Adam did not want to be suspicious of the weather. It felt like a waste of time if he dwelled on it for too long, but it was hard to ignore that less than twenty-four hours ago everything was sunny and warm. But the sky had gone abysmally overcast throughout the day and into the night, the air turned crisper and burningly cold when he inhaled, and the gentle breeze became something sharper, more forceful.
Adam was standing by the window, listening to the unending howl of the wind, when he asked Ronan without looking away, "Do you want me to help you move the cows inside?"
He didn't do this often, and maybe that should have been the first indicator of trouble. Feeding the cows was one thing, herding them in from grazing before the onslaught of a storm hit was far out of Adam's experience. His time at the Barns before Harvard was punctuated by school and work. The summer had been languid and trouble-free, nightwash notwithstanding. Even now, in Vallo, his day-to-day did not involve bovine handling.
But Adam was stubborn. Ronan made it look effortless, so that meant Adam could too. Or at least he tried. He was determined to help more than anything, trudging out into the enclosed pasture, even with his fingers going numb in the cold.
"I'll grab the one over there," Adam shouted to Ronan, as he moved toward the other end of the pen. He was nearly on the last cow when everything sort of happened at once: a gust of wind blew a shutter back, snapping it loudly against the side of the barn; a startled moo, and then somehow Adam was on his back, staring at the bleak cold sky with the air knocked out of his lungs. Shit.
Ronan had been through a few storms at the Barns. He remembered one in particular when it was about thirteen and he tried to help Declan get all the animals secured while their dad was off in Ireland or some place. Ronan had been a gangly twig at the time, just starting to shoot upwards and not yet catching up in weight. A gust of wind had knocked him right down and he’d banged his head on a tractor. Declan had herded him inside and their mom had held a towel full of ice to his head.
It was weird, thinking about it now, and knowing Declan went back out and handled it all by himself.
Ronan was grateful for Adam’s help, and that he didn’t have to ask for it. He thought they’d make quick work of it honestly, even in the frigid dark, which probably should’ve clued him in that something unexpected was going to happen. He was holding the barn door open when the snap of the shutter sent his startled gaze towards the sound and away from the cow being herded his way. Stupid really. He knew better.
“Adam!” His heart shot up into his throat when he saw Adam go down and he hurriedly tried to calm the cow down as he pulled her away from Adam’s prone body. “Easy, easy, come on, it’s safe in here.” She jerked away from him, but fortunately ran into the barn with her rope lead trailing behind her.
Ronan slammed the doors shut and rushed back over to crouch beside Adam. “Parrish, talk to me.”
His immediate response would have been I'm fine, because it usually was. He was fine, it didn't hurt, don't look at him like that. But there was a solid moment between one gasping breath and the next, where his brain was telling him you are not fine, Adam Parrish. It was the same voice that often reared when he lived back home, hiding from Gansey, from Ronan—really, from anyone—who would inherently know by just looking at him he was lying.
It was Ronan's voice, the way it sounded when crouched beside him, that knocked down any stubborn wall he had been building about brushing off what just happened. That, and well, Ronan was very blurry. Adam blinked rapidly to put him back into focus.
"Just give me a second," Adam said, but he didn't give himself a second as he struggled to sit up. He reached for Ronan's shoulder as support as he felt a wave of dizzying nausea come over him, squeezing his eyes shut. But it did not pass, which meant Adam was attempting to self-diagnose—an old habit, one bred out of necessity—the severity of what might be a mild concussion when he hit the ground.
Except when he tried to prop himself up more, a sharp pain radiated from his right side. Or more precisely, his right foot. He hissed, his breathing becoming short, then shorter. Adam didn't want to look. So between clenched teeth, he managed out, "My ankle."
A few years before and Ronan would’ve given Adam space. Snarled something pointed and worried quietly, but given him space. This Ronan had gentle hands on Adam immediately, shifting them as Adam moved, his worried gaze running over every inch of his boyfriend. The freezing wind whistled past them and he had to bend in close to make sure Adam would hear anything he said.
“Your ankle?” he repeated dumbly. His sharp gaze snapped down Adam’s legs and he shifted a hand to Adam’s shin. His jeans were dirty but Ronan didn’t see any blood. He hooked two fingers under the edge of Adam’s pant leg and lifted as carefully as he could. The skin he could see was already starting to bruise, dark red and angry. “Does it feel broken? It doesn’t…it doesn’t look broken but—“
Ronan swallowed and glanced wildly around them. He didn’t even know what he was looking for. “I can’t remember what my arm looked like when it was broken.”
Experience told Adam he had to touch it to pinpoint where the pain was specifically coming from. His nerves were telling him that everything was slowly, aggressively building in agony the more he concentrated on the injury. He had never been more thankful for Ronan being there lifting his pant leg for him, in some ways, forcing him to deal with this.
"It's okay, it's not—if it was broken there'd be some numbness," Adam said, forcing out facts he had once researched, for reasons he didn't want to think about now.
Adam knew if he looked at his misshapen ankle, he might throw up, so his fingers blindly reached around Ronan's hand for the soft, tender spots (nearly blinding pain) and then on the jut of his bone (generalized ache). He kept his attention on Ronan's face, the only thing keeping him warm in this bitter cold, the only thing holding him steady.
"I need, I need—" Adam winced away, biting hard on his lower lip. "To elevate it, ice it until the swelling goes down and then check again, it could be fractured. If you can just help me up, I can—" He could what? Hop back to the main house? Adam could already see the faults in his logic.
The reason Adam knew what to look for snuck up on Ronan. Which seemed fucking ridiculous. It’s not like Robert Parrish would ever be forgotten. The loathing in Ronan’s heart gave him a fiery warmth at least, bringing him to a sharp awareness with Adam’s face filling his vision. He’d be searching breaks and sprains and concussions later and memorizing everything he found, but for now, he just reached to clamp a hand over the back of Adam’s neck and squeezed comfortingly.
“Hey, I got you, okay?” Ronan felt steadier, hearing Adam say the words I need. He could do whatever Adam Parrish needed and then some. “Elevate, ice. Get the fuck out of this weather first.” He squinted towards the lit up house, judging the distance. Another glance at Adam’s ankle and he swore he could see it swelling. His frown deepened. “I can carry you.”
It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a demand either. It was Ronan looking concerned and pale, and stroking a hand down Adam’s back. “I can carry you,” he repeated.
Adam felt small, small in a way he hadn't in a long time, if ever. The kind that allowed him to stop thinking for one, two, ten seconds because there was very little he could do on his own. It wasn't in Adam's nature to give all of his independence over, but Adam couldn't remember the last time he was in this position to allow anyone else to help him so obviously. The shuddering breath Adam released when Ronan placed his hand on his neck was like years of weight being let go at once.
His eyes burned, in a way he could probably blame on the cold wind, but it was everything but—the pain in his ankle, the struggle to give in, the concern so plainly on Ronan's face, Ronan's simple offer. I can carry you. It knocked him harder than hitting the ground. Adam nodded once, then again, kept nodding because words were failing him.
He leaned over into Ronan, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling his body incrementally closer. But every move was torture, and he couldn't anymore. He felt dizzy again, and tucked his face into Ronan's neck, curling smaller against him. "Yeah, okay."
Surprise flashed across Ronan’s face, with relief chasing quickly after it. It made him feel selfishly warm that Adam would let him do this for him without a fight. Which helped shelve the guilt for not making sure this shit hadn’t happened in the first place. He’d have plenty of time for that later. Right now all he cared about was the wet shine in Adam’s eyes and getting him up off the ground without causing him too much pain.
He hooked an arm under Adam’s knees and one around his waist, shifting his feet to brace. It was a good thing he did most of the heavy lifting around the farm and had a little extra height or the whole process might’ve been a tragic mistake. Still, he breathed out a huff once he got to his feet with Adam in his arms.
“Kinda regret encouraging you to eat that last piece of pizza last night.” The joke was a little shaky but he followed it up with a kiss to Adam’s head as he headed towards the house. “Does anything else hurt?”
If Ronan struggled to lift Adam, he didn't notice. All Adam knew was that he was on the ground, and the not. Heavy, then weightless. Stationary and then moving toward the house. The strength that Ronan exerted to carry him was staggering, because he had worried—what if Ronan couldn't do it? What if Ronan hurt himself doing it? What would happen? What could Adam do?—but it had been pointless. In Ronan's arms Adam was secure, comforted.
Safe. He was safe.
Adam let out a weary laugh, one that was mostly an exhale and tight smile. "Don't be an asshole," Adam said, without any heat. Ronan's humor gave him a brief respite from the localized agony, but the moment he thought about it, the pain was back. He just needed to concentrate on keeping his leg stiff, his foot immobile, and his attention on Ronan. The kiss to his head helped, more than anything.
"Nothing else really," Adam said, too smoothly out of habit, too abrupt to be believable. He exhaled, agonizingly slow, before he admitted, "My head, maybe. I hit it—I think, when I fell. But all I can think about now is—" Adam made a small noise of discomfort. He was trying, maybe too hard, to keep it to himself. He already caused Ronan enough worry, and he hated being the source of that troubled look on his face. But hell, his ankle fucking hurt.
He clung tighter, around Ronan's neck. "I'll walk you through how to give a concussion test inside."
That little pained noise made Ronan move a little faster. He took the stairs up onto the porch probably a little too fast, considering the idea was to not jostle Adam too much. When he got to the door, he froze, trying to sort out the best way to open the screen door and the actual door beyond that, and all without having to put Adam down. He’d just started to picture what level of gymnastics would be involved in Adam holding the door open himself when the door opened and Henry Cheng stepped out to blink at them.
“Hey, I was just--wow, Adam, are you okay? Oh god, am I interrupting someth--”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, get the hell out of my way.” Ronan shouldered past Henry, careful not to catch Adam’s legs on the doorway or the dumbass lingering just outside of it, and then hesitated. Staying downstairs would mean more questions. Gansey--
He winced and started the long trek up to their room. “What are the chances of getting you to see an actual doctor?”
The flood of embarrassment that coursed through Adam when Henry opened the door was overwhelming. Yes, he was hurt. And yes, Ronan was carrying him. And yes, all of this was mostly necessary. But Adam was fully prepared to get down once they reached the porch, to cling to furniture and climb onto the couch quietly because being the center of attention made his skin crawl.
That didn't happen. And Henry was there and gone, and Adam was slowly being brought upstairs. Hiding away in their shared room was better, and the pressed his face into the underside of Ronan's jaw as a thank you.
"What's the likelihood of you carrying me to the property waypoint, then hailing a cab in the city to the hospital before the storm gets too bad?" Adam asked, trying to lay out all the facts as a long-winded version of saying the chances were low. Adam did not like doctors, he did not like hospitals, and though in pain, he did not think it was necessary. But he was also biased.
Adam sounded unsure, but characteristically stubborn, when he said, "I can take care of it."
The answer was about what Ronan had expected. He could argue – that they could probably get someone to come to them, that they could probably get someone magic to come to them even – but he was feeling aggressively protective and that made it difficult to pick a side. Better to focus on getting up the stairs without dumping Adam on his ass.
“I’m only—“ He panted up the last few steps. “—Worried about your head, Parrish.” That was a lie and he immediately course-corrected as he adjusted his grip under Adam’s knees. “Mostly. Swing that door open for me.” Swiveling to the side, he gave Adam an easy reach to the bedroom door handle. He kept an eye on the stairs, himself. No one had followed them up. Yet.
Once the door was open, he carried Adam inside and set him on the bed. “Ice. Elevate,” he parroted from earlier. There weren’t any extra pillows in the room, so he grabbed his own and carefully propped it under Adam’s ankle.
Adam opened the door, but not before he said, "You can put me down, you know." Guilt was starting to war inside of him. Because it wasn't going to stop at just carrying him. It was Ronan already bringing Adam to the bed, and propping up his foot. It would be Ronan climbing the stairs for Adam's benefit. It was that concern on Ronan's face, because he was worried about his head. Adam was angry at himself for the irritation that unconsciously came with Ronan's help, which he knew, inherently, was so fucked up.
The pain was marginally better now that he was warm and not sitting on hard ground, but Adam hesitated. He needed to take his shoes off but he absolutely wasn't about to make Ronan do that for him. So Adam blew out a low breath, steeling himself, before he started unlacing his shoe. That wasn't so bad, it was taking sneaker off—and his sock—that seemed to restart the agonizing process. His hand snapped vice-tight around Ronan's forearm, using him as a brace through the worst of it.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," Adam gritted out, fingers loosening a little. "I'll be okay, I swear." He looked up to Ronan, frowning. "You don't have to worry about my head. And if my ankle gets worse, then we can revisit seeing an actual doctor." A bad compromise but he was trying.
It had only been a matter of time before Adam’s stubbornness flared up, so Ronan wasn’t caught by surprise. It stung, but only in a familiar way. He straightened up but didn’t step back. He only held his hands tensely at his sides and scowled down at Adam as he tried to take off the shoe on his own. Ronan’s chest felt tight and a fissure cracked open inside of him when Adam grabbed his arm.
“Why the fuck are you apologizing, Parrish?” He gave up on trying to stay stiffly to the side and leaned over to press his fingertips gently to Adam’s cheek as he looked carefully at his eyes. “It better be for telling me I don’t have to worry. Now tell me the concussion shit or I’ll just look it up when I go to get you an ice pack.”
His eyes closed for a brief, fleeting second. Just enough to appreciate Ronan's tender touch to his cheek. Adam had to stop fighting Ronan—no, Adam had to stop fighting himself. An improbable, but not impossible, task. Not when it involved someone he loved, and who he knew, without a doubt, loved him. Maybe even unconditionally, maybe when he was being so frustrating. How Ronan wasn't exhausted by him by now was a surprise. When Adam opened his eyes again, a little bit of that stubbornness bled right back out.
"I'm sorry," Adam started to say, in that same way where he was about to justify some absurd logic to protect his agency, except: "Because I know you're trying to help and I'm not letting you. Not really." His attention went to the blanket on the bed, ashamed, before he took Ronan's wrist in his hand and tugged him to sit.
"Index finger," Adam said, holding up his own as an example. "Move side to side, my eyes have to be able to track your motion smoothly." Adam demonstrated on Ronan, before adding: "If that doesn't work, you can always tap me on the nose and count how many blinks. Three or less, and I'm probably fine."
“Yeah, well. I’d have worried about your head more if you were a good little patient,” Ronan admitted. It was a relief to sit, to be encouraged to sit even, and he snatched up the offer without a word. He pressed into Adam’s hip too, just for the contact. It meant he wasn’t looking at Adam’s steadily worsening ankle, but he’d get back to that in a minute. Raising a finger as instructed, he tracked it back and forth in front of Adam’s eyes. When nothing looked odd, Ronan followed it up by flicking the end of Adam’s nose.
“Looks okay. Your pupils are a little big but that’s probably just cause it’s kinda dark in here.” The storm still hovered threateningly outside, but he was resolutely not thinking about that yet. He ruffled a hand through Adam’s hair and darted forward to give him a soft kiss. “Can I go fetch you some ice or do you just want me to toss your ass back down the stairs to get it yourself?”
Adam's whole face scrunched up when Ronan flicked him on the nose. The concussion tests kept him blissfully distracted from the pain in his ankle, and he maybe leaned too hard into the hand in his hair and chased after that soft kiss. Adam was not needy—he wasn't— and he was not going to use kissing as a thank you. Adam was going to use his goddamn words like an adult, so that Ronan knew he was appreciative of the care given him.
He reached for Ronan again, bending awkwardly over to gather him into a fierce embrace. "Gratias tibi ago," Adam whispered into Ronan's ear, hoarse and heavy with gratitude, apologetic for being a shit head and a bad little patient. Adam nosed softly, then placed a single kiss against the side of Ronan's neck before he pulled away.
"I'd like to see you try to throw my ass down the stairs. But I understand if you're too winded from before," Adam said, with a hint of their usual assholishness. He smiled, tightly; his ankle throbbed. "Ice would be good." Adam touched Ronan's leg, steadying himself. "I promise I'll be fine if you need to finish up outside. I'm not going anywhere."
The hug startled Ronan. Not because they didn’t do that shit all the time, but just because it was so obviously more than just a hug. He fisted his hands into Adam’s shirt and pressed his face into his shoulder.
“Tamquam alter idem, dumbass.” He wasn’t really a you’re welcome kind of person. This wasn’t really a you’re welcome situation anyway. When Adam hurt, he hurt. It was just that fucking simple. He drew back with his hands still reluctant to let go. “I’ll go back out in a bit. Let me huff my way back up with some ice and water first. And probably Gansey let’s be honest,’ he grimaced.
There was a little bit of fussing that followed before Ronan left - an adjusted pillow, an extra blanket and a sweatshirt brought over to the bed. He didn’t say a word, just moved with the efficiency of a guy who knew his boyfriend would get tired of him hovering before long so he better be fucking quick about it. He stopped in the doorway one last time before going downstairs.
“Last chance to make your room service demands. At least until I get all the animals put away.”
"He's going to worry himself if you bring him up here," Adam said, though he didn't sound completely put out by the idea. Once he started to let go of the idea that he had to handle all this himself, the thought of letting other people in wasn't so overwhelming. At least for a little while.
He leaned back against the headboard and watched Ronan move around the room. Adam kept his mouth shut, not a single complaint about the pillow, or the blanket, or the sweater—which he promptly shimmied into. It was big, and warm, and he sighed softly in the collar.
Even though his ankle was a constant throb of pain, it was manageable. And now exhaustion started to hit him in strange ways, in new aches and dull stings. The kind that came when he had been up too long, forcing his eyes to read one more page or write one more line or figure out one more calculus problem.
After a quiet moment, contemplating his options, Adam shook his head. "No, nothing else. Just you."
I don’t want you to be alone. Ronan didn’t voice the thought, but it was etched into the frown between his eyebrows as he lingered in the doorway. Gansey would probably be a worrywort. But at least he’d keep Adam company while Ronan finished up outside. And if the ankle got worse in some kind of abnormal way, his anxious nerd face would probably put a rush on Adam agreeing to a doctor.
“You can have me, ice, and ibuprofen. Who says I don’t know anything about romance?” Ronan gave Adam a shithead wink and ducked out the door. And if he jogged down the stairs a little faster than necessary, who the fuck was going to call him on it?