WHO: Richard Gansey, Ronan Lynch, and Adam Parrish (age 8) WHAT: Tiny Adam helps Gansey prepare dinner, and accidents happen that require the older boys to help calm the little one, but everyone is Going Through It™. WHEN: Sunday evening. WARNINGS: Heavily implied mentions of child abuse by an off-screen parent (never explicit but mentioning regardless.)
After spending two days at the Barns, Adam had started to relax. Fractionally, because he was waiting for someone to whisk him home with his parents, because eight-year-olds were not allowed to stay at strangers houses without permission, and Adam definitely did not have permission. But if his parents hadn't realized he was gone by now, maybe he could run away forever. Maybe Ronan would let him stay at the Barns for a little bit longer. He didn't seem like he would kick him out, but Adam knew that sometimes adults could be kind and then you can wear out your welcome and they get agitated and annoyed to see you. He hoped he still had a few days before anyone here started to be agitated and annoyed to see him.
He was trying not to be loud. He washed his hands before meals, and said please and thank you and may I please be excused? Adam never asked for anything that wasn't given to him. He made sure to put himself to bed without fuss, and brush his teeth with the toothbrush that Ronan had given him on the first night. Adam started to collect whatever loose change he could find because he wanted to make sure he paid Ronan back for it when he eventually had to go home.
Adam didn't want to go home.
There were so many good things here: all the animals that Ronan let him feed; the cool bugs that had crawled out of the forest on the edge of the property that seemed to glow when he held them; the swimming pond that Opal showed him, that was too cold to swim in now but would be really nice in the summer; the market where they sold ice cream that Adam got to taste without having to ask; the warm flannel sheets, and the soft pillow, and the little race car that played music when he spun the wheels—he had been so gentle with it because it seemed really special.
Tonight, Gansey had asked him to help cook spaghetti and meatballs. Adam nodded enthusiastically because it was very hard to say no and he wanted to learn to make things that didn't come out of cans (that was another good thing at the Barns, the meals were warm and fresh, and he was always called to a meal, like a family.)
He used the step stool that Blue offered to him on the first day, to get up to the sink and wash his hands thoroughly—he spent a lot of time catching brightly colored butterflies outside today and definitely touched a lot of dirt. "I've never made real sauce before," Adam said, sounding a little excited. If it was simple maybe he could try back at home. "Is it easy?"
Gansey was having a lot of feelings about Adam being here, being young, and finally opening up to them. He’d been so quiet and polite, walking on eggshells that Gansey knew the origin of. The first day, it had been him so mad that he had to politely excuse himself from the room and go out back to chop some wood, more than happy to pretend the logs were Robert Parrish’s face. It was what he deserved.
Adam, however, deserved a great deal more, and Gansey was determined to keep his emotions in check so the eight year old felt comfortable and happy in his house. Cooking was one of their love languages at the Barns, a way for all of them to participate at different intervals, as people rotated in and out of the kitchen and dining area, loud and happy as they came and went.
Gansey put a big bowl of tomatoes down on the counter next to Adam. “It’s much easier than I ever thought it would be. We grew these tomatoes in the greenhouse outside, you know. If you want, tomorrow morning you can help me water everything in there? Maybe give them a pep talk?” That was what the Adam of their age did, Gansey was pretty sure.
Adam stared at the bowl of tomatoes, then back up to Gansey, then back to the tomatoes. The tiniest smile, a flash and then gone, appeared. He didn't grab a tomato, he didn't do much of anything because this was Gansey's kitchen and Adam was a guest. He was going to wait for instructions—chopping was involved and even though Adam knew he could be very careful with a knife, he had not earned Gansey's trust yet.
"I don't think plants know what a pep talk is," Adam said. Talking to tomatoes seemed silly and illogical, and even at eight Adam was a boy of science and reason. But he almost immediately second-guessed himself for saying it; there was a lot that he didn't know about this place and Gansey might have considered it back talk. Backtalk was absolutely not allowed at his house at all. Just because Gansey was nice didn't mean that Adam should treat him like a friend. Gansey was an adult.
Swallowing hard, he nodded, a little more somber. "I can help you water the tomatoes in the greenhouse tomorrow." Because that meant he was listening, and he was willing to work. And someone who could contribute to the household meant he was worth keeping around. "What would you want me to do? I can wash them. Or watch you cut them and put them back in the bowl for you."
“You’d be surprised,” Gansey grinned in return, trying to keep his shoulders relaxed and everything calm as they talked. It had become truly imperative to everybody in the house to be as nice as possible to a tiny Adam, given his history. “Someone much better with plants than I am told me that they benefit from being talked to.” Gansey gestured to the green plants that plastered the windowsills and every open flat surface around them after Adam’s impulse purchases. “Maybe after trying this sauce and spending a little time with these guys, you’ll become a believer.”
It was shockingly easy to fall into a rhythm with Adam. He was kind, polite, and a level of curious that Gansey appreciated in him. Likely an early marker of just why they made such good friends now. “You can go ahead and wash them and then we cut them up and roast them in the oven.” Gansey was digging through the drawer under the oven for the sheet pan when he looked up at Adam. “How are you with cutting with a knife, do you want to try? It’s alright if you want me to do it.”
Adam liked the plants. He had noticed that there were a lot of them when he first arrived, all of them real and thriving in a way the sad fake one in the living room of the double-wide did not. He wanted to ask more questions about who owned them and how did they take care of so many at a time?, but Adam knew better. He needed to piecemeal his questions so as to not be annoying or overwhelming or a know-it-all, even if he wanted to know it all. Adults didn't like that.
He nodded and agreed with Gansey—a soft maybe I will, even if he was lying a little—and followed Gansey's directions. Wash, chop, oven. He reached up to turn on the faucet, and quickly began to rinse the tomatoes. Efficient, not wasteful. Water cost money and he didn't know how much Gansey or Ronan had. They weren't used to having another person in the house using things.
"I'm good with a knife," Adam said, firm and confident. "I've chopped things before." He wanted to seem capable, he was capable, but Adam knew how difficult it was for adults to believe that, especially at eight years old. "I can chop the tomatoes, if you'll let me. I just don't know where you keep your knives." He should have paid more attention.
“I’ll let you,” Gansey confirmed, not wanting to dash Adam’s confidence this early on. He fished out a knife from the drawer they kept them in - latched closed just because Opal and Kiri were troublemakers when they ran around the Barns - and made sure it was one of the ones small enough that it wouldn’t lop off a finger if Adam missed the target. He set the sheet pan next to Adam, within easy reach.
“I’ll get all of the spices ready while you do that.” Gansey didn’t want to distract Adam from his task, or interrupt him, but it would be a lie to say he hadn’t glanced over at his young friend a few dozen times with a question or three on the tip of his tongue. He busied himself by pulling out all of the favorite spices they liked for this meal from the shelf and starting the task of meticulously measuring what was required.
Finally, curiosity gave in and he looked over to watch Adam chop. “Have you been exploring around the farm? What’s your favorite animal here?”
Again, Adam nodded quickly to Gansey's instructions, somehow believing in his mind that meant he was paying attention. Because when he just stood there without saying anything because he was afraid of the wrong words coming out of his mouth, that hadn't been the right answer either. He learned that lesson and did not want to learn it again. Adam was quiet but attentive, it didn't require saying much of anything at all.
Chopping the tomatoes was not as easy as he thought, though. Knife in hand, his fingers were immediately sticky with juice and seeds. But they smelled fresh, and he desperately wanted to eat one of the wedges before they were roasted into sauce, just to know what they tasted like, not from a can. He could ask—Adam thought Gansey would probably say yes. But that was probably not certainly.
He was making a good pile, efficient but not careless when Gansey asked his question. "Ronan took me to some of the barns. And I saw the big forest in the back. I think I like the cows the best," Adam said slowly, as if the answer was coming to him as he said it. "The sheep are nice too. And the alpacas." He was smiling at the thought of when their goofy faces were up in his as he fed them the other day. He wanted to do it again, but didn't want to be greedy or underfoot while Ronan worked.
"I think my answer is that I don't know. All of them—I'm done with the tomatoes," Adam said as he turned around over his left shoulder, hearing someone else coming toward the kitchen. "I can wash the knife?"
Ronan had been riding an unsettling edge since Adam had woken up a small, overly polite child. He wanted desperately to protect his future husband, to change the life he was bound to go back to soon, but that wasn't how this worked. And if they did change his future at the Parrish trailer, would they change everything that made them a family too? The thought was venomous and he shoved into a box in his head. He was going to make sure every moment Adam had here, he felt precious and protected, and the rest would just have to sort itself out.
Ronan made his way into the kitchen as he heard Adam answer Gansey's question, rubbing a towel over his freshly showered head. Not smelling like cow manure was a must in this kitchen or someone would bitch and moan. He slung the towel over his shoulder and fished out his phone just as Adam finished up with the tomatoes and held the knife out. Hopefully a quick photo would go unnoticed.
"Dishes get done by somebody who didn't cook dinner, Parrish." He tucked his phone back away and carefully plucked the knife out of Adam's hand. "That way we're all helping out." He peered over Adam's shoulder at the tomatoes on his way to the sink. "Got a goddamn chef in here, watch out, Gans."
“I know, right? Couldn’t have asked for better competition.” Gansey was pleased anyway, he always liked it when they all worked together in the kitchen but Adam ended up volunteering for dishes duty more often than not, so this had been a nice change of pace. He was glad Ronan ended up with the knife, though, that part had made him a little more nervous than he cared to admit.
After seasoning them and spreading everything out on the sheet pan, Gansey shoved it in the oven and out of sight. He set the timer and turned back to Adam. He put his hands together in the most-- dad-Gansey cheesy way of things, an enthusiastic clap to go with his words. “Alright, we have a little time before needing to cook the pasta, but would you get me a small plate down from the cabinet, Adam? We can make the garlic butter in the meantime, we can all go through a lot of garlic bread with pasta.”
Praise did not come often, if at all, in the Parrish household. So getting approval, without asking or needing or wanting, was almost too much. He felt like crying but crying was for babies, and Adam could not, would not, was not a baby. And then he would have had to explain why he was crying, and that was stupid. He let Ronan look at his tomato-cutting job, and he moved out of the way when Gansey grabbed them to put them on the sheet pan.
Adam smiled, a small tiny little thing, and said thank you, because that was what you did when you received a compliment. Even when his brain tried to find reasons why it wasn't sincere. He just wanted that feeling again.
Free of the knife in his hands and eager to please, Adam answered, "Yes, I can get it, Gansey." Because he could, and maybe that would make Gansey happy and not mad. And then Ronan could see Adam was making Gansey happy and not mad, and that would make Ronan happy and not mad. And then if they were happy and not mad, Adam could stay.
He opened the cabinet above him, and grabbed one of the small plates—the pretty porcelain ones, with tiny wildflowers, that seemed older than Ronan, maybe his mom's. But his hands were still a little wet from washing them after the tomatoes. And he nearly missed the second step on the stepstool trying to quickly get the plate to Gansey. The plate slipped from his hands.
Adam couldn't catch it. Adam could do much of anything except watch it hit the stone floor of the kitchen and shatter into pieces. Panic seized him, almost in an illogical way, in a deep trauma way that he wouldn't realize was trauma until well into his teens. At eight? He only knew to be scared.
"I'm sorry," were the first words out of his mouth. Then his voice broke despite trying to keep it together. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Oh, the tears started, and while barefoot he quickly went to grab the pieces from the floor.
Ronan was feeling pretty good about himself when Adam smiled. Apparently, even the eight year old version of Adam's smile patched up tiny pinprick holes in his heart. He spared his own smile for Gansey - look what we did - but the abrupt sound of glass breaking snapped him out of his warm daze. He felt Adam's shift into panic like a physical punch in the stomach. Setting down the knife, he glanced worriedly at Gansey then moved closer to Adam.
"Hey--wait, shit, watch your feet." It was risky touching Adam when he was upset, but Ronan really didn't want to watch him cut up his little feet, so he swept Adam up with an arm around his stomach and sat him on the counter with as little fanfare as possible. He was barefoot himself, but a lot more careless with himself than Adam Parrish so he ignored the ground as he moved back to look down at Adam's feet. "Are you hurt?"
Gansey and Ronan moved at nearly the exact same time, he had frozen in place, then rushed forward to stop Adam from accidentally stepping on a plate when Ronan swooped in, and Gansey felt the air constrict in his chest over the whole situation. It was an immediate and severe visceral reaction to knowing exactly what kind of household Adam had grown up in, knowing where those tears came from.
“It’s okay--” Gansey was enough of a fixer that he wanted to immediately make it better, so he grabbed the broom and dustpan and tried to remain as calm as possible. “It’s really okay, we’re not mad, I promise. It’s just-- it’s just a plate, we have lots of plates.” They did, and Gansey knew that even if the plate in question had been important to Aurora, Ronan wasn’t the type to get angry with a child for an accident, but reason rarely came into play when emotions were high and the memories that came before were all bad.
Adam flinched, Unnecessary as it was, but being lifted from the floor to the counter had caused all kinds of reactionary instincts to kick into place. He had been learning not to flinch, because that tended to make his father even more angry. Adam had to take it like a man. But Adam never felt like a man, he still felt too young to understand the advice from adults.
What he wanted to do was get back down and help Gansey sweep up. His teary eyes were still on the broken plate and what it meant: he couldn't be trusted, he was just a kid, they didn't need someone like Adam to stay around if he was going to so carelessly destroy the things in their house that they had so kindly welcomed him into. He had been looking forward to dinner, and sleeping in the cozy bed, and then waking up tomorrow to explore and find bugs to show the other friends he made at the market. He had wanted it too much, and now look where his selfish thoughts had gotten him.
He hadn't realized he was on the edge of hyperventilating until it became really hard to breathe and Ronan was asking if he was hurt and Gansey was telling them they had a lot of plates, like it didn't matter.
Adam shook his head again, but that seemed to make him cry more. No he wasn't hurt now, but he worried about it later, because what if his parents found out and made him pay for it? He was saving all his change to pay Ronan back for his toothbrush and he didn't know if he could replace any of the precious things inside the Barns.
Wiping furiously at his face before curling into himself, Adam kept looking at the broken pieces, thinking of the ruined dinner. He didn't want to see—what he assumed—the hurt and disappointment in Ronan and Gansey's faces. "I can fix it, I'll fix it. I didn't mean to break your plate." Adam said, and then softer, like he had any say in their choices, "Please don't tell my mom and dad."
Even knowing the risk, Ronan inhaled sharply at the sight of Adam flinching. It was a painful icy chill down his spine, a stinging dampness in his eyes, and the instant resolution to do everything he could to make this better. To never frighten Adam ever again. He took half a step to the side so he wasn't looming over Adam, but he was reluctant to go too far.
"We're not gonna tell your parents a damn thing. Ever," he swore. "And Gansey's right. It's just a fucking plate." The fresh reminder of Adam's terrifying home life made Ronan's chest burn and his hands flexed as he resisted curling them into fists. No matter how much he wished Robert Parrish was here to punch in the face again, he would not shape his hands into weapons if it took everything he had.
He grabbed another plate from the cabinet and hurled it to the floor a few feet away instead.
Ronan made a thoughtful noise. "Actually, that felt pretty good."
Gansey jumped about six inches in the air, having been too in his mind chanting fuck Robert Parrish over and over in his mind. He was willing to try and beat Ronan to chopping firewood later for a way to get some aggressions out easily. So another plate shattering on the ground took him by surprise, and he gave Ronan a look that hopefully conveyed the what the fuck expression on his face.
Then it dawned on him, and Gansey burst out laughing. He’d have to hand it to Ronan, the idea was -- hopefully -- genius. They didn’t want to scare Adam, but showing him that things were just things was a good way to prove they weren’t mad.
He wasn’t the “breaking plates” type. But regardless, Gansey reached over the pair of them and snagged his own plate and threw it to the ground. “Okay,” he rolled his shoulders, as if he was still feeling that one out. “I can see the appeal. That’s new.”
The first plate hitting the ground also startled Adam. Usually, the purposeful breaking of objects was out of anger at his house, before there was the purposeful breaking of other things. But Ronan didn't look mad when he did it. More of a release of frustration at something that was not directed at Adam. There had been a lot of that lately that Adam didn't understand but continued not to question. Then came Gansey breaking the second one, and whatever feelings Adam had all tangled up in his chest—fear, sadness, worry—unknotted into confusion.
His lower lip was trembling, on the verge of a sob that had abruptly retreated. He hiccupped trying to hide a rogue sniffle. He was still hugging his middle, but the grip had loosened. Adam wanted to tell them not to, don't destroy the plates for me because Adam couldn't understand anyone doing anything for him that he hadn't very explicitly earned himself. But it was already done, and a comfortable tension filled the kitchen.
They were in some kind of standstill, and Adam realized that he was the one who was supposed to say something.
Adam was looking at the three smashed plates, then to Gansey and Ronan. Even though his cheeks were a little wet, and his throat a little dry, he did feel a little better. Somehow, he wasn't in trouble, but he still wanted to help. "A piece went under the fridge," Adam said, pointing toward the spot he could see from his vantage point on the counter. "I can reach it."
Ronan loved Gansey a whole lot in that moment. He hadn't expected him to join in, but he should have. Gansey was nothing if not devoted to taking care of his loved ones in risky, supportive ways. But Ronan had been afraid in the second after he spoke that this was just another form of violence around a child that had seen more than he ever should have. His worried gaze shifted to Adam and he looked pensive as he glanced towards the fridge. He still wasn't sure if they made things better but at least Adam wasn't hiccup crying. The sound would likely haunt Ronan for weeks.
"Eh, we'll get it later," Ronan shrugged. "You ever used a handheld vacuum? We got one that narrates what it's doing like you're on one of those nature documentaries." He blamed Adam and Gansey for watching Attenborough shit while Ronan dozed on the couch between them for that one.
“Oh that one is my favorite.” It always put Gansey in the mood to watch Our Planet or anything similar, an acceptable documentary for everyone to pile up on the couch together. “It’s in the closet by the back door. Here, let me--” He swept the larger pieces into a pile and made sure there was a safe pass for people to walk in and out of the kitchen.
The vacuum and the documentaries gave him an idea, as Gansey had seen how Adam liked exploring outside and watching the bugs. He smiled up at the young boy. “One of those nature documentaries is entirely on insects. After dinner we can watch it and see if there’s anything compared to what you’ve found here, if you want. I have a notebook filled with strange creatures and things I’ve spotted just from exploring.” One he’d helped put together with an older Adam, even.
A tiny voice in Adam's head, smaller than himself, and smaller than his fear, said it's going to be okay. It was hard to believe that voice when it was a rare occurrence, barely ever coming out when he was home with his parents. He never felt okay there, and Adam had tricked himself into accepting that was the way it was supposed to be. Safety was not assured, he had to make his own. But here with Ronan and Gansey in the kitchen, offering him marvelous things like talking vacuums and bug journals, with the aroma of roasting tomatoes and garlic felt safe.
But he was dubious, he was cautious, he knew how quickly all of it could be snatched away from him. He told the small voice that they had to be careful. Nothing was a guarantee, even if the idea of a quiet evening without being sent to his room over the plate was alluring. For now though, it was okay and Adam clung to it.
He nodded at Gansey. "I would like that very much, please," Adam said, sounding more put together than he had a moment ago. The crying had all but disappeared, and Adam was proud that he didn't let it linger longer than usual. He was getting better. Maybe one day, he wouldn't cry at all. "Are you sure I'm not in trouble?"
Ronan squinted at Gansey blatantly taking advantage of the situation. There wasn’t any real heat in the look and a smirk twitched at his mouth. Ronan was self-aware enough to know he’d watch whatever the hell pint-sized Adam Parrish wanted to watch. He wasn’t self-aware enough to recognize how his voice gentled though.
“We’re sure. Accidents happen, ok. I know…” Ronan grimaced but kept his soft gaze locked with Adam’s. “I know some adults get mad about accidents and hurt kids for them but that’s not right. That won’t happen here.” He hoped it was easier to hear if he didn’t say I know your dad’s a prick who beats you but we won’t. He moved to the table and collected a few pieces of plate that had landed there. “I promise I break a fuckton more than you ever will, anyway.”
Gansey held Ronan’s squint and returned a smile that was both pleased and smug. He knew what he was doing and wasn’t sorry about it.
He was sorry for silently vowing that he’d probably throw one of Blue’s axes at Robert Parrish if he knocked on the front door just then-- No, he wasn’t sorry about that thought either. His smile fell away to something a little more serious, but not angry. “Ronan’s not lying. At the very most you’ll see a little sadness if something happens to the hideous mugs by the coffee maker. We’re surprisingly fond.” Adam’s pottery lessons had been held hostage from the moment they came into this house, much like they had adopted him into the fold.
“But no trouble, I promise you that.” Said in that Gansey voice everyone in this house knew. So full of firm positivity that people rarely second-guessed it when he used that tone.
Adam stared at Ronan for a very long time, like he was sorting something out. People weren’t supposed to know what happened at home, and Adam thought he had done a good job of keeping it a secret. But something Ronan had said, and the way Gansey was standing, agreeable and also defiant, made Adam certain that they knew.
He didn’t want to talk about it. But maybe, someday, when Adam knew how to put the words together, and not feel like it was his fault, they would understand if he came to them.
For the hundredth time today, Adam nodded. He accepted that for some reason he was not in trouble because Ronan broke a fuckton—Adam mouthed the word to see how it strangely fit in his mouth—more than him, and that the mugs on the counter were off limits. Not because Gansey said so, but because Adam did not trust his hands.
Not wanting to sound greedy, he cautiously asked, “Are we still going to make garlic bread?”
As much as Ronan hated giving Adam anything to be careful about, he couldn't disagree with Gansey. The mugs were precious. In a dumb priceless way. He squeezed Gansey's shoulder as he passed by.
"You are absolutely still making garlic bread," Ronan said, even though he was neither the cook nor the person who'd decided there was going to be garlic bread in the first place. He needed a second to shake off the way Adam had looked at him - like a kid who'd already experienced too much. A minute in the hallway would loosen up the helpless tension in Ronan's spine. Maybe.
He gestured over his shoulder. "I'll get the hand-vac and set the table. You two keep doing the fine-dining thing."