The Raven Cycle Oneshots

The Ronan After

Every time Ronan closed his eyes, all he could see was the battered and bloodied corpse sprawled out on the driveway. He was dimly aware that just earlier this week, he'd hugged his father, full of life and warmth. He'd just been sitting on the front step with his family, tossing twigs at his brothers and eating ice cream as Niall told them stories, ones they'd heard a thousand times before, and ones that hadn't seen the light of day in a long, long time.

But now all Ronan could feel was the numbing pain of it all. It would've hurt less if he'd been the one clubbed with a tire iron.

He was supposed to be packing. He and his brothers weren't allowed to live on the property anymore, but Ronan didn't know how to cope with that.

So he stood in the bathroom, morning light filtering in through the window, bathing everything in a hazy glow. He held a pair of clippers in his hand.

Ronan ran a hand through his thick curls and dared to look at his face. His cheeks had lost their glow and his blue eyes were dull, rimmed in shadow.

Seeing his father even as he closed his eyes, Ronan suddenly had a terrifying thought: what if he accidentally brought his father's corpse back from his dreams? It was terrifying because it was possible, even plausible. There was no way he could sleep, now.

The hair on Ronan's head felt too dense, too thick. He looked too much like Niall with it.

Ronan felt as if he'd reached a crossroads. He could no longer be the boy he had been before his father's death. There were two Ronan Lynches, now. He didn't want people to look at him and see the Ronan Lynch they knew, beaten down by grief.

He couldn't let Gansey or Matthew see him like this.

He was someone else now.

Ronan plugged the clippers into the wall and, without hesitation, ran them over his head. He went over his head again and again and again, until his curls were swept into the sink, and only a shadow was left atop his head.

The silence that the clippers left behind was too loud. Ronan collected the scraps of his dark hair and sealed them in an envelope. Then he went out to the woods that were sprawled along the perimeter of the Barns with a shovel, and he buried the envelope beneath an oak tree.

He stood before the tree for a moment, the air still. Even the birds had hidden away in mourning. Ronan closed his eyes, and double lines of tears streamed down his face and fell off his chin. He wiped them away and turned to go, leaving a freshly turned lump of dirt in his place.

A light was on upstairs. Matthew and Declan were still in the house, then, preparing to move into the Aglionby dorms. Ronan tried to picture waking up every morning staring at a white, popcorn-textured ceiling, the sounds of teenagers shuffling down the hall. It would be Aglionby all the time. It would devour his life.

Ronan wouldn't survive.

If he couldn't live at the Barns, then at least he could have some control over what to do next.

He grabbed the keys to the BMW from their hook by the door and stalked out to the driveway, duffel bag around his shoulder. He carried some changes of clothes, along with a few select dream items. He tossed the duffel bag in the backseat, and then settled into the driver's seat.

Ronan couldn't really believe what he was about to do. What would his father think?

None of that matters now, he told himself. It was either this or living at Aglionby.

Without a second thought, Ronan tore off down the driveway.

He had technically just stolen a car. His deceased father's car.

He thought he could hear Declan shouting behind him, but he didn't care.

This might tear their family apart.

This family has already gone to shit, Ronan thought. He pummeled the gas as he raced out onto the freeway. He didn't look back.

.....

Upon answering the knock at the door to the upper level of Monmouth Manufacturing, Gansey almost slammed it in panic. He didn't immediately recognize the figure at the door, not until he spoke.

"Gansey." Ronan stood there, shoulders slightly hunched, duffel bag on his shoulder. Relief rushed through him, just at seeing Ronan in one piece.

Gansey opened the door wider, and without a word, he embraced Ronan. The duffel bag fell from his shoulder. Ronan froze at first, a stone statue. Gansey thought he might push away. Then he buried his face into his friend's shoulder, letting Gansey cup the back of his neck.

Then Ronan pulled away suddenly, wiping at his face.

"I like the hair," Gansey noted.

Ronan's eyes were red. "Really?"

"It makes you more aerodynamic."

Ronan wore the ghost of a smile.

A beat passed, and Gansey said, "Do you want to talk?"

Ronan shook his head. "I want to wreck something. Do you have more trash outside?"

With a nod, the two boys went back outside to burn junk for the rest of the evening. Gansey pretended that he didn't see Ronan's tears as he threw garbage onto the pile with intense ferocity. They didn't speak, and when they were done, sweaty and soot-covered, Gansey said, "Do you want to stay here?"

Ronan simply nodded. He locked eyes with Gansey, and a silent understanding passed between them. Ronan was not manageable. He would not be manageable. But Gansey could provide a safe place for him while he was grieving, while he was figuring out his life. Ronan was a wreck, but he was still Ronan, Gansey's best friend.

I also like the idea of Gansey being the one to shave Ronan's head for the first time, or maybe as the months go on. Their friendship is elite.