Gansey would later have to promise Blue that he hadn’t meant to get tangled up in a dragon attacking the forest. He certainly didn’t have the fighting skills to go up against said dragon.
But people had been in trouble, and neither him or Adam were ones to just sit on their hands. Hands that had been involved in quite a bit since their arrival. And really-- all things considered, Gansey and Adam had both come away relatively unscathed. They’d gotten families to safety, pulled survivors out of rubble, rushed from place to place, frantic and wild.
It wasn’t until the adrenaline wore off and he’d had a chance to breathe that he heard Adam’s intake of breath. Realization dawned that what he thought was just a muscle pull in his side was a gash, a few inches long, with blood seeping through his shirt.
That was how Gansey had ended up directed to a chair and had his shirt up for Adam to poke and prod him. “What’s the prognosis, Dr. Parrish?”
"Stopping the assassination attempt wasn't a close enough call for you?" Adam asked, knowing he was being hypocritical, but it didn't matter because his intense worry had taken over.
Worry was a funny thing, when Adam took the time to think it through. It made his mind freeze up, and his hands shake, and sleep both desperately needed and exhausting all at once. Most of the time Adam was already worrying about something: his relationship with Ronan, his friendship with Gansey, work, school, Cabeswater, being a magician—the magician—and the future, always the future. Worry was where most of his stress came from.
So it was no surprise when after the dragon, his immediate concerns went to Gansey. He had hoped for no injury, and yet—sit, sit, sit Adam was quick to direct Gansey, as if standing a moment longer would cause irreparable damage. Adam had learned enough from his first aid classes with Wen Qing at the clinic to not be helpless in a medical situation, outside of what he already knew out of necessity. But he did not think that his first time using real-world applications would be on his best friend.
Adam made a face at Gansey's wound, and then his brow furrowed deeply. "You shouldn't be so calm about this," Adam said quietly, his fingers coming to gently, hesitantly assess the damage around the wound. It was too close to vital organs than he liked. "I need to find something that can act as an antiseptic, and clean cloth to cover it—"
His eyes caught Gansey's, as he added, "You should probably have this stitched until one of the magic healers is available, but it shouldn't be me."
Gansey glanced over his shoulder to Adam, trying not to move too much. “I don’t think it would do either of us any good if I was freaking out right now.” Truth be told, his hands were shaking a little from their place on his lap. Not as much because of the wound - it hurt, to be sure - but just the adrenaline pushing him out of the fearless territory into the oh shit territory.
He tried to glance down at it, but between the effort of holding his shirt up for Adam and not wanting to twist too much, Gansey could only just see the edges and Adam’s hands. “It must look worse than it feels. Can we do something temporary until they aren’t so swamped? A lot of people were hurt.”
And Gansey wasn’t one to take precedence when it came to medical treatment. He was too selflessly stubborn and annoying about it. “I trust you.” He meant it, as there were very few people Gansey trusted as much as he did Adam. His knee bounced. “I trust your opinion either way - if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, it can wait.”
"It can’t wait," Adam said distractedly, still looking at the damage. The wound was deeper than he expected, and ragged, it still bled enough to be troubling and Adam's fingers were already stained red. His attention caught on Gansey's trembling hands, and there was a part of him that felt untethered. He had been so wholly connected to Gansey for months now, since the bond with Cabeswater, that not having it here drove Adam to go back to his usual Gansey translations: pure observation.
"When you stop shaking from the adrenaline, you're going to feel how worse it is. Just give me a minute, and stay put, I need to find—find supplies." Adam put the back of his hand to his forehead, leaving a streak of blood on his face as he stood up straighter. He mentally cataloged what he would need, then had to supplement that by what was actually available. Being without modern medicine was stressful when Gansey's health was on the line.
He wasn't gone long, though it felt like a lifetime to him, when he returned with what looked like a craft project rather than raw materials for tending to Gansey's wound: cloth, a bottle of dark liquid, various herbs with a pestle and mortar, a needle with dubious looking thread, and a candle that was already lit. He placed it down beside them.
"They let me borrow some wine for a disinfectant, but I'm going to need your help, so—" Adam offered up his hands to get Gansey out of his shirt.
There was a great deal of nervous energy in that seat while Adam disappeared, his knee bouncing and hand running across the fabric of his comfortable trousers. He trusted Adam, explicitly, without hesitation.
But Gansey had also read numerous books that happened to detail out the effects of wound infection before antibiotics had been invented.
Most of those times didn’t have magic, though, and they certainly didn’t have an Adam Parrish with his particular brand of tenacity. Gansey was just blowing out a nervous breath when Adam returned, and he winced a little as they pulled his shirt off.
He purposely avoided looking at the supplies for too long. “I’m glad you specified the wine was for disinfectant. I’ll admit I’m feeling a little annoyed at Cabeswater for not giving me some kind of healing ability with the resurrection but it isn’t as bad as the potential of leeches, at least.”
"You can take it up with Cabeswater when we get back," was all Adam said, taking a deep breath, and wordlessly passing Gansey something to bite down on, before getting to work. The responsibility was overwhelming, but Adam was more than willing—he always had been for Gansey.
Adam was laser-focused, to the point of terrifying. He cleaned the wound with water and wine, he sterilized the needle and knit Gansey's skin together, he muddled a series of herbs, creating a poultice to place against the gash to avoid infection. It wasn't until he picked up the cloth that his own hands were shaking with having to keep them steady and sure. There was no place for him to look uncertain, and the sweat lining his brow now was the only evidence that the task had been difficult.
His fingers were gentle, delicate, as he reached for Gansey's hand and directed it to a piece of the cloth against his side. "Hold this right, yeah, there, while I wrap," Adam said, his voice sounding strained. They weren't out of the woods, but Adam had done the best he could for the situation. Even as he wove the makeshift bandage around Gansey, it didn't feel complete. He would continue to worry until someone better than him could take a look.
"I need you to not do this shit anymore, Gansey," Adam said, keeping his attention on the wrapping. "I need you to stop having close calls."
Gansey had been glad for something to bite down on - had went majority of his life seeing that only in movies or reading it in books and that youthful mind of his almost certainly took painkillers for granted.
For the first time in his stubborn life, he wished he had just agreed to a magical healer. Thankfully by then, the poultice was applied and the burning on Gansey’s side finally started to cool and he was able to let out a breath. He followed Adam’s directions, his face still contorted into a wince just because he hadn’t allowed himself to relax yet.
After Adam’s statement, he finally allowed himself to blow out a breath. He didn’t drop his shoulders just yet, wanting to stay still for Adam as the wrapping went around his midsection. “In my defense, defending people against a dragon attack is a new one for us both.” He turned a softened look to Adam. “Sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”
Adam glanced to Gansey, pausing briefly, before he deflated, just a bit. "I'm not mad at you for defending people. I know what it's like to make decisions in the moment and you're—you're the best of us," Adam admitted quietly, as he continued his tending. It wasn't a secret that he thought the world of Gansey, but maybe he hadn't spoken it out loud enough, shown his best friend enough.
How much of his time his senior year at Aglionby was trying to stop the horror he was mentally gifted in the dreaming tree? The worry had subsided some after his resurrection, but there would always be that thread of concern when Gansey did something dangerous, heroic, kingly. Adam often asked himself how would Ronan handle losing Gansey? It was because he couldn't bear to think what he would do if he lost Gansey.
He twisted off the end of the bandage in a tiny knot and tucked it in a fold. "But you can't tell us to be careful and not be yourself. God, a dragon, Gansey?"
And Adam went to his knees as if the realization finally hit him, and every breath he took was shaky, as if his fear was now deciding to leave his body. "I don't know how much longer we're going to be stuck here and I'm telling you right now, I can't do it alone."
“Adam,” Gansey breathed out the name, with a great deal of feeling. His words of comfort wouldn’t have been much help here - Gansey was probably always going to be the type of person that acted first and thought later. No matter what kind of intentions there were when it came to worrying his family.
“I’m not-- I don’t--” He stumbled over the words, the smooth grain of Richard Campbell Gansey the Third had long since fallen away for just Gansey, especially in this place. He lifted a hand to Adam’s hair, soft and gentle and a little unsure about touching without permission. He did it anyway, but with a hand light enough that Adam could pull away if he wasn’t comfortable.
“You’re not going to do it alone,” he found his voice, his firm voice, the one that could command a room when he wanted to. Now he only wanted to reassure his best friend. “I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere, until we both get out of here together. I promise.”
For someone who had skittered away from physical touch for most of his life, the years after Gansey and the years after being with Ronan, had given Adam the opportunity to understand that it wouldn't always be bad. Physical affection, platonic and romantic, did not have to be something to shy away from. And so when Gansey put his hand in his hair, a comforting gesture with just the intent, Adam sighed softly. He closed his eyes against the emotion it brought forth, and leaned into it.
Adam swallowed thickly, before answering. Words were suddenly difficult to form. "Realistically, I know that. There is not a point in my life where I could doubt you," Adam said, his hand coming to rest on Gansey's knee—another place of contact, another way to ground himself in the moment. "But there are things you and I can't control, and those are the things I worry about."
It sounded ridiculous, Adam knew. He couldn't change the world around them to keep Gansey (or Ronan or anyone he cared about) in relative safety for the rest of their lives. But that didn't mean the impossible thought kept Adam from being frustrated with his inabilities and limitations.
"Another one of those and you might not be so lucky,” Adam said, his free hand coming to ghost over the bandages, as if being too close to touch it might do its own damage now. “I wouldn't change you for the world, Gansey, but I hope that shit hurts so you remember to be a little more careful." Adam wasn't serious, not really, and he added, "Ronan's going to—I don't know. Do you think we'll be able to see a journal tear in real time?"
Gansey wanted to laugh, even as Adam mentioned Ronan, but it didn’t happen. It got caught in his throat before it could bubble over, and what came out was something more like a huff of air. Gansey closed his eyes, letting that connection with Adam hit where it needed to - they didn’t have Cabeswater, but they at least had this.
“I can’t—” He stopped himself, knowing he might be bracing himself for a fight if he didn’t back down. But at the same time, backing down wasn’t Gansey, and Adam could always see right through him. He hated being the reason Adam looked distressed, older than his age and out of sorts. “You are marvelous, and if you think I’m the best of us, it’s only because you haven’t been able to look in a mirror in a while.”
He wasn’t intentionally trying to suck up, Gansey clearly meant every word. “It hurts, and the pain reminds me that I am still with you, but it wasn’t an intent to be reckless. It was just— I spent so long worrying about death, that I know I can’t stop living my life in fear of it. None of us should.”
Adam knew Gansey was trying. The careful consideration he was giving to his words was enough to take the option to fight off the metaphorical table. A younger Adam, one who was always arguing with the world, might have thought it was pity. Might have tried to find a path into an altercation. But their friendship had softened those edges, and while it was impossible to say they would never fight, Adam could judge more accurately the moment when it was worth it.
He slumped a little more and put his head on Gansey's knee. Another closeness, another reminder that he was still here and alive and—giving into Adam's obvious and sometimes unhealthy need to hear praise. He wanted to argue that too.
"No one is going to fault you for wanting to live your life, Gansey. Not that many people get second or third chances. Something wants you to stay around," Adam said, his eyes blurring a second, before he twisted his face up toward Gansey, chin on his leg. It was a selfish need that forced the next words out of Adam: "No one here is scared of death. We're all scared—I'm scared—of being the ones left behind to live a life without you in it."
Gansey made a little noise. One of pain, but not the kind that he’d hissed through his teeth only minutes before. This one was of a little regret mixed with sadness. Gansey had his own host of anxiety, feelings, and post traumatic stress from after both deaths, and both resurrections. Between the first and the second, he had agonized about dying alone, again.
But the second time had been on his own terms, around the people he loved above all others. As long as he was with these people, any of them, Gansey immediately felt more at ease with everything. Adam’s words punched him right in the gut, though, and he had to take a second, his hand just running through Adam’s unkempt hair under his fingers, pushing it back.
“I think that goes for all of us,” He knew it went for him, with every one of them. Losing Noah for good had been-- tough. Take away Blue, Adam, Ronan, Henry-- Gansey wasn’t sure any of them could handle losing another piece of themselves. “Vallo keeps throwing these things at us, and sometimes all we can do is just make it through, together. There’s always going to be something, Adam. But think of what extraordinary lives we have, and what stories we get to keep with us because of it.”
Gansey paused, and tilted his head, going for a little tease while he could. “And what cool scars.”
But think of what extraordinary lives we have, and what stories we get to keep with us because of it. Adam couldn't help but smile despite himself; Gansey a collector of people and of stories. It was what Adam loved about him, a strange way to make things optimistic without being contrite. Adam couldn't bear the thought of losing him, this.
It was strange to think a year ago he was trying to lie to other people that he had a normal life, a normal childhood—no, not normal. Uneventful. Why would he ever want that?
"It's only a good story because you're here to tell it," Adam answered softly, closing his eyes for a slow moment. Ronan had said he could tell the difference between when he was dreaming and when he was awake, but Adam was not always so astute. He allowed himself to feel Gansey's hand pushing back his hair, to feel the sharp physicality of the gesture and the press of his leg under his chin. All very real, all very much here.
He peeled away from Gansey with agonizing slowness, eyeing the bandage again. It would have to be changed again soon with the pin-pricks of blood seeping through. He exhaled, but it was gentler, almost a laugh about cool scars. "How quickly do you think you're going to get sick of lifting up your shirt to show people when it heals?"
Gansey opened his mouth to protest. He had an entire Ted Talks worth of things to say about history having its say on people’s stories - about the ones that kept history alive for others. He could only have ever been so lucky to have someone passionate about the things he did a hundred, two hundred years from now.
But then they were proof positive of that in this very moment, and Gansey tore his eyes away from Adam with great difficulty, to look around them at the ancient world they had been blocking out. “We’ll just have to see how all of this ends up in the history books. There was already-- Strangers, assassins. Now this?” He’d explained the assassination plot to Adam in great detail, directly after.
He’d also walked away from that uninjured, unlike this moment. Still, either the herbs were doing their best to work their magic or Adam’s stitching had been top notch (both, Gansey would guess) but it didn’t feel that bad. Now that there wasn’t a needle to his skin. “It’s almost summer, I have a feeling I’ll be thrown into at least a dozen ponds by the end of it. No need to show it off on purpose that way?”
"You, of all people, should know that history will never accurately portray the truth of events. You'll be lucky if this dragon even ends up in print or if it will just be grouped with life was hectic in Civitas," Adam said, putting on his best professorial voice. How many times did they hear the same lines spewed during their history lecture last semester?
Adam pushed to his feet, gathering the supplies he had pilfered while others were fluttering around those who were a little more reckless or a little less durable. Adam hadn't lingered long; the thought of that could have been Gansey was still hazy in the back of his mind, tempting itself into something more solid to agonize over. "Stay where you are while I put this back. It's not summer yet, and I don't want that scar you're not purposely going to show off getting worse."
He offered out a fist, close to Gansey's hand, to bump knuckles. "You can practice by telling Ronan first."
Gansey started with an optimistic grin. “That’s fine, I remember.” Which was, in itself, the whole of Gansey’s brain when it came to a great deal of history. God only knew that most of the general public wasn’t aware of half of the things about Glendower that he was. That they were, given Gansey’s late night historical chats.
That grin faded away, even if he gave into the fist bump with a comical frown. Ronan wasn’t going to be happy, Gansey knew that. Neither was Blue. But both needed to be told, and that was that. “I’m suddenly feeling very betrayed, but I’ll persevere!” A pause, then he called out after Adam. “Could you bring me back some blank parchment, please? I have a few things to write down.”