Oh god. We're going to be late. Gansey pulled up by the mailboxes, where he could see Adam waiting.

"Hop in, Parrish, we've got ten minutes!"

Adam didn't immediately move. Gansey felt his stomach clench, but he struggled to keep it out of his voice. "Adam, get in."

Adam pushed himself to a standing position, swaying slightly.

"Jesus Christ!" Gansey jumped out of the Pig and grabbed Adam's arm, but let go when he cried out.

"Adam, what's wrong?" The smaller boy tried to take a step forward, his body bent as if under a great weight, but he crumpled to the ground.

"Adam?" Gansey gently, gingerly helped him up, and managed to get him into the passenger seat of the Pig.

"Adam tell me what happened." Gansey stared at the bruises which marked Adam's face. There were the ones from a few days ago, when Adam had been caught trying to sneak out, but there were also fresh, swollen ones that overlapped those. Adam just shrugged.

"We're skipping class." Gansey turned onto the street that would bring them to Monmouth.

"No," Adam mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion and confusion. "Can't skip."

"You haven't missed a day for three months, none of us have. You can't go to school like this; you'll pass out." Adam's shoulders slumped, and Gansey knew that he had won. "It'll be ok," Gansey reassured.

He flicked open his cell phone, at the same time as he pulled the Pig into Monmouth's parking lot.

"Ronan? Yeah, come out and help me get Adam inside. I'm here now." He hung up.

Five seconds later, Ronan opened the door to the Camaro. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he muttered. "What happened?"

Adam's eyes were fluttering; it seemed that he had fallen to unconsciousness.

"I don't know, he didn't tell me," Gansey said. "Get him upstairs; I'll get a place ready for him to lie down." He disappeared into the factory.

Ronan leaned into the car, slipping an arm around Adam, lifting him under his shoulders.

"Ah!" Adam whimpered and pulled away, his breath coming in little gasps. Ronan let go immediately, frightened. "Adam?"

"Nnn, no, please…" Adam whispered.

"It's ok, I'm here," Ronan murmured, more compassionate than was his norm. He felt rage coiling in his gut, but he pushed it away; Adam needed him. "Come on, Parrish, I've got you." He gently tugged his friend out of the car, supporting most of his weight. Even standing still, Ronan could tell that Adam was favoring his right leg, and he stayed bent over, straightening far too painful for him.

"Come on, just a little way," Ronan guided him up the stairs, though it took a long time; Adam was barely able to move his legs, so Ronan wound up basically carrying him into the main room of Gansey's apartment.

"Here," Gansey had the door to his room open the bed freshly made. "Lie him down here." Ronan led Adam to the bed, where he collapsed onto his side.

"I need to view his injuries," Gansey said, sitting facing Adam's back. "Help me get his shirt off."

But when Ronan began to pull the shirt up, Adam cried out and put his hands up as if to protect his face.

"Adam, I'm not going to hurt you!" Ronan shouted, but Adam wasn't really present; he was too absorbed in pain and fear to listen to what was being said.

"I'll get scissors; we can cut it off." Gansey disappeared into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Noah asked, drifting into the room. "Is he ok?"

"I don't know," Ronan replied shortly. He was starting to lose the battle with his anger.

"Ronan, you don't want to be here," Noah said softly, just before Gansey returned with a pair of scissors. "You should leave. Gansey can handle this."

"Don't tell me what to do, shrimp."

Gansey leaned over and slipped the scissor blade between the cloth and Adam's skin, careful not to let it touch. As the shirt fell away from his skin, Adam let out a tiny sigh. At first, Ronan could only see a bit of red skin, but as Gansey gingerly peeled the shirt away from Adam's back, Ronan gasped and thought he might throw up. Adam's back was a mass of angry red welts, their centers white with blisters. The outer edges of each weal were bright and swollen with a strip of dark bruising bordering them. He could see that the welts extended down past the waistband of his jeans, and they wrapped his shoulders.

"Holy shit," He couldn't look away.

"Mother of god," Gansey breathed. He could hear Noah whimper from the other room. "Oh god Lynch, those jeans must be tormenting him. You get him undressed, and see how bad the damage is. I'll get some medical supplies. I'll be back in ten minutes." Gansey left without waiting for a reply.

"It'll be ok, Adam," Ronan promised again. " We're going to help you. Everything will be ok." He leaned across Adam's body to undo his jeans, but he didn't get that far. At the sight of Adam's stomach and chest he recoiled. No wonder he can't stand up, he thought. Across Adam's entire torso blossomed a deep bruise. It was a dark, pulsing reddish purple, the edges tinted with black, blue, and green. It stretched from his right hip to his left shoulder, and it took Ronan a moment to realize that it was actually a great many bruises all piled upon one another. The thought of how many times, and how hard, Adam must have been punched to accumulate bruises like that nearly made him gag. Ronan had been in his share of fights. He'd seen people seriously messed up after a boxing match. Hell, he'd been seriously messed up after boxing. But he'd never been bruised like this. These were bruises that came after being kicked while you were down. A lot. Again, Ronan felt rage boil up from his belly, coiling down his arms and into his hands, making him ache to hit someone. Particularly Robert Parrish. "How could you let him do this to you, Adam?" He whispered. Ronan shook himself and made his fingers undo his friend's pants. Then he stopped; he knew that pulling them down, no matter how gentle he was, would cause Adam even more pain. He gritted his teeth, steeling himself to ignore whatever cries of pain or protest that Adam made, and he yanked the jeans down as fast as he could while still being humane.

Adam screamed, and his eyes flew open, but only for a minute. Then they rolled up into his head, and he went limp and quiet. Ronan tugged the pants off the last few inches and observed the damage. The red welts disappeared into Adam's boxers, and didn't reappear below that. On the back of each of his thighs was a large round bruise, not nearly as bad as those on his torso, but still painful-looking. The rest of his legs were bruised as well, but nothing serious compared to the injuries on the rest of his body.

Ronan sat back and let his eyes go unfocused; he didn't want to see this, Noah was right. He couldn't bear to see his friend in this condition. He couldn't just sit there and do nothing, while the scumbag who had done this went free! Again he had the inescapable urge to punch, kick, and pound Adam's father into the state he'd reduced his son to. Only the knowledge that Adam needed him, that he'd promised to be here for him, kept him from hopping in his car and driving straight out to the trailer park.

Even though his eyes were still staring into space, he could clearly see the marks on his best friend's flesh. He could see every moment of it in his head: Robert Parrish smashing the back of his hand across Adam's face, grabbing him by the shirt, throwing him against the wall, using his weight to bear his son to the ground. The big, muscled man kneeling on the backs of Adam's legs to hold him down (he's lucky he got off with just bruises and not a broken femur, Ronan thought), ripping the teen's shirt off, pulling his own thick leather belt out of his waistband. Ronan saw Adam flinch when the whip landed on his skin and, a moment later, scream as the pain set in. He watched as Robert continued to beat at his son's back, shoulders, and butt, as Adam screamed and cried and begged for forgiveness, for relief, for an end to the pain, even if it involved unconsciousness. As Adam began to struggle, and his father cast away the belt in favor of his fists and boots and continued to pound at him. Ronan could even see Mrs. Parrish fretting in the background, begging her husband to stop but never coming to her son's aid. He saw the time when it was over, when Robert Parrish left his son crying and writhing on the floor of his trailer. And even this morning, when Adam had tried to avoid dressing, avoid moving, and his father had forced him out with threats and possibly another smack or two. Ronan felt sick again, his body wanting to expel what his brain had perceived. Ronan didn't know how he could be so certain of the way things had happened, but he was. There was not a doubt in his mind that he had seen precisely what transpired at the Parrish trailer last night.

At that moment, Gansey came into the room carrying a plastic shopping bag, out of which he dumped arnica gel, rubbing alcohol, cotton pads, hot-and-cold packs, and bandages. "I didn't know what all we'd need, so I just bought…" Gansey's voice trailed off as he glimpsed the awful bruising on the front of Adam's body. "Dear god," He whispered. "We need to take him to the hospital."

Ronan shook his head. He knew Adam, understood him in a way that Gansey didn't, couldn't.

"If we do that, he'll never forgive us," he said.

"If we don't, he'll die!"

"Don't be dramatic, Dick," Ronan spat, deliberately using his hated nickname. He leaned over and ever so gently felt Adam's chest, though even that light contact elicited a gasp of pain from the unconscious boy.

"At worst, his ribs are fractured, and there's nothing they can do about that at the hospital anyway," He said.

"At least they could get his father to lay off him!" Gansey cried. "I can't believe you're not with me on this!"

Ronan leapt to his feet and turned on Gansey. "You think I want this to continue?!" He yelled. "You think I like knowing that he's gonna keep getting the shit beaten out of him and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it?! They can't do anything! At best, they'll both deny it and make up some bullshit and nothing will change. At worst, Adam will try to tell someone, the bastard will deny it, and when they realize nothing can be proven, he'll only beat him worse next time! Don't you dare try to guilt me into forcing him into that situation, Gansey. Don't you fucking dare." By the time he was done, Ronan was breathing hard, his fists clenched and shaking, his face red and hot.

Gansey waited a breath before he spoke. "I'm sorry. That—I wasn't thinking."

"Damn straight," Ronan snarled.

"I'm sorry. You're right. We should be taking care of him, not fighting." Gansey sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the rubbing alcohol. He dumped some onto a cotton pad and began rubbing it over the worst of the wounds on Adam's back, the ones where the belt had cut his skin. Ronan came to sit beside him.

"Get up there," he muttered, pointing at a horseshoe-shaped cut near Adam's shoulder, but not looking Gansey in the eye. "That's where the buckle bit."

Gansey nearly choked. Of course, he'd heard of children being beaten by their parents, but before he met Adam it had never really registered with him that there were fathers out there who tortured their children, whipping them into submission like slaves, beating them until either their bodies or spirits broke. He prayed that Adam freed himself before that happened.

"Go freeze these, Gansey," Ronan said when they were done cleaning the wounds, handing him the ice packs. "I can take it from here."

Gansey was hesitant to leave; he felt like he should be doing something more to help. "Are you sure?"

Ronan chuckled bitterly. "I've been in a good sight more fights than you. I know what I'm doing. Scram, you're in my way."

"Alright…" Gansey moved toward the kitchen. "Tell me if you need me."

Ronan squeezed some arnica onto his hands and began to rub it into the bruise on Adam's right hamstring. As the cool sensation soothed the pain, he began to stir, gingerly opening his eyes for an instant, then closing them again with a groan. "Adam?" Ronan asked immediately.

"Nnn…" The sound was a combination of acknowledgment and pain.

"Adam, what happened? What the hell happened?"

"Unh…" Adam forced his eyes open again, though he didn't try to turn around and face his friend. "I got hit. What's it look like?"

"It looks like you lost a fight with a lawn mower," Ronan growled, but he didn't press for details. Adam would tell him in his own time, and besides, Ronan was sure he already knew what went down anyway.

"That bad?"

"Yeah."

Adam sighed, then flinched; the breath had sent a wave of pain through his ribs and back.

"Take it easy, Parrish," Ronan said softly, working healing gel into Adam's other leg. Ronan's hands were unbelievably gentle, and after the hours of pain and torment that he'd been through, the feeling of a kind touch was heavenly. Adam had been beaten before; god knows, how he'd been beaten. But he had never taken a licking like this one. He could still feel the belt cutting into him, over and over and over, the buckle ripping into his skin, his father's hands sinking into his flesh once he tired of the belt. The worst part was, Adam knew that if he could go back and change it, he wouldn't. He didn't regret grabbing his father's arm, forcing his hand away from his mother. He only regretted that his father had over a hundred pounds and half a foot on him. He didn't remember much from after the beating, but he was fairly sure that his mother had berated him for stepping in. No, berated was too strong a word: she'd softly told him, in different words but just as clearly, that the whipping was his own fault for stepping out of line and going against the order of things. It made all the hot pain flashing through his back, and the deep, sick ache spreading through his guts seem worthless.

"Turn a little," Ronan said, leaning over to get better access to the bruises on Adam's stomach. "Not too far though; your back's pretty torn up."

Adam obliged. "Ronan?" He asked as his thoughts continued to clear, to move to the present. "What are you doing here?"

Ronan scoffed. "Fine, Parrish, last time I try to be nice to you."

"No, I—" Adam felt awful. "That's not what I meant. Thank you; you're really helping."

Ronan's arnica-covered fingers barely brushed Adam's skin, but it still felt like burning sticks pounding into his stomach. He gasped, tears flooding his eyes.

"Sorry!" Ronan pulled away. "I'm trying to be gentle."

Adam shook his head a bit, blinking away the moisture. "It's not your fault. Just leave it for now."

Ronan nodded and sat back, wiping his hands on one of the bandages.

"What time is it?" Adam asked. He could see sun coming in the window, so at least it wasn't too late.

"It's not even eleven o'clock yet, calm down," Ronan assured him.

"I have to be back by ten," Adam said.

Ronan didn't reply.

"Adam, you're up!" Gansey cried, striding into the room. "What happened? Do you need a hospital? Should I call the police? We didn't want to do anything before you woke up!"

Adam's head spun. Gansey's voice was loud and chaotic and frantic, and he couldn't think his way through the responses to all those questions. Not yet.

Ronan's voice was soft and cool and soothing; somehow he and Gansey seemed to have switched roles. "Let him get his head about him," Ronan told Gansey, who looked down sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said more softly.

"It's ok," said Adam. "I don't need a hospital. And don't call the police. Please."

Gansey looked ready to argue, but Ronan shot him a look, and he shut his mouth.

"At least tell us what happened," Gansey insisted.

Adam sighed, and Ronan sat back down on the edge of the bed. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he said.

"No, it's ok." Adam took a breath, and winced again. He really needed to remember that anything beyond minimalistic shallow breathing was going to hurt. "He was hitting my mom, and I stopped him, so he hit me instead." He said all the words in a rush, afraid that he would choke up if he slowed.

Gansey looked ready to start giving orders, so Ronan glared at him again. "Jesus Adam." Was all he wound up saying.

"What do you need me to do?" Ronan asked. Adam and Gansey both noted the unusual kindness in his voice; Ronan was a creature of venom and sharp edges, not compassion and gentleness. And yet, he'd been handling this situation better than anyone else.

"Let me sleep here for a few hours?" Adam asked. "And make sure I don't break curfew?"

Ronan nodded, a single jerky movement.

"Curfew?" Gansey broke in, confused. "You don't mean—Adam you are not going back there!"

Adam closed his eyes. "Staying out will just make it worse when I go back."

"Then don't go back!" Gansey's voice was rising despite himself.

Adam sighed tiredly. They'd had this argument a thousand times before. They'd gone days without speaking because of it.

"Don't fight him, Gansey," Ronan interrupted, before the former could reply. "Not now. Let it go."

"But he—"

"Quiet," Noah said form the doorway. Both boys looked up. "You'll wake him up." They looked down and, sure enough, Adam had slipped into sleep once more.

Gansey turned and stormed out of the room, Noah drifting in his wake. Neither of them caught the moment when Ronan tenderly took Adam's hand and squeezed it. Just for a moment. But enough.

It was late afternoon when before Adam woke up again. He hadn't even stirred when Ronan applied arnica again. He only asked for some water and fell right back asleep.

"He's tired," said Noah. "Besides getting beat up, I don't think he slept much last night."

Ronan nodded, and went back to staring at the wall. Gansey didn't make any sign that he'd heard.

At nine-thirty Ronan said, "I guess I better get him up."

"No way," Gansey argued. "We are not letting him go back there."

"That's not our decision," Replied Ronan, and there was something of his old venom in his voice. "Now get out of my way, Dick."

He roused Adam by gently touching his shoulder and calling his name. "Nnn, is it—" Adam broke off when he saw it was dark. "Oh god, what time is it?!" He sat bolt upright, his fear a palpable thing. His cry of pain drowned out Ronan's reply.

"Calm down, I'm taking you back now," Ronan hushed, "and it's only twenty of. You have plenty of time."

Adam calmed a bit. "Gansey's not happy, is he?" He asked.

"Not really," Ronan replied. "And neither am I. I wish you would stay here with us. I wish you knew how much we—I—care about you. But it's your choice, and you know that you can always come here. Always."

Adam felt tears welling up again. "Th-thank you," He managed to choke out.

"Come on," Ronan helped him stand and get dressed, though Adam flinched and moaned when his clothes scraped his wounds. But the sleep seemed to have done him a lot of good, or maybe it was the arnica; he could stand now, at least, and his ribs didn't seem to be hurting too terribly anymore.

"Adam, be careful," Noah said by way of goodbye.

"Stay," Gansey tried one last time.

"I can't."

Ronan helped Adam down the stairs and into his car. He didn't want to be doing this; he didn't want to be the person who took his friend back to that horrible place. But he knew that Adam would hate him doing anything else.

"You're sure you don't want to stay?" He figured it was worth a shot. "Can't you just tell him you're staying with a friend for the night?"

Adam laughed, a dull, heartless sound. "That'd just piss him off more."

Ronan pulled out.

In front of the Parrish trailer, he could see both of Adam's parents waiting for him. They pulled up at five of ten, and Adam was visibly nervous.

"You don't have to get out here," Ronan said, because he had to.

"Yes, I do," Adam said. "Thank you for….everything. You're a good friend, Lynch."

Ronan felt sick. He wanted to hug Adam, or punch his father, or yell at his mother. He wanted to punish the people who had hurt his friend, and comfort him at the same time.

"Be seeing you, Parrish."

"See you tomorrow, Lynch."

Adam walked up the steps to his trailer, and went inside, and Ronan slowly pulled away, vowing that someday, and someday soon, Adam Parrish would not have to walk into his own home with stones in his stomach and heart. Someday soon, Ronan would save him from that. Just as soon as Adam would let him.