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withthewerewolves · 5 years

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A deaged Gansey fic, because EtoileGarden is killing me with her Gansey-centric fic and he needs a hug

Ronan nearly didn’t pick up the phone. An entire confluence of events led to him even being in the house when the call came in, and he was only close enough to see Gansey’s name on the caller ID because he’d left it on top of the fridge after Opal tried chewing on it and he happened to be getting a glass of water when it rang. Even knowing who was calling he might have ignored it, but Adam had just left for college and Blue, Gansey, and Henry had been gone long enough for him to start feeling lonely for the company of people who hadn’t come from his head.

“Dick,” he said, picking it up. Chainsaw and Opal were having a screaming contest nearby, but he made no attempt to move somewhere quieter.

“Hello, Old MacDonald,” said Henry, because he thought he was funny.

“Cheng,” Ronan replied, his tone shifting from friendly annoyance to something less welcoming.

“Now that the introductions have been made, on to the reason for my call,” Henry said. There was something happening in the background, but Ronan couldn’t hear it over his own cacophony.

“You have to have a reason to ruin my day?”

“I will ruin your day for free. However, in this case I do have a reason.” Henry’s usual cheerful voice was intact, but there was a hint of strain that set a pit of worry in Ronan’s stomach on to boil. Ronan waited, but he didn’t continue.

“Get on with it. Some of us have more to do than galivant around the country taking selfies.”

“I don’t know whether to be more impressed that you know the word ‘galivant’ or ‘selfie’.”

“Yes, my education was a waste. I’m hanging up on you.”

“Wait!” The spark of real panic in Henry’s voice stopped Ronan.

“You have two seconds,” Ronan growled.

“Gansey has – oh Blue Lily what do you call it in English? He has shrunk. No, he is young. No, that isn’t right either.” There was some muttering, Ronan couldn’t make out words but he recognized Blue’s voice. “That is a silly thing to call it. The Korean is much more elegant. He has gone prat.” The silence after the statement told Ronan that Henry was done, but it made no sense.

“He’s…being rude? Of course he is. Duct tape his mouth shut.” Ronan only recognized the British word at all from reading the Harry Potter books when he was young. Declan had disapproved, which was why he’d finished all seven. Something else niggled in his memory, but it escaped him.

“Gansey’s manners are second only to the quality of his hair. I thought you said it was a common term?” The second part was directed at Blue.

“I can’t believe I let you make the call. Give me the phone.” This was clearly unnecessary because, based on the clarity of her words, Blue had already taken the phone.

“For fuck’s sake. Cheng and the Maggot in the same day?” Ronan said, but he knew he didn’t sound irritated.

“Gansey is a child,” Blue said. “He looks maybe eight. We should have considered this might happen, he’s probably been under constant stress since the thing with the bees.” There was a noise on the other side of the line and she said, “Don’t worry, we know about your allergy. We won’t let any bees get you, and even if they did, I carry medicine for you. See? Don’t touch the orange side, there’s something sharp in it.” Her voice was a mix of gentle and bossy that he hadn’t heard from her since the first time he’d left her alone with Opal.

It was the voice that told him what had happened. It was a common enough condition to be taught in schools, common enough that most families developed procedures in case it happened in the future, but not common enough that anyone expected it would. It was called going prat, just as Blue had told Henry. Prat stood for Physiological Response to Acute Trauma, but that was neither descriptive nor did it roll off the tongue. Really, it was age regression, an attempt by a brain to heal after a traumatic event. The theory was that the mind and body reverted to an age before the trauma in order to rewrite the connections in the brain to better process it. His Health teacher said it was a positive sign, that the brain considered the trauma to be over and that healing could begin. He had wondered if he would ever wake up with eyes that hadn’t seen the shattered skull of his father.

“He’s how old?” Ronan knew he sounded strangled, but most people lost a few years at most. The kind of regression Blue was talking about mostly only happened to kids who’d been abused, a sustained trauma. Of everyone he knew, he’d thought only Adam –

There was more talking that he couldn’t make out. “He says he’s ten. It’s cool, I was a short kid too,” Blue said.

“You’re a short kid now,” Ronan muttered. Ten. It probably was the bees, then. Better than the alternative.

“We’re coming back,” Blue said. “We’ll drive though the night and be at the Barns around noon tomorrow.” She was quiet for a moment, but it was a heavy silence. “We aren’t taking him to his parents.”

“Fuck no,” Ronan snapped.

Blue breathed out hard.

“How long will he be like this?” Ronan said. He didn’t really expect Blue to know, but maybe she’d paid more attention to Health class than he had.

“It could be weeks,” she said. “We’ll stop at Fox Way and see if anyone can tell anything.”

Ronan thought this was a case for therapy rather than magic, but as he wasn’t a fan of either, he deferred to her judgement.

“Tell him – tell him there’s a new stag in my deer herd,” he said. “And that if he eats his vegetables he might get tall enough to pet it.”

“Vegetables?” he heard Blue say incredulously as he hung up. He needed to call Adam. If anything could get him to make a weekend visit, this might.

#the raven cycle #trc #Gansey

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