no masters or kings when the ritual begins

It didn't feel like any ordinary dream.

That wasn't saying much when the dreamer in question was Ronan Lynch, but even for him, it didn't feel ordinary. Just how seemed impossible to quantify, but Ronan could feel it in the shudder of the wind against his skin, the hint of a whisper down his spine, the flicker of wings in his peripheral vision.

There was something lingering at the edges. A presence. Calling to him. Pleading.

He wasn't dreaming with purpose this time, his sleep largely dreamless and much easier to come by in the past several months with all his closest friends nearby and his mother only two doors down. There are no Terrors. Haven't been for months. Was this one now? When Ronan slept these days it was for hours on end, as though his body was trying to make up for years and years without.

But not tonight.

He woke slowly, in fits in starts that were far too familiar. A wisp of white fluttered across his eyes and a sinking dread hung in his chest as he blinked his eyes open. He was stuck in place, fingers twitching, gripping at nothing and, for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

And then he could.

He hadn't brought anything out with him, or at least nothing he could see. But the shiver in his room hadn't faded.

Frowning, Ronan checked the clock -- 6:21. The sun was peeking over the horizon already. He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The door to his mother's room was still closed as he passed and Ronan quietly jogged down the stairs in only his boxers and muscle shirt, slipping into a pair of flip-flops that may or may not have been his own before stepping out into the crisp morning.

The chickens greeted him with quiet clucks as Ronan carried in the pail of bird feed. Hercules stumbled over on graceless legs while Cinnamon only blinked at him from near the fence.

Ronan sprinkled the ground with a handful of seed, still unable to shake the vestiges of the dream.

Working for Luke wasn't the most thrilling thing, but it was easy and it gave him something to do every now and then. The animals didn't need constant 24-hour care; after their morning feeding and some general cleaning of the barn, there wasn't all that much Ronan needed to do. With Cabeswater protecting them, there wasn't much they couldn't do on their own.

Plus, time spent at Graymark meant, usually, time spent getting into trouble with Jack. Often, that was the highlight to Ronan's day.

But first he had to get to Graymark. The truck was loaded up with boxes from the warehouse on the other side of town and Ronan had the music blasting and the windows rolled down. He caught a few glares at nearly every stoplight, which was just how he liked it, blowing kisses at a few here and there and simply scowling at others. It probably wasn't the best thing to do while on the clock but Luke's truck didn't have any markings for the business and Ronan at least wasn't violating any traffic laws.

At least not until Chainsaw, who had decided to join him in the cab, started fucking with the volume knob on the radio.

"Little shit," he snarled as she jumped up onto the gearshift to poke at the knob hard enough to turn it to the left. Reaching over, Ronan turned it right back up again and Chainsaw swiveled her head to stare at him with her dark beady eyes.

Ronan glared right back.

Until a flash of something out the corner of his eye caught his attention, a flash of something small and possibly furry dashing into the street. Right in front of him.

Slamming on the breaks, Ronan cursed and Chainsaw spread her wings with a terrified kerah! The truck was too big, too wieldy to stop on a dime and the screech of tires on asphalt rang in Ronan's ear as he braced himself to feel a horrifying thump.

There's a computer set up in the third spare room, the one Ronan had initially intended to be Gansey's, though Gansey has yet to use it. For now, the room is doubling as Adam's study on the days or nights he comes out to spend time with Ronan while he studies. Like most everything else in the little farmhouse, the computer is a dream thing, with a 24 inch monitor, endless hard drive space, 64 megs of RAM, and a lightening-fast processor.

And internet access of course, despite the fact there isn't a chance any cable company in all of Darrow could hope to wire out in Cabeswater.

For the first time since he dreamt it, it's actually Ronan who's using it, Adam stretched out on the opposite bed with an economics book as Ronan trolls through pages and pages of search results on the Darrow equivalent of Google.

"What are your feelings on alpacas?" he asks idly, squinting at the screen.

Hywel is far from empty by the time Ronan makes it back. Hercules scampers over as Ronan stalks his way past the barn area and Cinnamon turns her large head to blink huge, brown eyes at him.

The upstairs is equally occupied, the door to Gansey's room wide open and Adam out in the front room, a scatter of books and papers around him. Ronan doesn't so much as say hello before he stalks straight for the bathroom, stripping off his shirt once he's inside to examine the bruise already blooming across his side.

Fuck.

He checks out his hand next, frowning at the singed skin between his fingers before dunking it under the faucet, trying to clean out the dirt and ash, hissing at the slight sting.

There'll be no hiding this from Adam and, already, he's trying to come up with a decent lie. A believable lie. He fucking hates lying, especially to Adam, but he can already picture that shuttered off expression of disapproval and disappointment. Ronan had made a promise and he'd intended to keep it, but he hadn't been expecting some asshole with his face and his name to show up and kick Noah around.

He doesn't know how he could be expected to not react.

Scowling, and stomach still twisted in knots, Ronan flings the water off his hands and reaches for a towel, ignoring the ache in his side all the while.

It's a quiet night, all things considered. Ronan wouldn't even call it a fucking party so much as more or less a typical night at Hywel, albeit one where they're all miraculously there at the same time. Blue's even stayed, grinning along with Noah as they brought in the birthday pie -- Noah had insisted on a cake but apparently Blue has some friend who makes a mean pecan pie -- and then curling herself up on the couch next to Adam.

They'd turned on the TV but hand't really watching much of it, spending most of the time talking as Ronan nursed a beer or two and Adam tried not to acknowledge the reason behind the whole evening.

Not that they really let him forget it. Especially not Noah.

It's well past midnight when Adam starts to drift. The TV's still on and Noah and Blue are in a heated discussion about the evolution of alternative rock when Ronan reaches over to curl his hand lightly around Adam's wrist.

"Alright, losers, me and birthday boy are heading to bed," he says, the arch of his eyebrow brooking no argument.

Noah looks between the two of them, his grin widening and Blue only rolls her eyes, but neither of them try to stop him. Ronan ignores any further comment from both of them, tipping his head back to finish off his beer before setting the empty bottle on the table and dragging Adam to his feet.

"No argument from you either," he adds, his voice low and for Adam only as he steers him toward the bedroom.

There's nowhere to drive in this fucking town.

Ronan's been over every inch of asphalt and dirt road in the entire city, multiple times. The scenery never changes. Neither do the people. It's the same goddamn thing every single time he drives, and he doesn't choose to stop.

This cage isn't Henrietta and never could be, but the air through the window still feels good and the familiar rumble of the Pig beneath his feet is a comfort.

None of that changes with Adam at the wheel.

It's quiet. Still. Ronan won't delude himself into believing that everything is still okay. He still has trouble making himself sleep, still wakes up in fits and starts with new sorts of nightmares, ones involving needles and metal restraints instead of claws and beaks. Adam is still wary and Ronan is still careful and there is no filling the hole Gansey left behind.

But the days pass and they're still here.

Adam takes a familiar left turn and the trees become a canopy, shielding the sunlight from view as the Pig slows. Ronan hadn't been aware of any specific destination tonight and he glances over with a raised brow.

"I've always wanted to get dirty in a car," he says, smirking. It isn't a lie.

He's too tired to dream himself some kind of magical cast. Even if he wasn't, he's not sure he'd have the ability right now anyway as depleted as Cabeswater is. Has been.

But he still knows how to find the hospital.

Driving there is a bitch and, not for the first time, Ronan finds himself missing his BMW. The Pig squeals and aches with nearly every turn and something bitter churns in Ronan's belly. Even as broken as he is right now, a part of him wants to turn back and find that tire iron and use his last shred of energy to beat the shit out of this fucking car, just obliterate the last fucking memory tying Gansey here.

Instead, he drives himself to the hospital, shoving the car into park and slamming the door behind him. Every movement sends a fresh lash of pain through him until he's standing at the front of the ER line and getting ushered to the back.

Three hours later, he has a cast, a sling, and pain medication as well as ointment for his split lip and a bandage around his chest. He has every intention of ignoring their urging that he not drive home, but a nurse follows him outside, follows him with watchful suspicious eyes.

So he walks back instead, leaving the Pig parked in the lot.

Fuck it, he'll come back for it. Or he won't. What fucking difference does it make anymore.

There are lights on in Hywel when he makes it back and Ronan takes a breath, already bracing himself for the lecture, either from Noah or Adam or both. Blue's likely already told them everything. Hercules, at least, gives him a warm welcome, trotting up to the little barricade separating the entry way from the rest of the makeshift barn. Ronan reaches over to scratch his head, lets him nibble lightly at Ronan's fingers before he makes his way to the stairs.

A drink sounds good, he thinks. Then he remembers the narcotics.

Fuck.

At first, it didn't feel real. Nothing felt real. Even now, Ronan has no idea how many days he spent in and out of consciousness, riding out the continued effects of whatever fucking drugs they'd pumped into him, pulling useless, horrible, half-formed things from an overworked Cabeswater, waking up screaming, ripping at restraints that no longer held him.

Later, the clarity had settled in and, with it, the unavoidable truth.

Gansey's absence in Hywel is a palpable thing, as heavy as the sudden lack of his father in his life. This time there isn't so much as a fucking tire iron to blame, much less the hand holding it. This time there's nothing but a fucking hole. A void.

It eats away.

Blue's kept away. Kept to herself. Ronan can't say he misses her exactly, but her absence adds to the emptiness. Noah's still around for the most part, and Adam. Ronan isn't sure which of them is more ghost-like anymore.

Neither of them are there when Ronan steps into Gansey's bedroom. He takes in the queen-sized bed, the covers still rumpled and sheets creased, and his nerves start to itch. His hands curl into fists at the sight of the bookshelf nearly full of dozens of titles Ronan's seen scattered throughout Hywel, the shelves dusty. He Grits his teeth as he takes in the desk in the corner, the surface covered in scribbled-upon papers and little cardboard cut-outs.

There's a single mint plant on the corner, starving for water.

Ronan picks off a single leaf, lightly places it on his tongue. Closes his eyes.

And boils over.

The plant hits the far wall hard enough to dent the plaster, falling to the bed in a mess of dust, dirt, and ceramic. The papers on the desk are next, wiped clean off the desk with on furious swipe. The lamp soon follows, cord ripped from the wall with a sputter before being smashed to the floor. There's a dowsing rod rested against the side of the desk and Ronan snatches it up before cleaning snapping it in two, flinging both ends toward the window and then lunging for the bookshelf. The books fly off in clumps, dropping to the ground in a scatter of wounded spines and dented pages and none of it fucking matters, none of it ever fucking mattered. Gansey started looking for answers the moment he got here, started looking for a way out.

And he finally fucking found it.

In truth, Ronan has been trying very hard not to consider what it is he's doing with Kavinsky. He hasn't mentioned it to Gansey or Adam, hasn't really seen a need to. It's not like he's hiding anything; he and Kavinsky aren't doing anything sordid.

Hell, what they're doing might actually save someone's life. Provided the pills actually work.

It's midday by the time Ronan leaves Cabeswater, tired but not worn. There's a buzzing under his skin, different from the one he gets fighting or racing, though it's no less of an itch. He considers stopping into visit Adam at the garage, but heads to Hywel instead, certain Adam would likely only roll his eyes and tell Ronan to leave him alone until his break.

Cinnamon's lounging in the back when Ronan gets there, blinking at him with her huge, liquid eyes before turning her attention back to the grass, not seeming to care that it's much a dream thing as she is.

He checks on the chickens next, popping into the coop to pick out three fresh eggs, and then heads to the upstairs to rinse them off.

He doesn't notice Noah until Noah is directly beside him, but he barely flinches, lips instead curling into a scowl as he hands Noah an egg. "Put this in the fridge, will you?"