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The Lynch Home bathroom was illuminated only by a dream on the sink counter. A sort of home grown nightlight. It looked like lightning bugs in a jar. Adam dragged Ronan into the dim bathroom and both of them collapsed against the cool tile floor, too exhausted to hold each other up any longer.
The black sludge on Ronan’s face seemed even darker and deeper in the dim and Adam had to look away or risk his stomach revolting. Again. Ronan swayed backwards and Adam barely got an arm around his waist before he fell. Adam had no idea what he was doing. His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't keep a grip on Ronan's shirt and he'd stopped being able to feel his legs half an hour ago. Every time he caught a glimpse of his red wrists, he gagged and had to collect himself.
He didn't know how he managed to get Ronan's shirt off or how his knees were supporting him long enough to tug off his boots and socks, how his fingers could still on the clasps of Ronan's bracelets to take them off. But he did manage because that's what he fucking did. Adam Parrish figured shit out, especially in times of the worst fucking duress of his life. Jesus, less than a year ago, he was newly half deaf and alone in a hospital, and thought it'd never get worse than that.
"Come on, Lynch. Stand up again. I can’t just drop you in the shower in your jeans." He was torn between looking at Ronan's face for any sense of camaraderie and partnership and seeing the black shit that was still all over him. It was worse than Adam's wrists.
Ronan protested weakly, fingers scrabbling towards his bracelets like they were a life line he needed. And though Adam completely understood in the moment, he also knew Ronan had to get in the shower. He set them on the counter and grabbed Ronan’s hand instead. “Up, Lynch,” he ordered, hauling Ronan up with him.
A height difference that normally barely noticed was working against them as Ronan leaned heavily on Adam’s shoulder while Adam tried to undo the button and zipper of his jeans without sending them careening to the floor again.
“Move, Parrish. Got it. I got it,” Ronan finally muttered, swatting at Adam’s hands, one arm going to the counter to support himself while he got to fight with his jeans.
Adam took a shaky breath, watched him for a second, and then turned to get the shower started, stripping out of his shirt and pants too while he waited for it to warm and adjust. He wanted to bur his clothes and never look at them again and hated that it probably wasn’t a possibility since somehow they were still going to have to go to school and take classes and pretend that everything was okay because it felt like things were never going to be okay again.
“Adam,” Ronan said smally, and Adam turned in time to catch Ronan against his chest. His mind was a million miles away from the bare skin on his, his hands sliding over Ronan’s lower back and legs as he tried to half carry him into the shower. Ronan collapsed to the ground as soon as they were past the door, but that was fine, because the shower had a showerhead with a hose and Adam could bring it to Ronan. He grabbed a washcloth and kneeled in front of Ronan, smoothing a hand over Ronan’s arm until Ronan looked over at him. “Where’s Gansey?” he asked, voice weak and wrecked.
“He’s at the hospital with Blue. Remember, I drove all of us over there but you couldn’t go in because of your face. Blue’s gonna take him home. He’ll be with the psychics tonight,” Adam explained softly.
He gently wiped at Ronan’s face, scrubbing soap into the rag when he needed to. The sludge didn’t come off easy and Adam kept stopping every time Ronan’s skin turned red with scrubbing, so it was a long process. Ronan’s eyes were hazy or shut for most of it, not that he was trying to be a burden on Adam. Hell, two weeks ago, he was losing his fucking mind over Adam maybe wanting to hold his hand and now he had Adam piled into a shower with him.
But it was all wrong. Adam’s wrists were bruised and he was covered in dirt and rain and sweat and his eyes, usually so unbelievably bright and knowing and sharp, were red rimmed and exhausted. “I’m so sorry, Parrish,” he eventually said, eating an edge of the wash rag unintentionally.
Adam physically jolted in front of him and looked up at Ronan. “What? What could you possibly be sorry for? You didn't do anything If anything I should..." Adam’s words choked off and Ronan saw him look to the bruises around his throat before glancing away. Ronan had been going to let Adam kill him, without a second’s hesitation. It wasn’t even a question. And he knew he should be sorry for that. Sorry that Adam, who needed to control every single damn part of his life and his narrative, was taken over by something that Ronan and all this Greywarren bullshit had brought on him. Without Ronan, Adam would be safe working too late and sleeping too little and half living in an auto shop. Without Ronan, Adam would’ve never found a dream forest, would’ve never had a dream forest, to give himself over to.
Jesus, from the very beginning, Adam had been giving up his control for Ronan. To Ronan, if he wanted to read too deeply into the connection between him and Cabeswater.
And now it was missing from his head like a physical ache and he could tell by the way Adam’s fingers twitched towards a solution, a spirit that wasn’t there anymore, he felt it too. And it was all Ronan’s fucking fault.
“I should’ve done more,” he eventually said.
“"Ronan, you're...bleeding, or whatever, from your literal eyes. If you'd done anymore..." Adam cut himself off when he realized he was about to say 'I wouldn't still have you.' Instead, he pressed his hand over Ronan's ribs and then stood so quickly he almost fell over. Ronan reached for him, selfishly wanted to keep him there, keep him close.
But Adam just reached out of the shower to flick on the heater and then kneeled back down in front of him.
“Why are you wearing boxers if I have to be naked?” Ronan asked, going for anything to get Adam out of his own head, even though he was exhausted himself and wanted silence and Adam pressed up against him.
But it seemed to work because Adam blushed furiously and pointedly kept his eyes at Ronan’s chest and above. “My boxers cost a dollar a pair. Yours are designer.”
“They still go into the wash, Parrish. Calvin Klein made them with water in mind.”
Adam glared at him, but it was half hearted. Then he shifted and laid across the shower floor and Ronan followed, resting his head on Adam’s shoulder. The water pooled around them and they were both freezing in the cool air and their wet skin, but neither of them moved to get the hose put somewhere useful.
“You’re the first person to ever touch me like I’m in danger,” Ronan muttered softly. “And not the dangerous thing that needed to be controlled.”
“A demon crawled into my head and liked what it found, Lynch,” Adam muttered. “You’re not the dangerous one here.”
And wasn’t that the fucking kicker? Since the night terror and his wrists, everyone in his life--Gansey and Declan, really. That made his whole life--treated him like he was about to explode and hurt everyone around him. But that hadn’t ever been his goal. Hurting himself, fine. But not the people around him. (Except maybe Declan every now and then in a fist fight) But then the demon from his own quests and magical abilities decided Adam Parrish, unassuming and kind and smart and beautiful Adam Parrish, was the most dangerous player on the board.
And Ronan had seen why. It didn’t have anything to do with the biting comments and rash decisions Adam was so good at, or the quick temper he was slowly, so fucking slowly, learning to control, or the diabolical way his mind worked when he had a goal in mind. It was that everyone around Adam loved him and no one wanted to hurt him. The demon that undid all the light and goodness that Ronan made, saw Adam Parrish as the brightest light in his life and tried to snuff it out.
“I need to get your neck,” Adam said and sounded fucking terrified at the idea, so Ronan reached for his hand and worked the cloth free to scrub at his own neck. He could feel enough of the black shit to know when he was making progress and when he wasn’t and he kept the cloth between his skin and Adam’s eyeline so he couldn’t see the bruises.
“Done,” he said and his throat hurt even worse. He just wanted this night to be over. He doubted he’d feel any better tomorrow, but at least they’d have put time between themselves and the demon and the...loss. Jesus, it felt like insurmountable loss. His mother, Adam, Matthew, Cabeswater. Gansey.
“Where’s Gansey?” he asked and felt Adam turn his head to look over at him.
“He’s with Blue,” Adam said softly, worrying tinging his voice. He held onto Ronan’s hand tightly and moved them over his own chest so Ronan could feel his heartbeat. “We can call her if you want.”
Ronan shook his head roughly. “I want to go to bed,” he muttered.
It took several minutes for either one of them to think about sit up. It was too easy to just lay with each other on the cold tile and know that they were alive and as safe as could be.
“Your eyelashes are so long,” Adam muttered eventually.
Ronan’s eyes fluttered open--he hadn’t even realized he’d shut them--and he looked at Adam intently. “They’re not that long,” he muttered. “Your eyes are so fuckin’ blue.”
“They’re not that blue,” Adam teased, leaning his forehead against Ronan’s temple. Ronan could feel him grow more serious in the next seconds. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“I am too, Parrish. But...it’s not on either of us. And I know it don’t feel true right now and maybe we don’t want to hear it, but it’s not our fault.”
Adam nodded softly and rubbed his hand over Ronan’s chest gently. “It's not our fault," he agreed. "It's not any of ours fault. It was fated from the beginning. We were meant to all be there. Gansey in Henry's coat and Blue with her curse and me and you there to sway Cabeswater's sacrifice. It had to happen like this. Nothing we did would've changed it. Blue and I saw it in Cabeswater, in that tree.”
Ronan swallowed and held his hand over Adam’s, clumsily lacing their fingers. “This shit in my mouth tastes like literal fucking death,” he said, and a second later, Adam was passing over the shower head for him to rinse his mouth out with.
They had to awkwardly sit up, slick skin sliding on the wet floor, feet and knees and elbows finding body parts along the way. Ronan washed out his mouth and then hosed himself down again, just in case they’d missed something that had dripped into his clothes, even tried to clean his ears out, though that may have to wait until tomorrow.
He turned off the water and shakily got to his feet, pulling Adam up with him. Without saying anything, they crashed into each other, hugging each other tight enough that their ribs ached.
Adam reached for the towel on the door of the shower and dried them off, moving between their bodies like they were the same person. He dried off his own hair last and then kicked his soaking boxers off. Ronan stayed as modest as Adam had, but only because there were dark bruises along Adam’s waist and thighs, from the demon thrashing Adam’s body around in the car, that kept him distracted.
They stayed wrapped around each other as they made their way to the bedroom, pulled on some of Ronan’s boxers, and fell into bed together.
“Where’s…” Ronan started, before he relaxed in the warm blankets. Hospital. Blue. Psychics. They were all alive and okay. He’d call Declan tomorrow, give him a more in depth explanation than what Adam got out in broken pants and choked off sobs earlier on the drive home. “It’s over,” he muttered. Glendower, Noah’s painful fits, the demon, Cabeswater. “It’s all really over.”
“It can only get better,” Adam pointed out a little drily.
Ronan curled an arm around Adam’s waist and pulled him close. He was never letting go.