leylined | (no subject)

The sun was out and unseasonably warm in the afternoon sky. Adam sat in the driver's seat of his Honda, quiet as the grave. He'd just driven through the poorer side of Henrietta and down an old and familiar dirt track. To his left stood a bank of familiar rusted mailboxes. He hadn't been here since the summer, yet it felt like it was yesterday that he and Ronan had left here with his meager belongings, his left ear roaring and his very soul feeling like it'd been ripped asunder.

The trailer park sat unchanged, a collection of the lowest rung of the financially insecure in the small town. He'd done so much, made more progress than he'd ever hoped to, and still there was the feeling like he'd never amount to more than this place. Yet still he couldn't go in, crippled by fear. Fear of his father. Fear that he wouldn't be able to leave once he went in. Most of all, though, fear that he would finally be as hated by his mother as much as his father feared him. He'd taken off his Aglionby sweater, chosen not to drive the Bentley, and made sure anything of his he'd gotten since leaving this place, anything of value greater than this place, was unseen. His hands ached in the cold and he had to fight the urge to lick them as they started to chap.

He almost forgot about his father's lack of a job before the man himself drove by in his old pickup, passing him with a few of his buddies in tow, no doubt trying to find a bar to crawl into and not come out of until the next day, stinking drunk and angrier than a starved lion. Fear kept him glued in his seat, watching with wide eyes as the man turned right next to him.

And kept driving.

This was a bad idea. He knew it now, even while he knew this was the last time Robert would be home for the rest of the weekend, if his mother was lucky. The wrapped present for her stood sentinel in the back seat as he contemplated whether he should go on or not.

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He was in his own world by that point, letting out all the grief and rage he'd held back for this place that he hadn't let out or directed at people who didn't deserve it. Because while an ashamed part of him would return in a heartbeat, this was still the place that had made the worst part of him. Where he resisted friendship for most of his life. Where he learned to resent Gansey for the things he had and the person he was when he neither deserved it nor controlled that aspect of his life. Where he learned to covet all of them for the things he never had growing up. Where he learned to eschew concern for him while still craving affection. Where he learned anger and frustration, things that ultimately cost him his relationship with Blue. Where he learned love came with pain, and so he caused all of them that in one way or another. Where he learned self doubt and fear, which cost him his relationship with Ronan before it ever truly began. Where he learned to judge, which made the path to friendship with Kavinsky harder than it had to be. Where pragmatism was more valued than idealism, which killed Whelk and sown the horrific seeds for Greenmantle's undoing. Where a monster lived, who in turn made his son into one. Where he was taught to turn everything he touched into dust, except for the place that truly deserved it. But Robert Parrish taught him well. If he couldn't turn this place into dust, he would reduce it to ruins.

He was stopped only by the feel of strong arms taking hold of him and he started with a small cry. At first he thought it was Robert, returned too soon from whatever hole he had decided to crawl into for the weekend, but soon he was enveloped by the smell of Gasoline and mist and moss and Ronan, and the fear turned to shame. He started fighting, trying to make it to another stone. "No! Damn it, Ronan! I have to!" He fought and shouted, but Ronan was too strong for him, and eventually the urge began to subside, leaving Adam weak, depending more on Ronan than himself to stay upright.

He turned in his arms, the fight gone and letting his hands wrap around Ronan's torso tightly, sobbing into his neck. It was grief and anger both, for his mother who still hadn't found the courage to stand up for herself and leave. For himself who needed the threat of the only person in his life who refused to take his shit being taken away to find his own. For the boy who grew up too ugly and too soon. For the man Robert could have been. For the family that never was.

Eventually even that ended, and in its wake there was nothing save for the heaving of Adam's body trying to reset itself in the aftermath of his fury and sadness. When he spoke, it was hoarse from his crying and devoid of anything. "Why couldn't they love me?" He was beyond caring how people would view him in that moment. "How come I'm not worth it?"

"They didn't know how." That was the only thing Ronan could think of. He didn't know how they couldn't love their son. Why they thought it was okay to abuse him and make him afraid. Ronan grew up with love and affection, unconditionally, always sure that no matter what his parents loved him. How anyone could be any different he didn't know.

"You're worth it to us. Fuck them. You've always belonged to us you just had to find your way here." He held him tight and he held him close. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of this to find us."

Against his skin, he could feel leaves and branches brushing against him, Cabeswater stirring and trying to lend its own hand in comforting him. Eventually Adam calmed enough that even his breathing became normal, and he felt it safe enough to pull away. Gunnar came over then, licking Adam's hand uncertainly before Adam scratched his head lightly.

"We've been here too long. We should go."

Ronan rubbed a hand over Adam's head as he nodded. He took a deep breath, looking past his friend at the trailer. Later he would pay someone to come fix this because he knew eventually Adam would beat himself up over it.

"Yeah, we should. I'll drive. Get your monster."