"See? Its back legs would make the sound but you've got it making light," Adam said, while cupping the bioluminescent cricket between his hands. He was glowing too, but not in the literal sense. Adam was the most pleased when he could let himself be strange, and weird, and uncanny, and talk about his small, childhood passions in the safety of dream space with Ronan. So, glowing, beaming, delighted. It wasn't that other people and places wouldn't let him be his true self, but there was something about here that captured his whole heart. He didn't have to ask for permission to do things in the dream space, he could just be.
And it helped that whatever insect fact Adam was spewing, Ronan was dreaming it into being effortlessly and ridiculously—hence this current iridescent jade cricket who seemed to light up like a lightning bug when it rubbed its legs together. It was real and a dream all at once.
Adam was trying to remember why they had come here in the first place. He had curled against Ronan's side on the couch—"for a power nap, we have stuff to do," Adam had said with his eyes already halfway closed—and found himself sliding into Ronan's subconscious. He had been determined to not hesitate after the situation in January. Ronan didn't scare him, and he would prove it.
But then he had become distracted, started talking animatedly about cricket life cycles, and now he was gently bringing it to the ground to let it leap away. Adam briefly thought what if it was bigger, intrusive and terrifying, and then the cricket started to grow between his hands.
Were they becoming so intermingled with one another that they were reading their minds? "Now you're just being an asshole," Adam said fondly, trying to cover over the uncertain edge in his voice.
Ronan felt off. Not at first. When he met Adam in the dreamspace, he'd felt like he did every night they did this; he'd felt relieved that Adam still came to him here and pleased they could be intimate in a way no one else could. Well, most people anyway. He could never be sure what everyone could do anymore.
But as the dream stretched out, he started to feel like he was in a fog. Like the edges of the dream were softer and the details were slipping through unseen cracks. Ronan Lynch didn't dream like normal people dreamt. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew it was unsettling. Adam pulled his attention back to him, though, with the glowing bug that was suddenly growing in his hands.
"I--" Ronan swallowed. The bug looked surreal to him. Huge and amazing and magical. "I didn't do that. I'm not--" He swept a hand up over his head and his hand came away absurdly covered in smaller glowing bugs. They were harmless but they lit up and flew towards Adam's superbug, sounding like tiny cars revving their engines.
Ronan wasn't doing that either. "Fuck. What the fucking fuck," he mumbled.
Alarm bells were ringing in Adam's head, in the dream, the moment Ronan said he didn't do that. Adam swiftly suspected that Ronan wasn't in control of the dream, which meant that Adam was, and the panic that abruptly overtook him was intense and overwhelming. But after so many times of walking through this landscape with Ronan, providing focus where he could, Adam knew the danger of losing control in a dream. He couldn't, not right now. And yet, and yet, and yet—
He couldn't seem to let go of the dachshund-sized cricket. The other glow bugs were loud, and Adam couldn't think. He knew that they just couldn't be here anymore. They had to leave, Ronan had to leave. Because Adam knew that it wasn't the strange insects or the dreamy pasture or the pleasant "air" Ronan had originally conjured that would stay. He could already feel himself steeling against the immediate doubt of his own dark headspace and what that dream would look like. What would come out of it.
"Wake me up," Adam said, locking eyes with Ronan, as the alarm sound became stretched and thin, but somehow sharper that Adam could feel it in his teeth, buzzing in his molars. "Get out of here and wake me up—" And almost simultaneously, between a blink in the dream, Ronan was there then gone. Adam was staring at nothing and then at the ceiling of the farm house. There should have been relief, but what flooded through him was cold, unmitigated fear.
Adam couldn't move. He was paralyzed, the same sort of dreamer immobility that came from bringing something out of a dream. The running loop in his mind was oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Ronan could see the panic in Adam's eyes and he imagined his own were just as obvious. His anxiety was a strange wild thing now though, as the dream felt more and more insubstantial. Adam looked like Adam, looked like Gansey, looked like Bryde for an uncomfortable half-second and then the shapes of the dream were suddenly slipping and sliding around. Was this how normal people dreamed? Was that bug fucking winking at him?
He woke up gasping, his head coming up off Adam's chest as he shoved himself upright on the sofa. The room was dim with afternoon shade and Chainsaw perked her head up on her perch in the corner.
"Kerah?" she squawked.
Ronan ignored her and crawled upwards to prop himself up over Adam's paralyzed face. "Shit, shit shit shit." Between a breath and a blink, the large cricket from the dream was suddenly beside them, rubbing its legs together and glowing brighter by the second. Ronan's cursing continued more colorfully. He reached to cradle Adam's cheek. He couldn't think about the fact that he's apparently passed his dreaming on like a bad cold. Chainsaw's presence at least told him that Matthew was probably okay. "Goddamn this takes forever. How do you stand it when I do this crap?"
This was surreal. If it wasn't for the driving force of panic thrumming though Adam's veins, he would have been dissecting this like his over-analytical brain would like to do. How? Why? Was there something they did, something to switch it back, could they always switch it? Would this fundamentally alter brain chemistries, physiological makeups? He would never treat his husband like a science project—it had been certainly on his mind when he used to work with the feds and tracking dreamers—but he could do it to himself. He could poke and prod and be endlessly curious.
But there was the panic. And the fact he still couldn't move his body. The glow of the cricket was enough of a sign to figure out what he brought with him. It could have been worse, it could have been so much worse.
Adam's eyes started to water, and he hated he couldn't make it stop, especially when Ronan was leaning over him, just as worried. How do you stand it. And in all honestly, Adam didn't, couldn't. He hated it every time. A necessary evil that never got easier.
It felt like forever when Adam could finally wiggle his fingers, sensation and autonomy returning to his hands, his arms, his chest and legs. Like slow moving molasses because he was not skilled in doing this, he did not have the expertise that Ronan did. But he didn't move from where he was, he just stared at Ronan, trying—and failing—to hide the fear that hasn't quite subsided like the paralysis.
He grasped whatever part of Ronan he could, rough and painfully tight. "How bad. How bad is it. Where is it?"
"Easy…breathe." Ronan couldn't have given two farts about the bug in that moment, but he knew Adam needed him to not freak out. He covered Adam's hand on his t-shirt, trying to calm him at the same time as he looked over the dreamt creature. It seemed perfectly happy to just sit there, rubbing its legs together and glowing prettily. Ronan supposed it could have terrible fangs or venom or something. Some things looked harmless on the outside but were deadly anyway.
"Looks like a big ass bug but nothing terrifying. Were you thinking about it being murderous or anything? Just before you woke up?" Ronan reached up with his free hand to brush Adam's hair back from his eyes. If he knew anything about dreaming, it was that even a passing thought at the right moment could cause someone to wake up with nightmare fuel nearby. Handcat hadn't liked being called nightmare fuel, but tough shit. "Or before that even. I don't know when this shit kicked in. I felt normal when we fell asleep."
No one else could do this. Adam panicking had always been a solitary endeavor, because if someone saw him unable to keep his shit together, he assumed they would pity him. Coddle him. Wonder if he wasn't this person who could handle whatever life threw at him. But with Ronan, it was so gentle he could cry, and Adam didn't cry. He was being soothed without judgment, tended to without expectation to be anything other than himself in that moment.
For the first time since he woke up from the dream, Adam looked into Ronan's eyes and took a deep, safe breath.
"No, no. Nothing like that," Adam said. He almost second guessed himself, almost doubted because the things he could have thought were dark and terrifying. But with Ronan touching him, backlit by the strangely comforting glow of the cricket, he knew that was all it was—pretty, ridiculous but pretty. Adam had some whimsy in him yet. He assumed that was Ronan's endless spark of creativity seeping into him by spending hundreds of nights laying beside him and dreaming within him.
"I don't know when it happened either but I kept thinking it could be bigger," Adam admitted. He hadn't seen how big this one was, but he assumed it was not normal, non-dreamt cricket size. "But I remembered what you said, about the dreaming. When I realized it was me doing it, I thought of you, and what you would do." He gave Ronan a small faint smile. "I pay attention."
Ronan pulled back so he wasn't hovering over him but he didn't let go of his hand. They were often touching like this so it didn't feel like it slipped over the fussing too much line. That was Gansey's territory. Gansey could even get away with it these days.
He felt weird. He felt like he was in someone else's body. He shoved that feeling aside a bit longer.
"I pay attention, he says," Ronan smirked darkly, pulling back from the edge of panic. "You never fucking forget anything, you mean." He was sweaty and overheated. Was that just stress? He pulled up his shirt collar and swiped it over his face. "Fuck. This is fucked. Vallo has a sick sense of humor. Wait…do you think I'm psychic now?" He squinted a shithead glance over to Adam and then glanced around. "Where's a flashlight I can put up next to my eyeballs?"
Adam could sense the mood shift. Now that the initial panic subsided—stored neatly away in his compartmentalized box for when he had to sort out sleeping later because there was no way in hell he was sleeping again now—he frowned up at Ronan. His hand was still over his, and it was all very grounding and stabilizing after the effervescence of the dream.
"Do not shove a flashlight in your face. That's intermediate psychic class," Adam said, though he didn't think Ronan should be staring into any bright lights and attempting to scry at all. He knew that Ronan wouldn't, that he was just being a shithead, but Adam still felt the need to say it, out loud, for prosperity's sake. But did this mean they swapped? Did this mean Ronan was psychic now? It was hard to tell by looking at him alone.
The cricket seemed content to stay in its place and glow like it wasn't distressingly larger than it should be, so Adam took the time to push himself up a bit and not feel so deflated. His free hand though, not still currently attached to Ronan's shirt, came to rest at the back of his neck. "Are you okay?" Adam asked, rubbing his fingers at the buzzed hair in a hopefully soothing gesture. It was to Adam's frayed nerves, at least. "Physically? I don't know what this sort of thing could do to you."
Ronan smirked a little and lifted Adam's hand to nip playfully at his knuckle. It was an apology, Ronan Lynch style. He wished he could stick to being a shithead rather than answer the question that followed, but he knew that wasn't likely. Avoidance would just get Adam worried anyway. He sighed and tried to really think about the answer.
"I feel off. But not necessarily bad? Just. Like I'm not me, but I'm not human either." He was reasonably sure he hadn't picked up Adam's powers. This was something else. He held out a hand and closed his fist. "Physically stronger maybe? Fuck, I don't know. Can we not worry about me? How do you feel? Did you…I mean, it was cool, right?" He let a smile grow on his mouth for the first time since he woke up. They shared almost everything. He'd never expected to be able to share this. "You just dreamed a living creature into existence, Parrish. Take a fucking bow."
"Kind of hard to bow when I'm still sitting down," Adam said. Of course he'd focus on the technicality. Of course he would resort to picking apart all the finer details of whatever was happening between them. Their abilities were not a direct swap, but it wasn't causing problems. For Ronan, at least. He hadn't accidentally dreamt a glowing, dog-sized cricket that was, for all intents and purposes, well-behaved. Adam didn't know if that was him, pouring manners into an impossible bug or the demeanor of crickets, never before seen researched.
Adam had his work cut out for him, when he wasn't still quietly reeling. But being the observant shithead that he was, even under duress, he noted the question in Ronan's voice about whether or not dreaming was cool. It felt heavy, like a child holding up artwork and afraid of judgement. But Adam had never judged Ronan, not in who or what he was. His taste in music though? Debatable.
"It was cool," Adam said, grinning at Ronan, as he continued to sit up. He had to see the cricket, rip the bandaid off. His first thought as it glowed brighter was: I could do better. Goddamn overachiever. "Do you think—" Adam started to say, leaning down and holding out his palm to their new nameless family member. "If I have to sleep tonight and it doesn't go back, you can come back in?" Adam didn't want to do this alone.
Ronan flashed a quick grin. He knew Adam well enough to know he wouldn't settle for doing anything so half-assed as this had been, but still. His gaze drifted to the bug thoughtfully. It pleased him that his clever perfectionist of a husband picking a cute fucking insect to bring into the world, subconscious or not.
"I don't think I can do jack shit while this lasts," he admitted ruefully. "Not with dreams anyway. But you can try to come to me?" He frowned even as he made the suggestion. Adam had found him in the sweetmetal sea, so he had no reason to believe Adam would get lost in dreams now. But still. The thought unsettled him. He scratched at his stubbled jaw. "I can walk you through some shit from that end beforehand. And it's usually easier when you're right next to me anyway."
Their connection would hold, even if Ronan wasn't a psychic in place of Adam. He was sure of at least that much. His eyes hadn't left the bug though.
"You gotta name it now," he insisted. The bug looked at him and Ronan squinted. "Don't look at me like that. You need a fucking name just like everything else on this farm."
"I'll try, you just have to be patient, you're the one that has to teach me now and you know how I am with school," Adam said, like a warning. Adam was already planning, the wheels in his mind turning through options and scenarios. Adam would come to Ronan, he could find him again. He would have to be careful of his dreams though. There were so many things to remember, that Adam honestly wondered if he would sleep tonight at all. Maybe the point was moot.
He took Ronan's hand in his, regardless. They were always better together. And it wasn't like they weren't going to be sharing the same bed. It had been years since they slept purposefully separate from one another, with thousands of miles between them. Adam squeezed his fingers in response.
The cricket glowed eagerly as it watched their gentle affection with one another, and Adam—despite the last handful of panic-inducing minutes—was pleased. It shuffled forward to sniff, or what looked like sniff, at Adam's pant leg, then Ronan's. "It'll come to me. I don't want to rush it. I'm out of practice. Not all of us can come up with CRASH, all caps, at the drop of a hat."
Then, conversationally, Adam added, "You know crickets are omnivores, we should be careful that nothing too small manages to get near its mouth."
"I can be patient," Ronan muttered, before he rolled his eyes and sighed. "I can be patient for you." He didn't want Adam to be scared. If there was anything about his life as a dreamer that he could change, it was the fear that came with not having control and knowing it could have very real and very horrifying consequences for the people he loved.
When Adam took his hand, he threaded their fingers together tightly.
"You just had to dream something that might chew on our cat, though, huh?" He was eyeing the cricket a little more closely now, and sounded more impressed than worried. "It's beautiful and a little fucking creepy. Just like you," he teased, leaning over to press a kiss to Adam's cheek. His smile turned sharkish. "You should name it Junior."
"Wouldn't be from me if it wasn't a little dangerous, too," Adam said as Ronan kissed his cheek. But even that small swell of pride turned into that long suffering sigh when Ronan suggested Junior. The more traitorous offense was that the cricket seemed to glow brighter at the name proposal.
"No," Adam said this to the cricket, then to Ronan, "No. No, we are not naming it Junior. We are not naming it after me." But Adam could tell that he was immediately losing this battle. He supposed that the cricket—beautiful, creepy, and dangerous—would also side with Ronan Lynch on ridiculous notions. "Junior is the backup name if we can't think of anything else."