gritty dirt beneath their feet.
“Billy, where are we?”
“Almost there,” he said and continued walking, his hand warm against hers. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Wait here for just a moment.” She stood impatiently, scuffing her feet in the dirt, glad she was wearing her boots instead of the heels she’d originally chosen. “Okay,” he said again, his voice coming from behind her. His hands brushed against her shoulders as he raised them to remove the blindfold. “Now you can look.”
She gasped. They were standing on a ridge overlooking the lake; Billy had laid out a blanket and picnic basket – things she hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying – and the sun was just starting to set on the other side of the lake. She turned to look at him.
“So?” he asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice for the first time that night.
“It’s—” She couldn’t find the words, so she settled for kissing him. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.
Their meal was light, sandwiches and chips and macaroni salad from the grocery store, topped off with cool beer. Ellen laughed when she turned to see Billy shoveling macaroni in his mouth like there was no tomorrow, only for him to be chagrined when he realized he’d eaten most of what was in the container. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly around the food in his mouth, offering her the dish.
She shook her head. “I’m full,” she explained, stretching her arms into the sky and lying back against the blanket.
He swallowed the last bite of macaroni. “But we haven’t gotten to the dessert yet!”
She sat up on her elbows. “Dessert?”
He dipped a hand into the picnic basket and pulled out a small box of cherries. “Dessert,” he repeated, pulling a cherry out of the bundle and putting it in his mouth, stem and all. After a few moments of intense concentration, he pulled the stem back out. It was tied in a neat little knot.
“How’d you do that?”
“Easy.” He tossed a second cherry into his mouth and pulled the knotted stem out a few moments later.
“Are you going to share those or eat them all yourself?” Ellen asked with a smile.
“I thought you were full,” he countered, moving closer to her.
“Please, Billy?” She pouted. “Share?”
“Alright,” he sighed, picking up a cherry and popping it in his mouth, only to spit out the seed a moment later.
“Ass!” she began to say, but she was cut off when Billy kissed her. She could taste the juice from the cherry mingled with something distinctly Billy. She surged upward and kissed him back fiercely, heart stuttering as a hand found its way under her shirt.
She shivered as he slowly began to raise her shirt, inching his way up her torso with kisses until he could pull her top over her head. He stopped for a moment to palm her breasts, eliciting goosebumps all across her skin.
“Please tell me you brought condoms,” she whispered breathlessly.
She could feel his grin against her collarbone as he spoke. “I thought it’d be best to be prepared.”
--------------------
The weeks after her birthday were marked by phone calls at home from Billy. Actual visits were few and far between, but his voice over the crackling line never failed to bring a smile to Ellen’s face. He’d call to tell her stupid jokes he’d thought up or to tell her stories he’d picked up on his travels. Sometimes he’d ask her to tell him something new, and she’d have to come up with a story from her childhood, the steady rhythm of his breathing the only thing to prove he was still on the other end of the line. Occasionally, he’d whisper in her ear just what he’d like to do to her, his voice deepening with every hitch of her breath.
And then one night he called her while she was at work.
“Ellen? There’s somebody on the phone for you,” Bob said, concern in his voice. “Sounds real urgent. You can take it in my office.”
Ellen smiled. “Thanks, Bob.” She passed her orders along to Amanda and went into Bob’s office. “Hello?”
“Elle?” Billy’s voice was tight, like he was in pain.
“Billy? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m at your place. Hope you don’t mind—” a sharp intake of breath “—I let myself in.” He paused and she could hear his uneven breathing over the phone. “Hey, you think – could you pick up some painkillers on your way home from work tonight?”
“Billy Harvelle, what the hell is going on?” She tried not to let panic seep into her voice, but she knew she wasn’t succeeding.
“Don’t worry ‘bout me, Elle. I just… got a little beat up on my last job.”
She scowled at the phone. “How the hell do you get beat up writing down ghost stories?”
“It happens.” He tried to chuckle, but the laugh sounded more like a gasp of pain.
“Dammit, Bill. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hung up the phone and went back into the main restaurant, heading for the bar where Bob was chatting with some of his regulars. When he saw her, he excused himself and came toward her.
“You got trouble at home?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “I think it might be best if I go get it taken care of.”
He nodded. “I’ll have Amanda take your tables for you.”
“Thanks, Bob, you’re the best. Tell Amanda I owe her one.”
She hurried home, too worried to even care that she still wore her work apron. Billy’s car was parked haphazardly outside her apartment building. That only made her worry increase. She parked, stumbled out of the truck, and raced up the steps two at a time. The door to her apartment was slightly ajar, and the doorknob had a smudge of blood on it.
“Billy?” she called as she walked in, dreading what she would see.
“Yeah?” He was sprawled across her couch, clutching a reddening towel to his side.
“Shit, what happened?” she asked, falling onto her knees beside him.
“Was hunting down a poltergeist over in Sayre. Bastard flung a knife at me. Got me in the side.”
Ellen frowned at him.
“A poltergeist? And somebody knifed you? You’re not making any sense. We should get you to the emergency room.” She began to rise, mentally trying to figure out if she would have the strength to help him move if he needed.
“No!” He surged forward and then laid back again. “Just… you’re good with needle and thread, right?” He waited for her to nod slowly before continuing. “Give me something to hold onto and stitch me up, okay? Not worth the hospital bill.” She started to protest, but he grabbed her hand. “Please.”
“But you’re… There’s so much—” She felt a little faint, her eyes darting between his face and the wound in his side.
“Ellen!” The sharpness in his voice snapped her from her stupor. “Please.”
“Okay,” she breathed. “Let me… I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom.” She grabbed the kit and some extra towels and returned to where he lay. She handed him an ace bandage to squeeze and slowly peeled back the sodden towel, trying to ignore the way he hissed in pain. She methodically cleaned the wound, startlingly efficient despite her shaky hands. “What happened?” she asked softly.
“I was in Sayre on a job. It was a poltergeist.”
“And you got into a fight with a local historian?” she attempted to joke, hoping he’d laugh with her.
“No,” he sighed. “It was the poltergeist. Got me with a steak knife.”
She paused in her work to glare at him. “The truth, Billy.”
“Elle – you gotta believe me. I lied to you about the book. I don’t just write down ghost stories; I hunt ghosts down and take them out.”
“Now’s not the time to be shitting me.”
He stared back at her. “I’m not. I swear. And I’ll understand if you want to finish patching me up and kick me out for good, but it’s the truth. There’s things out there – things you wouldn’t believe unless you saw them, and maybe not even then. Ghosts, werewolves, demons – they’re all real. And I chase ‘em down so they can’t hurt anyone.”
She frowned down at her stitches, trying to decide if he was delirious or just drunk. It was one thing when he told her some of the stories he’d heard, but this was getting scary. If he’d lost enough blood to be delirious…
“Billy, we really should take you to the hospital.”
“I-I know what you’re thinking. I’m suffering from blood-loss right?” He shook his head. “I’m tellin’ you the truth, Ellen. I swear.”
“You should get some rest.” She stood, gathering up the bloody towels as she went.
Billy closed his eyes and pursed his lips. “My older brother was drafted in 1968,” he began slowly. “I was only ten at the time, so I didn’t really get it. Joe was just going on a vacation and he’d come back a hero, you know?”
She froze. He’d never mentioned having a brother before.
“When he came back, he was different. That war took so much out of so many people. He was hardly recognizable – a mere shadow of what he’d once been. He had nightmares every night, and all I could do was lie awake in the next room and listen to him scream.” He looked down at his hands, still stained red from his own blood. Ellen silently handed him a damp rag, and he wiped his hands distractedly. “We moved to Georgia – my parents thought it’d be good for him to have a change of scenery, but it didn’t help any. I finally asked him about the nightmares, and he tried to pass them off as nothing.”
He looked up at her. “Years later, he told me what had happened. They were in the jungles of ‘Nam, hunkered down in makeshift foxholes. A couple of friendlies showed up and started opening fire on them. No rhyme or reason to it, no way they could have been mistaken for Cong. Joe said they were lucky. They had a guy – Jim Murphy – who knew exactly what was up. He started shouting in Latin, and the two guys hissed, their eyes turning black. Both of ‘em flung their heads back and black smoke poured from their mouths. Afterward, they fell to the ground, dead from their wounds.”
He looked her in the eye.
“They’d been possessed, and the memories haunted my brother for the rest of his life.” He looked away again and said quietly, “Joe took his own life not long after he told me. He couldn’t take the nightmares anymore. I left home to find Jim Murphy – I didn’t want the same thing happening to anyone else.”
“Did you find him?”
He smiled tightly. “I did. He showed me the ropes, and I’ve been hunting ghosts and the like ever since.”
“You’re crazy. Or delirious.”
He shook his head. “I’m not. Ellen, I’ve not told anybody that whole story except for you and Jim. Not even Bobby Singer’s heard all of it. You gotta believe me. Please.”
“You can stay on the couch for the night, but tomorrow you should probably go.” She picked up the bloody rags and first aid kit again, moving into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She dumped the towels in the tub and stored the kit under the sink before washing her hands and splashing her face with water.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She was still wearing her work clothes, her cowgirl shirt and her apron stained with grease, sweat, and now blood. It was gonna be a bitch getting that out – she’d probably just have to buy new ones.
What Billy had said was crazy and he wasn’t thinking straight, no doubt due to the pain he was in. But then again… he joked all the time about hunting ghosts, told her in great detail about the ghost stories he’d picked up. He was crazy – it was crazy – but she almost believed him. She almost wanted to believe him. He was the best thing to come into her life in a long time, and it didn’t seem fair that he’d be crazy.
Sighing, she stepped out of the bathroom to find Billy snoring gently on the couch. She laid a blanket across him, careful of the white bandage she’d placed over the stitches in his side.
She retreated to her room and slowly stripped out of her blood-stained clothes, dropping them in a pile by the door before putting on her pajamas and sliding into bed. Sleep was slow to come, and when it finally did, it was restless.
When she awoke in the morning, she felt more tired than she had when she went to bed. Still, she’d thought it over and had decided that crazy or not, she loved Billy. She wasn’t sure whether she believed everything he had told her (surely demons weren’t real), but he’d been nothing but good to her since they’d met. She came out of her room only to find the blanket folded and set on one end of the couch, the blood wiped off the doorknob, and a note on the coffee table. It had a phone number and a simple message: Call if you change your mind.
She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
It rang twice before anyone answered. “Roadhouse,” said a gruff voice that sounded like too many shots of whiskey.
“He-hello? Is Billy there?” she responded, knowing it was a long-shot that he’d gotten to wherever this ‘Roadhouse’ was.
“Bill Harvelle? Sorry, lady, he ain’t here. Said he had business down in Texas. Prolly won’t be back for a few days more.”
“Oh.”
“You wanna leave a message?”
“N-no. I’ll try again in a few days.”
When she called later that week, it was Billy who answered. “I didn’t think you’d call,” he said, audible relief seeping through the crackle and background noise of the line.
“I almost didn’t.” It was true; it had been hard enough to try calling the first time, and she nearly didn’t attempt the second call. She had even thrown the scrap of paper with the number away, only to dig it back out of the trash bin an hour later and dial with shaky hands. “I still think you’re crazy,” she said quickly. “But I was worried, and I wanted to make sure you got where you were headed okay.”
“You did, huh?” She could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Yeah. And, well, if you’re not dead, I guess that’s it, then. I—” She stopped short when she heard glass crashing on his end. “Where are you anyway?”
“I found me a job, Elle. I was gonna tell you, but I didn’t get the chance the other night.”
“A job?”
“Yeah, I’m working at a roadhouse here in Nebraska. The guy – Herb, you probably spoke to him earlier this week – he’s semi-retired and wants me to take over. And I’m thinking I’ll take the offer. It’s good – it’s good to not be on the road all the time, you know?”
“Oh.”
Billy hesitated. “The worst thing, of course, is that I won’t be around as much. I’ll still come visit you – if you want me to, that is—”
“Yes!” She blushed, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I mean, that’d be nice.”
The boom of Billy’s laugh covered up any other noise going on around him. “Good. Good.”
“Besides, we – you have to explain what you meant the other night, about the poltergeist. Because really, Bill, a poltergeist?”
He chuckled. “How about I come see you next weekend, Elle? I’ll explain it all then.”
--------------------
“So poltergeists and vampires and demons are real?”
“And werewolves and garden-variety ghosts and most urban legends.” Billy smiled. “But Frankenstein’s a fraud and, as far as I know, so’s Bigfoot.”
“You’re nuts.”
“So they tell me.”
“Can you prove it to me?” she asked, still unconvinced.
“That I’m nuts?” he laughed.
She gave him a playful shove. “No. That these things are real.”
Billy took a slow breath. “I can, but I’d rather you trust me.” She started to protest, wanted to say that she needed solid proof, but he put a hand over her mouth. “It’s dangerous, Elle. Hunting – ghost-hunting – isn’t exactly a safe little desk job. I know more than a couple hunters who were taken out by the very creatures they were trying to stop. And if I took you on a hunt… I don’t know if I’d be able to keep you safe.” He looked at her intently. “Will you trust me?”
“I…” She paused and saw how his face fell, as if she’d broken his heart with her disbelief. “Yes. You might be crazy, but I trust you.”
---------------------
After that, things changed slightly between them. The phone calls became more and more frequent, but Billy’s visits were dwindling. He tried to placate her with gifts and sex, but his brief stays couldn’t keep her from missing him.
He missed her birthday in May, and not long after, the phone calls stopped.
She had begun to imagine the worst, when Billy finally returned to Amarillo. It had been almost two full months since she’d last heard his voice, but there he was, standing in the doorway to her apartment. Her first order of business was to slap him as hard as she could.
“Ow, Elle, what was that for?” he asked, rubbing at his cheek.
She set her jaw. “For not callin’ or writin’ or comin’ for well over a month, and leaving me here to worry about you for all that time without even a warning.”
He looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, Elle, it won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” she sniffed, and then she leaned up and kissed him as hard as she could.
He returned the kiss with equal measure and backed her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. She pushed him back against the door, her hands roaming everywhere, desperation and desire and need flooding through her. He laughed against her lips, and she stepped back for a moment.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” he assured her, that infuriatingly wonderful smile of his on his lips. He picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. “Now, where were we?”
---------------------
A month and a half later, Karen finally convinced Ellen to visit the doctor after she’d called in sick to work every day for a week. “The least they can do is give you something to settle your stomach,” her friend said, and Ellen had to agree.
The doctor didn’t have a cure for her, though, and Ellen went home dreading Billy’s next visit.
He called that night and immediately knew something was wrong. “What’s up, Elle?” he asked, concern obvious even over the static on the phone.
“Nothing,” she lied. “I’ve just been sick recently, that’s all.”
“You see a doctor about it?”
“Yeah. Today, actually.”
“What’d he say?”
“Nothing he could do about it. I’ll just have to weather it through. I’ll be all right.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she answered weakly.
“Okay. I’ll be rolling through in a week or so.” He paused. “Love you, babe,” he breathed into the phone and then hung up.
The rest of the week was spent worrying and trying to figure out how to tell Bill the news. Ellen fretted about, nervous to the point that Karen forced her to write out exactly what she would tell him when he showed up.
Finally, Billy got into town on her night off. He took one look at her and said, “Elle? Are you alright?” His concern was written all over his face, and she burst into tears. “Elle?” He led her to the bed that doubled as a couch. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant,” she sobbed, and he blinked at her.
“You’re what?”
“Pregnant, you asshole,” she said through her tears. “And I’m nineteen, and you’re…not, and we’re not married and we don’t have a house or a plan or anything, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Ellen, honey, darling, calm down,” he said forcefully. She hiccuped. “Now, what – exactly – is wrong?”
She turned away from him. “I’m pregnant, Bill,” she whispered. “About a month and a half along.” She looked up at him. “What do we do?”
He raised a hand to her cheek, brushing away her tears and leaned forward so his lips brushed against her forehead. “Ellen Rose Gunnar, would you do me the pleasure of being my wife?”
She pulled away from him. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “If you’ll have me.”
“No.”
“No?” he echoed dumbly.
She bit her lip, unable to look at him. “I-I don’t want you to… I don’t want to be an obligation. I – my – that’s why my parents married.”
“I love you, Ellen,” he said. “Whether you’ve got a baby in your belly or not.”
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A/N: This story has been in the back of my mind for a long time (even before I began writing it out for
mini_nanowrimo). When I first came up with the idea, it was going to be a Dean/Jo AU, and then I decided that Bill Harvelle probably looked like Robert Redford, and I realized that this was his and Ellen’s story. Most of the initial plotting comes pretty directly from the first stanza of the song it was based on.And for those of you curious, there really is a Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, Texas. They serve a 72-oz steak, and if you eat it (and all the sides, salad, and dessert) in one hour, your meal is free. I don’t know if there’s really an all-night diner in Amarillo that serves blueberry pancakes and bacon and eggs, but I’m sure if there was, it’d have blueberry syrup, too.