Dean/Seamus - Scars

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THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO COME OUT SO HEART-WRENCHING.

Sometimes Dean remembered the war in ways he didn't want to. He remembered the year apart from Seamus, more worried that Seamus had no idea if Dean was still alive than for his own life.. More concerned that he couldn't get Seamus as safe and reassuring message than he was for keeping himself hidden. He remembered the trepidation with which he approached the Battle of Hogwarts, the fear that he'd found Seamus only to lose him again, and the sheer, soul-singing joy when the smoke cleared and they were both still alive.

He remembered seeing how much Seamus had changed in one year, how his eyes and mouth had hardened, how he wasn't so quick to smile, and how he was covered in scars he hadn't had a year ago. Eery one of those scars was a memory, one Dean hadn't been there to share with him. Dean hated how it made him feel guilty and powerless all at the same time. He didn't like keeping anything from Seamus, but at the same time, he didn't want him to know how those scars made him feel. He loved them because each one meant Seamus had survived, had protected someone else from receiving the same, but he hated them because they reminding him of the year they could never get back.

When they made love at night, sheets whispering over skin and breaths coming faster in the dark, Dean made sure to touch every one of those scars. He kissed them, ran his fingers over them and every day he loved them more and hated them less. They were part of Seamus now and always would be. Dean never said how he felt about them because he worried Seamus would misunderstand. They weren't ugly or disfiguring. They were remnants of the darkest period of both of their lives, and constant reminders of what he nearly lost.

Dean painted canvases of Seamus with those scars. He paid utmost attention to every bit of stretch and marred skin, every twist and pucker, every discoloration. He learned them like he learned every other inch of Seamus, and the more he did, the more he realized it was never the scars he hated. It was his own inability to have been there to prevent them.

Seamus never asked about Dean's fascination with his scars. He could read it all in Dean's expressive and dark eyes. Dean was wrong: Seamus never misunderstood. He slipped the paintbrush from Dean's fingers, cleaning it and setting it down. "Come to bed, Dean," he said softly, and lead him away. When Dean's lips brushed over Seamus's scars, bodies entwined, Seamus said, "I love you too," soft in Dean's ear, and Dean knew how much Seamus understood. Seamus knew it wasn't something that could be fixed so simply so quickly. They'd lost one year, but they had the rest of forever. Hogwarts could be rebuilt and so could they.

Ow, right in every single feel I have. Not like I'm not hormonal enough today. I didn't even intend to write this today. It just fell out of me and nearly made me cry at work.