FIC: Sunset Ave. (1/?) (The Green Mile)
Title: Sunset Ave. (1/?)
Fandom: The Green Mile AU
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Billy.Percy
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don't own either Billy nor Percy, just the plot and everyone else in it.
A/N: Okay, so i've decided it's about time i upload this. It's been hanging about my computer for almost half a year. I only have the first four chapters written, so i'll see what you guys think! It's an AU, set in the 1920s/30's. I've made Billy and Percy teenagers in this and it is a slash, so don't like, don't read. Contains the usual rude, Billy the Kid attitude and language (except, it's safe to say there's no freaky paedoness in this). So, here's the first chapter! Comments are love! Cross-posted on fanfiction.net
Sunset Ave.
Chapter One
Anywhere, but here
The crackling radio was turned up loud in the red, dirt flecked truck; it was a pick up, the back filled with crates and farming tools. It was speeding down the bumpy road towards the town, kicking up dust as it went.
The driver was a gray haired man and he sung along to the music at the top of his scratchy voice. Sat on the other side was Rob; eleven years old with untidy black hair and a sulky looking face.
In the middle, William Wharton sat, wiping sweat from his brow. It was another hot summer in the south.
‘I don’t see why we have t’come,’ Rob complained loudly. ‘I was happy working on the farm. I din do no bad. It was ‘im.’
‘Stop ya whinnying,’ Kenny replied, shaking his head. The wind blew in from the open windows as they approached town. ‘It’s yaw momma who wants y’all to come to Sunday School. Not my choice.’
‘Why dun’t Ben have to go? Huh?’ Kenny reached over Billy to slap Rob on the side of the head.
‘I said shurrup.’ Rob scowled, folding his arms over his chest and glaring out the window. They drove into town, passing barbers and other small shops. The town was only small, but had all the necessaries. Kenny pulled up outside the church; it was large and window and obviously the main attraction of the place. Rob was the first out the car. He was wearing dirty blue overalls and mud streaked his nose, but he didn’t care. He was still sulking at having to come when they’d already had their church service that morning.
Billy Wharton slid out after him; the seventeen year old looked around, eyes narrowed against the sun, brown hair stuck up at the back. He wasn’t quite as dirty as his younger brother, but still looked like he hadn’t bothered. ‘I’ll pick yer up in a couple of hours,’ their father called, before pulling away. Wharton watched him drive off, before pushing Rob towards the entrance.
‘Get movin, you,’ he muttered. Rob’s scowl deepened and he shook him off, walking ahead.
‘S’all yer fault,’ he said, angrily. ‘If yer just did as y’ere told, we wouldn’t be comin ‘ere. Yer so stupid, William.’
‘S’not William,’ he growled in reply as they opened the wooden door and stepped inside the small entrance area. ‘It’s Billy the Kid; now y’all call me that or I’ll beat you and I swear it.’ Rob pulled a face, but kept quiet out of experience. An elderly lady looked up from the desk she was working at, glanced back at the printed paper she was holding, smiled and stood up.
‘Hello. I’m Mrs. Lakeley. You must be William and Robert?’ she said in a voice that was definitely not southern.
‘Ah, no, yer goan call ‘im Billy the Kid,’ the younger brother muttered. The woman looked from one to the other in slight confusion, before smiling again.
‘Well, I’m guessing you’re Robert?’ she asked, coming around the desk to stand in front of them. He nodded. ‘Okay, follow me; I’ll take you through.’ She walked through the big doors and into the main church area. This was where the children (below the age of eighteen) got taught by tutors every Sunday. No blacks of course. It was segregated as always; their church would be some where else, well away.
They were split into age groups; Mrs. Lakeley dumping Rob in a group his age. The tutor was teaching math there. She led Billy along till they got to the back, where the biggest group sat. There were about twenty of them and few girls. ‘This is Mister Wharton,’ Lakeley introduced. The tutor stopped reading and looked up with a smile. He was about thirty years old with hair combed to the side and a kind face. He was holding a book in his hands.
‘Better late then never,’ he said, before gesturing to the pews. ‘You can sit.’ Wharton glanced around; most of them were gathered in front of the man, but there was one boy sat right at the back by the window, a glum expression on his face. Wharton sat down at the other end of the pew from him, slumping and leaning back against the wall. The other boy was smaller than Billy, hair neatly combed back. He looked at Wharton, then back out the window.
‘Carry on, sir,’ urged one of the girls; there were four in the group in total.
‘Please, Mr Darkfield,’ another boy begged. The tutor paused, watching as Lakeley walked out, before smiling.
‘We’re reading Bomba the Jungle Boy,’ he told Billy.
‘Never heard of it,’ he replied. Darkfield nodded, looking back at the page before he continued. Billy sighed out of boredom, noticing the boy was staring at him again. Wharton stared back, until the other grew uncomfortable and looked away.
There was a small pot of pencils on each pew. Wharton took one and doodled lazily on the wood.
The boy looked over; Wharton looked back and he looked away again. The two played this eye contact game for the next quarter of an hour. Billy now took to throwing pencils whenever he caught him looking.
‘Mr Wharton! Mr Wetmore!’ Darkfield called with a frown.
‘Wetmore?’ cackled Billy and the other boy flushed and looked away.
Percy wasn’t quite sure why he couldn’t take his eyes off the new boy; was it because of the tattoos that decorated his arms? Or because of the way his startling blue eyes grew humorous when he began to chuck the pencils?
Whatever it was, it annoyed him already.
‘Can I have a word, Percy?’ Darkfield asked as everyone else disappeared out the doors. After almost an hour and a half inside the church, finally they were allowed to leave. He looked up, before nodding. Percy stayed sat where he was, as the older man came forward and leaned against the pew in front. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ shrugged Percy. ‘Why?’
‘You just seemed distracted lately, that’s all.’ Percy shrugged again before getting to his feet. He looked back at the tutor, before sighing and walking towards the church exit. Darkfield was right; Percy was quite distracted recently, his thoughts fearful; would his mother be home when he returned from church? She’d threatened his father many times on leaving and Percy was sure she meant it sometimes.
Or would he find his father with a woman ten years his junior, giggling and flirting on the porch while mother tidied up inside. Not that she needed to clean; they had a maid called Odessa. She had the darkest skin Percy had ever seen and big round brown eyes that looked too big for her face. But he didn’t care much for her and she never really crossed his mind.
Percy was jerked from his thoughts as he stumbled. Wharton withdrew his foot with a burst of laughter as Percy managed to balance himself before he fell face flat on the floor.
‘Almost gotcha!’ Billy laughed; it was a wild laugh. Exaggerated. Percy scowled, turning to stare at the taller boy; he was about his age. ‘What was you lookin at me for?’ Wharton asked, hands stuffed in the demin pockets of his overalls.
‘I wasn’t lookin at you,’ Percy replied. His accent was more understandable than Wharton’s almost drunken drawl.
‘Yeah, you was. Billy the Kid saw you watchin!’ he gave another cackle, as if this was a very funny joke, before kicking the dirt of the path. ‘I bet you want a bit, dun’t you?’ Wharton grinned as he pointed to his own head. ‘This bit?’ He pointed to his chest. ‘This bit?’
His grin broadened as he reached out to grab Percy’s crotch. ‘This bit?’
‘Get off!’ Percy yelped, jumping backwards. His eyes were wide in disbelief that someone… that he would do that. Especially in a public place. His cheeks were flushed red as he watched Wharton giggle. There was a beeping of a horn and both turned to see a clean Ford pull up beside the church. It was Percy’s father; Henry Wetmore was a respectable man. He always dressed nicely in crisp black suits, hair combed to the side. He was clean shaven, dabbing at the sweat on his face.
Percy almost fled to the car, wanting nothing more than to get away from Billy.
‘See you next Sunday, Purty!’ Wharton yelled after him as Percy slipped into the car. Billy watched it pull away, still grinning.
‘He a friend of yours?’ Henry asked his son, not noticing the flush in his cheeks.
‘No,’ Percy scowled, looking out the window. ‘I’ve never seen him before. He just came today.’
‘He looked like one of the Wharton boys,’ Henry mused. ‘They live out in the farm. Big place. Little rundown. That Pete Wharton was the one giving us trouble last year.’ By us, Henry meant the town. It wasn’t a personal attack; just the eldest Wharton brother and his friends speeding around the town and causing chaos in other nearby towns as well. Percy shrugged, not really caring, because it didn’t matter to him who Billy was or who he was related to.
Henry pulled into the driveway of the tidy looking house. Percy climbed out, running a hand through his hair, before walking up the porch and into the cool house. His mother, Irene, was baking in the kitchen, Odessa stood silent and obediently beside her.
‘Did you have a good day?’ she asked, turning to smile at her son.
‘S’alright,’ Percy replied. Irene smiled again.
‘Well, you go and wash your hands; these’ll be cooked soon.’
--
The Wharton’s farm was a busy place at the best of times; Billy had three brothers and two sisters.
Jessie was the oldest (being twenty eight respectively) and was already married to Patrick Rednapp. She was heavily pregnant and walked with a waddled, so her permanent spot seemed to be the couch.
Next down the line was Don, twenty two years old, before Billy and then Rob. Then, you had seven year old Ben and ten month old Marianne.
Billy’s mom, Maggie, was a tired looking woman, blond hair pulled into a messy bun as she worked around the kitchen, cooking just enough food for them all. Kenny was sat in the armchair, drinking beer.
‘Get yer mucky boots out of my kitchen,’ Maggie snapped at Billy when he came in. He swore at her, earning a clap on the ear, before he kicked his boots off at her and movedinto the kitchen. ‘Now, yer can’t eat here tonight,’ she told her son. William stared at her.
‘Why?’
‘Cause they aint enough,’ she said, dishing stew into chipped bowls. ‘Patrick’s staying round.’
‘But, he don’t even live here!’ Wharton protested in anger. ‘He and Jessie have their own home to go to. Kick em out.’
‘Ah, silence, Kid,’ Patrick laughed as he came in, ruffling Billy’s hair. The younger boy ground his teeth, fists clenched.
‘I’m starvin.’
‘So are we,’ shrugged Patrick; he was a broad man, chewing tobacco. ‘An’ Jessie’s eatin for two.’
‘Do I look like I give a shit?’ Billy snapped. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Watch your mouth, young man,’ scolded Maggie, putting plates on the table. ‘Yer disappear now ‘fore I get the wooden spoon.’ Still swearing angrily under his breath, Billy tugged on his boots and stomped out the house, making sure he slammed the door shut behind him.