[FIC] Patchwork Heroes

[riastarstruck]

Title: Patchwork Heroes -Chapter Three
Author:  RiaStarStruck (me!)
Rating: R
Pairing: VAM
Summary:  They were just two regular teenagers for the most part, but when they meet each other they have to start dealing with the demons that lurk in their shadows, and also each others’.
Disclaimer: nope, none of the characters are mine, just the order of the words.
Warnings: abuse, Ref to child abuse, violence, angst. Unbeta’ed.
Authors Notes: bit of a short one this time round, but a decidedly important chapter none the less. Hope you like!

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two


Chapter Three

The sound of the wheels on smooth pavement filled his ears drowning out the low buzzing that was starting to fill his head. His legs shook with exhaustion and his lungs burned at the strain. He felt the board slip out from under him a second before it did, then he was landing on the unforgiving cement with a heavy thud and a curse. He pulled himself up again and grabbed his board, he missed the land again and the thud rang out through the skate park along with his hissed curse as he whipped the blood on his hand off onto his jeans leg.
He didn’t see how the other skaters slowly stopped skating to watch him, he was blind except for the path he had to take, he could see it clearly in his mind, each step laid out in front of the other, a simple process and he hated himself for not being able to complete it. His side hurt and his lungs felt squeezed and tight as his legs protested each time he pushed off again. He landed hard against the ground again, cursing as he felt denim rip, leaving already bruised skin exposed but he reached for his board again anyway.
A thin hand grasped his arm and in the distance he heard a woman’s voice calling his name, he shook the hand away and let out a breath as he pushed off again. When he climbed to his feet once more, noticing absently the blood smeared along the concrete as he steadied himself the hands reached for him again, this time clawing and grasping at his shirt desperately along with the muffled shouts of a woman in the distance. The hands were pulling and batting at him and the buzzing was building in his ears to a painful level, but he couldn’t look away from the steps in front of him, he had to complete the sequence then everything would be fine. Shaking the hands away with more force he stepped onto the board again not hearing the gasp as the hands fell away.
Kick, kick, glide, kick, jump, breath, kick, he jumped again and the ground came up to meet him hard, he crashed with a roll and an ache exploded through his arm when he landed. He muttered to himself and held his arm as he got up again, eyes already looking for his wayward board.
The hands were back, stronger this time, steadier, holding onto his arms pulling him backwards and away from the drop in front of him. The buzzing was growing louder still, loud static that filled his head and wouldn’t stop. He registered the deep accented voice calling his name like a shot a heartbeat after pushing the hands away with more force than before.
Time froze as he watched in slow motion as Ville fell to the hard unyielding concrete. Snapshots flickered in front of his eyes: Ville’s bruised chest; hues of blue and yellow and red across white skin, Ville’s welted back, raised zigzag lines of red and purple seeping blood across a porcelain back, Ville holding his ribs in place as he got up slowly from the couch, Ville's bloody shirt dumped on a white basin as Ville tried to clean the wounds that had reopened.
“Shit, Ville!” He was on his knees beside him and watched with bile in his throat as Ville breathed through gritted teeth. He knew if he’d had less restraint less practice a part of his mind whispered bitterly, he would have been screaming.
“Christ Bam, look at your hands.” Ville was sitting up; breathing heavily trying not to show the pain that burned through his body as he reached for Bam's bloody hands. Ville stumbled as he got up and Bam jumped up to help, steadying him as best he could when he was afraid to touch him.
The rest of the gang arrived then, each averting their eyes, Novak looked green and avoided Bam's gaze watching instead the toe of his scuffed shoe, Bam noticed Dunn was shaking and had shoved his hands deep in his pockets to hide it.
“Come on, we need to get you cleaned up.” He felt Ville pulling at his hands and it was like he was moving through water as he was led unresisting to the public toilets at the other side of the park. As he passed he saw the wounded look on Missy’s face, and he suddenly realised who had been clawing at him. Guilt welled up inside him and he had to look away from her soft brown eyes.

The toilets were dim and cool, the lights cast a green tinge across everything and Ville locked the door and moved purposely around the small space, grabbing handfuls of toilet paper and wetting half, leaving the other half in a neat pile on the basin bench. He met Bam's gaze in the mirror but looked away quickly, busying himself with the paper in his hands.
“Ville... I’m so sorry.” Their eyes met again in the mirror and held this time. Ville’s face relaxed and his eyes lost their pinched look as he smiled gently. Bam noted with despair that it was paler then before and his forehead was damp with perspiration.
“I know, come on. We need to clean you up.” Bam watched as Ville gently washed away the dirt and blood from his hands with slow, precise movements, his touch was gently, soothing against the pain he was beginning to feel from his raw skin. When he dried them off with the dry paper and pulled away Bam felt an unexpected sense of loss pang though him. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Ville's voice was unexpected in the quiet that had settled between them. Bam wordlessly lifted his shirt to his armpit and watched as Ville leaned closer to gently run the paper over his tender skin.
Bam felt himself blushing as the gently hands ran along his side and he looked away from the head that leant close to his exposed skin. He met his own eyes in the mirror above the basin. The fluorescent lights from above cast a strange glow across their skin and accentuated their contours disturbingly. “That everything?” Bam’s knees were raw too but he nodded, cutting Ville off when he opened his mouth to protest.
“I’m fine. What about you?” Ville's shoulders slumped and he glanced quickly away with a sigh he met Bam's gaze in the mirror again.
“My back, it’s...” he trailed off and Bam nodded. He moved away and collected nineteen squares of paper, piling them neatly in his open palm. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Ville struggle to take his top off and he wanted to go and help but he knew it wouldn’t be appreciated. So instead he concentrated on organising the paper into two separate piles and pretended his hands weren’t trembling and that guilt wasn’t clawing at his throat.
Wordlessly Bam wet one pile, and placed the other within reach. Ville turned around and ducked his head so he could hide beneath his hair. Bam bit his lip and swallowed the noise he wanted to make at the sight of his back close up. The sores down the right side of his back had been hurt the most by his fall and a number of welts were weeping blood sluggishly. His whole back looked red and sore, though Bam was pleased to see most of the more superficial wounds were already healed completely and it looked better then the last time he’d glimpsed it.
Delicately, afraid to do more damage Bam pressed the damp paper to the bleeding welts. Ville shivered and looked down at his hands, twisting his rings this way and that to distract himself. Bam worked meticulously across Ville’s back, his touch was feather light and slowly Ville’s tense muscles relaxed.
“Why did you do it?” Ville’s voice was barely above a whisper but it jolted Bam out of his trance like a gun shot.
“Do what?” he asked, matching his breaths to the ones he could feel shivering through the delicate back under his fingertips.
“Why did you keep trying? You were hurting yourself so badly.” Bam blinked at the skin in front of him and slowed his ministrations even more.
“I,” he paused, not knowing how to continue. “I had to do it. I just, I knew how to do it and I just.... I had to do it right.” He frowned at his own vague explanation.
“You were hurting yourself.” Bam shrugged flippantly.
“It’s skateboarding, everyone gets hurt.” Ville tried to turn to face him, but Bam placed his hands against his back to keep him still. Ville settled on watching his face in the mirror.
“Not like that. Bam...” he frowned and bit his lip. “I couldn’t let you keep hurting yourself like that. I couldn’t watch it.” Bam felt something rise in this throat and he stilled his shaking hands completely. He was surprised at how much Ville’s concern warmed him, the others were worried, watched him with fear and concern but Ville’s was so raw, it surprised him. He met Ville’s startling green eyes in the mirror and was surprised to see his own eyes glittering with moisture.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his hands fell to rest on Ville’s waist and he let his eyes trail over Ville’s bruised torso, layer upon layer of yellow and red and purple spreading across the planes of his chest. Instinctively he leant forward and pressed his lips against the unblemished skin at his nape, whispering into the warm skin. ”My patchwork hero.”
Bam pressed his lips against the skin again and felt Ville relax against him entirely. Their eyes met in the mirror and the stayed that way for a moment longer. A loud banging on the locked door jerked them apart abruptly. “Hey you two! We’re going for food, you coming?” Bam ran his hands across his face roughly and for the first time felt the sting of his palms and how hot they felt against his skin.
“Yeah,” his voice cracked and he cleared his roughly. “Yeah, we’ll be out in a second.” Ville was already sliding his t-shirt over his head and down across his mottled torso. He watched in the mirror as the last of the lean torso disappeared under the black cloth.

Ville drew pictures with his fries, swirling the tomato sauce around his plate and making patterns in the red. Occasionally he would make a comment, throw a joke in to the conversation he didn’t really seem to be listening to, seemingly more entranced by the patterns he was making. Occasionally he would swirl his finger across the plate and demolish the fine patterns he’d made and then would lick the fine sheen of sauce and salt off his fingertip.
Bam was subdued, watching his friends with a detached interest, making jokes and sparring with them, laughing at the ridiculous cocktails they were making from all the condiments. Ville caught his eye and grinned when he saw Bam stealthily shaking salt into Novak’s clean drink then let out a loud choking chuckle when Novak spluttered and choked around his large mouthful a moment later. Bam grinned at him, ducking Novak’s wide fist.
For the most part it was as through the incident in the skate park hadn’t even happened. Bam caught the occasional side glance, a cloying flash of some unknown emotion in their eyes as they looked at him silently. Bam had a disturbing feeling the unknown emotion that stained their faces was worry. Ville would catch him staring at the side of his friends turned faces when they looked away as though the glance was just another passing look, and not weighted down with memories of all those moments Bam was less than normal. Ville would smile warmly and continued with his sauce paintings and Bam would be able to forget about the elephant in the room and his raw hands and knees, and the low buzz in the back of his head which just wouldn’t fade away, even now when he was away from the skate park and clouds of white edges.

The group separated and Ville and Bam trailed silently down the street, they were good at silence and Bam found comfort in that. It wasn’t often he could relax into silence that wasn’t heavy with silent scrutiny, like with his parents or discomfort like with his friends.

~*~

The patio doors were open and they sat half in and half out of the kitchen. Ville was twirling a cigarette around his fingers and letting the unseasonably warm breeze play with his curls. Bam sat beside him watching the smoke from his cigarette float up into the night sky, catching the light from the kitchen behind them. It was late; the rest of the Margera family had retired to their rooms hours before but Bam and Ville stayed up late talking casually about nothing at all. Ville took a deep breath, blowing his smoke out in a large plume, destroying the delicate smoke rings he had been creating. Bam shot him a glance and watched as he fiddled mindlessly with his rings.
“When I was younger I used to think it was my fault, that I did something wrong to make him so angry.” He didn’t look up and Bam continued to watch him silently. “He was always so angry. You know, sometimes I almost felt like I’d earned his forgiveness for whatever it was I’d done wrong. After he’d finished beating me up I could almost convince myself that each bruise and bloody lip was for my own good, and it was making me a better person somehow. I was so stupid.” Bam saw tears glitter in his eyes, but they didn’t fall. He wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he knew from experience there was nothing he could do to make the hurt go away.  
“Mum used to protect me, or try to at least. She’d distract him or hide me somewhere. She still tries, but he’s always so angry and he always found me, always had enough energy left for one more round.” Ville cleared his throat and scratched under his eye distractedly before taking a deep drag of his cigarette. “He used to lock me in the hallway closet, it was so small and cramped in there and smelt like old shoes. But I felt safe there, he never hurt me there. The darkness was nice; I didn’t have to look at my ugly face or the bruises when I was hidden in there. Mama always his hers so well, I just looked like a clumsy child and then a violent youth.” He spat the term out as though it tasted bad in his mouth. Bam knew all about being labelled like a miscreant, but he couldn’t imagine anyone believing Ville, sweet, kind, artistic Ville, being like that. The idea was too preposterous for Bam to even humour.  
“She’s the only reason I don’t go, she loves the bastard for some unfathomable reason. Always saying she made him angry, that it was her fault, that he didn’t really mean it. Always protecting him, she’ll fucking swear to god that he didn’t mean what he did.
Didn’t mean to get the blood on the carpet more like, he doesn’t give a shit about us and I wish she would understand that.“ his voice grew sad so swiftly and Bam saw real fear in his eyes. “I hate him; I hate him so much it scares me. But you know the worst part? I never fight, I never stop him, because I know he’ll pass out soon or go off somewhere and I can look after mama, make sure she’s okay. One day he’s going to kill her Bam and I don’t know what I’ll do then.” Ville looked up at him then, and Bam felt his breath stop at the look of absolute fear in his eyes. And then a flare of defiance shot through his eyes. “My music is the one thing I fight him on, he calls it crap, worthless, faggoty. But I won’t give it up, I won’t. Because I never feel more alive than I do in that moment, when I’m up there and they’re listening to my music and it’s like I'm finally letting everything go, all the bullshit and the hurt just disappears and I’m finally alive.” Bam smiled at him, wonder shining in his eyes and nodded.
“Yeah, I know a little something about how that feels. Like your numb the rest of the time except when you’re right there, doing what you love.” Ville looked at him curiously a flare of awe flashed through his eyes and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Bam studied his hands frowning at his fingernails. There was something inside him that told him to trust Ville, like he had Bam with his story.
“When I was eight I went missing for two days. I went to the park, Ape told me to be back for lunch. I was seen leaving the park by a mother at noon and then I was found the next night in my underwear walking down Severance Crossing at one in the morning.” He spoke slowly and meticulously, telling the facts as though reading them off a sheet about someone else. “I was bruised all over, had sores around my wrists and ankles from being tied up. And was hurt... everywhere.” his throat burned and tasted like acid. He couldn’t look at Ville; he couldn’t bear to look at his beautiful face and perhaps see it twist with disgust.
“What happened?”Ville’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, and as Bam shot a glance up he noticed that there was no pity or disgust in Ville’s gaze, not even curiosity just gentle reassurance telling Bam silently he was listening.
“I don’t know. I remember going to bed the night before I left. I remember listening to the rain and the TV down stairs. Then the next thing I know I’m being pulled into a police cruiser and wrapped in a blanket.” As he spoke he saw flashes of the few memories he did have, he could almost hear his parents downstairs watching TV and the rain against the window. “Sometimes I have... flashes, a shadow, a fist, a taste in my mouth and... pain. Sometimes I remember being hurt but I don’t remember when it happened or why. The doctors say I repressed the memories, said I wasn’t ready to remember.” He shook his head distractedly, frowning harder down at his hands. “I hate not remembering, it makes me wonder, I’m always wondering. But it hurts when I think about it, it’s like... I’m just hitting my head against a fucking wall.” They were silent for a moment, Ville lit another cigarette and Bam focused on listening to the other teens’ breaths, steady and slow.
“The worst thing is sometimes I miss time, it goes white and then I can’t remember how I got somewhere or what I had just done. It’s weird things, like missing the end of class and snapping out of it in the empty gym locker room. Other times, I do something crazy, go into a rage and smash things, or jump of the roof into a half filled pool, or drive the car into a frozen lake. I don’t remember doing it, but I can piece together what I did from other people.” He glanced up and saw Ville watching him steadily, Bam met his gaze. They stayed like that for a while, they eyes locked in silent communication, a silent comradeship between battered souls.
“I sometimes think I want to forget what he does to me, want to forget the burst of pain when his fists make contact or mamas screams, she always screams. But it would be worst if I couldn’t remember, if I didn’t know what he did.” Bam felt a tear escape and trail down his face, Ville caught it just before it took the plunge off his chin, brushing it away with a gentle, calloused finger.
“You know, I kinda wish I could sleepwalk through the dance next week.” Bam whispered wryer, Ville grinned.
“Why? You don’t wanna dance in a smart suit to crappy music?” he teased, grinning crookedly and suddenly the mood was lifted.
“The music alone is the stuff of nightmares, but the dancing? That just takes it to a whole new level.”Bam widened his eyes in mock fear causing Ville to snort out a laugh, shaking his head so his messy curls hit him in the face.
“The dancing? But Bam that’s the easiest part!” Ville was laughing now and Bam felt the last bit of heaviness in his heart disappear.
“Of course it’s the easy part for you! You almost dance when you walk! We aren’t all as elegant as you!” Bam blushed when he realised what he said and Ville smiled again, his cheeks rosy.
“You should be good at it! Skateboarding is elegant!” Ville leaned forward over the arm of his chair to extinguish his cigarette, glancing up at Bam through his lashes.
“Not dancing elegant.” Bam muttered dryly causing Ville to grin even wider.
“Come on, up, I’m going to teach you to dance so you don’t ruin poor Missy’s evening and make a complete fool of yourself.” Ville uncurled his tall frame and stood up as Bam rolled his eyes.
“Gee thanks” he muttered darkly, slumping down further into his seat.
“Up, now.” Ville commanded, extending his hand to Bam who eyed it warily.
“You’re serious aren’t you?” his voice was incredulous and Ville nodded firmly.
“Completely. Now up.” Bam took the hand slowly and allowed Ville to jerk him up to his feet. They stood toe to toe and Ville grinned at Bam's frightened expression.“ Hold my waist,” he instructed “Move closer, good, now, feel the music.” They started to sway gently, Ville’s side felt hot under Bam's hand and he held the thin material of his t-shirt loosely in his fist.
“There isn’t any.” He muttered to distract himself from the feeling of Ville's warm hand in his and the way their bodies brushed against each other from their proximity.
“Doesn’t matter” Ville whispered, leaning impossibly closer as he began to hum gently under his breath. “See, it’s not so hard.” He murmured softly before returning to his song which he hummed softly against Bam's ear. They moved in a slow circle in the half light of the open patio doors. Ville's shirt was soft under his hand and slipped against Ville's side when Bam shifted his hand. Bam pulled back marginally and their eyes met. Bam smiled gently up at the tall fin as their foreheads touched, Ville's breath ghosted over his face in gentle puffs. He didn’t feel any of the usual discomfort he felt at such close proximity, he just felt warm and safe in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He licked his dry lips and watched as Ville's green eyes traced the movement and suddenly he wanted to lick them again, but not to wet them, just to watch those eyes trail over him again.
Heavy footsteps moved towards the kitchen and Bam heard Phil mutter sleepily to himself. Ville pulled back and sat back down on his chair, Bam followed suit and watched as his father wandered around the kitchen getting himself a glass of water and a slice of cake from the fridge. He didn’t look at Ville when he heard Phil exit the kitchen; they sunk into silence as they both watched the night sky above them.

Chapter Four

A/N please comment, because comments are love and love is good!