Chapter Text
It had to be after two. The only source of light was from the streetlamps, every 20 feet and a small hand-cranked flashlight. It bounced as the small figure in a black and purple hoodie, trudged along. There was no one up at this time of the night, and for that Virgil was grateful. He had his hood up, but the limp and his black eye were hard to cover. Every step hurt, and the cold air that was being dragged into his small lungs, made his chest ache. His heavy breaths came in puffs of white cloud, beat up purple Converse splashing through the puddles caused by the misty rain. He knew the route by heart, thankfully. He wouldn’t have been able to navigate his way with this pounding headache. Besides, his mind was far away from the surrounding houses.
. . . .
The door crashed open with a bang, startling Virgil awake. He was alert immediately, heart pounding against his ribs. Panicked, he shoved as much math homework, as he could into his backpack and kicked it into the practically empty closet.
“VIRGIL!!” the shout was deep and angry and just hearing it made Virgil flinch. “GET DOWN HERE NOW!!”
Virgil didn’t even think about hesitating. He flew down the stairs, expertly dodging dirty dishes, bits of food, and empty beer bottles . Father had parties almost every weekend and Virgil was always the one tasked to clean it.
Normally it was something he could do. The next-door neighbor had a carpet cleaner she let him borrow, and Father usually gave him a few days to finish it before he got impatient and demanded Virgil stayed home from school. It was a Monday though, and Virgil already got the kitchen under control, so what in the world could he be mad at?
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS???” Father screamed, spit flying from his beat red face. Virgil closed his eyes briefly, shoulders slumping. Deceit was drunk.
This was going to be painful.
"I FEED YOU, CLOTHE YOU, AND RAISE YOU! AND WHEN I ASK ONE THING IN RETURN, THIS IS WHAT I GET?!?!”
Virgil knew better than to respond. It was smarter to let the man get his anger out before the punches started, so he looked submissively down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, Father.”
Virgil hissed as the side of his face exploded in pain, “HELL YEAH YOU’RE GONNA BE!!”
. . . .
With a start, Virgil realized he’d reached his destination.
He studied the house before him. In the sunlight it was tan with dark brown trim. The driveway was curved, connecting with the garage on the side of the house. There was limestone facing about halfway up the bottom windows which were framed with shutters. It was a homely house, one Virgil considered safe.
Roman’s room was on the second floor. The window was set into the roof, giving it that “Rapunzel's tower” vibe that the exuberant 10 year old loved so much. The ledge was pretty flat, though it looked kinda narrow from Virgil’s spot on the ground.
Now if I could only get up there…
Virgil’s gaze caught on a tree close to the house. It looked a little young, but it might be just the thing to get him into Roman’s room.
The first branch was just barely out of reach so he backed up a few paces and ran at it. The fingers of his right hand closed around it, but slipped off. He hit the ground with a thud, getting up quickly, pants soaked by the cold water.
Sighing, he backed up again …SUCCESS!! Now a new problem arouse. His lungs felt like he’d been punched. He cried out in pain. It took everything he had to hang on to the branch. Eventually, the pain faded to a manageable level and he began to swing, gathering momentum to hook his legs on a parallel branch.
After that, the climb was second nature.
The slick rain and Virgil's bad ankle made it a bit perilous, but he made it to the roof in good time. Now he sat, perched in the tree, about 4 feet from the ledge. It felt like 50 as he wrapped his arms and legs over, hanging like a sloth while he slowly shimmied over the gap, praying that the branch wouldn't break.
As soon as he was safely suspended over the roof tiles, he swung one leg down and pried his hands from the cold wood. For a moment he just lay there, soaking up the feeling of solid wood beneath him, and catching his breath. When his heart-rate had slowed to a normal rate, he rose on his hands and knees, and carefully made his way to the window.
He’d taken the screen off his own window countless times before and wasted no time doing the same to Roman’s.
Virgil pressed his face to the cold glass and peered inside of his friend’s room. The nightlight in the corner wasn’t bright enough to show much, but Roman was usually a light sleeper so he knocked quietly on the glass.
Nothing.
He knocked again, a bit louder this time.
Virgil started to doubt his decision to walk over when a light came on and a sleepy face appeared in his field of vision. He couldn’t help but smirk when Roman spotted him, expression going from tired, confused, surprised, and shocked within the span of a few seconds. The window was quickly opened and Virgil clambered inside.
“HOW DID YOU GET ONTO THE ROOF?!?” Roman stage whispered, staring in shock at his friend.
Virgil shrugged, smirk hidden in the shadows cast by his jacket hood.
“Okay, that can wait. Why are you here? Did something happen? You’re all wet... here.” Roman lead him into the bathroom, disappeared, and came back with a change of clothes. “Put these on, then we’ll talk.”
Virgil blinked as the door to the bathroom closed. Roman took that... surprisingly well.
Honestly, Virgil was a little surprised to find himself at Roman’s. Normally he avoided his friend like the plague when Father had roughed him up, but Virgil was tired. He’d been hiding the bruises for far too long, and though he wasn't delusional, knowing that there was no way out, he wanted just one night of rest.
No Father to keep one eye open for, no yelling, no punching... so Virgil had gone to the one place where he felt “safe”. Roman’s house.
A violent shiver shook his frame, shaking him quite literally out of his thoughts, and he quickly stripped out of everything but his boxers, crossing to the mirror to take a look at the damage.
His mouth turned down when he caught sight of himself. There was a handprint-shaped bruise across his jaw from where his dad had slapped him and his eye was already swelling up.
His arms were covered in various marks from blocking a punch and being held in place, but that was nothing new. However, the watercolor of red, purple, and blue across his ribs and stomach were. Normally he was fast enough to prevent his torso from getting too much damage, but he was tired and his overworked muscles made him slow.
After poking and prodding at his ribs to ensure that nothing was too badly hurt, Virgil turned his attention to his throbbing ankle. He carefully rotated it a few times and let out a sigh of relief. It didn’t seem sprained, just rolled from his jump out of his bedroom window during his escape.
Shivering to himself, he carefully eased into the change of clothes Roman gave him. They were a bit big, but soft, warm, and smelled like safety.
Virgil smiled, snuggling into them as he opened the bathroom door.
Roman glanced up from where he’d been rummaging in a drawer. He threw a pair of socks at The opening door, “Here, they’re fuzzy.”
“Thanks.” Virgil caught them and perched on the edge of Roman's bed to pull them on, cautious of his ribs and ankle. He glanced up at the small gasp Roman made when he came close.
“Virgil! Your eye!! What happened? Do you want me to get some ice?”
Virgil shrunk away from the fingers hovering around his face and put a finger to his lips. Roman fell silent, staring with concern at his friend.
Virgil spoke in a stage whisper, “Yes to the ice. Make sure to grab one of those little towels too. Can you do that without waking anyone up?”
Roman nodded, “Should I tell Dad? He always knows what do do when I get hurt.”
Virgil bit his lip, “No, not this time.” He didn’t want to bring too many people into this. It was already a huge risk coming to Roman. Getting an adult would be the death of him.
Roman paused, reluctant, but eventually nodded and crept to his door, easing it open without a sound. Then he was gone.
Virgil let out a breath he didn't know he’d been holding. One thing at a time .
First he'd patch himself up, then he'd see if he could get Roman to teach him how to cover it up. The exuberant boy was surprisingly good at makeup from all the acting classes and productions he'd been in. And besides, Mrs. Evans was starting to get suspicious.
Then the hardest part. Convincing Roman not to tell. The boy had a heart of gold, but his whole prince persona would probably lead him to ‘vanquish the enemy' himself and Roman was no match for Virgil’s father.
A hand on Virgil’s shoulder startled him and he instinctively flinched, backing into the pillows on Roman’s bed.
“Sorry!” Roman held the first aid kit out in a placating gesture, “I got the whole thing, and a bag of ice. We have towels in the bathroom.”
Virgil focused on slowing his breaths as he accepted the objects, “I'll be right back”
“Wait!” Roman looked torn, “Do you want help? Dad taught me first aid.”
Virgil smiled at his kind-hearted friend, “You've helped plenty already”. Then he was closing the bathroom door.