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THEY SAY THAT A WAR never ends, and Seamus has never heard truer words being spoken.
Three years have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts has ended, but the nightmares haven't stopped. The scars in his body have remained, though the large gash in his cheek has faded into a pink mark. He cannot close his eyes anymore without having images of the war flashing before him, he cannot hold his wand in front of him to perform a simple spell, without being reminded of the numerous curses he has shot at death eaters. The war would chase him throughout the rest of his life, and he knows it very well.
But being a Healer has its advantages, because, due to the immense workload he has to put up with, he can keep his mind busy and keep it from seeking out images of the war. As his hands work with the patients and as his mouth carves kind words to comfort them and soothe their pain, and as he watches them smile gratefully at him, sometimes holding his hands when the pain is too much for them to be able to speak, Seamus realises that his life hasn't been a complete waste.
At times, when he has been locked up inside the Room of Requirement, he had wondered how great it would be if he would just get killed. How many times has he wished for death, thinking that it would be so much better than to live through the pain, through the uncertainty of his future? He had thought that he would never be able to lead a normal life even if he did survive the war.
But he was yet to learn that pain always ends. It may take a few months, or even a few years, but with his loved ones with him to hold him and speak to him, he now knows that death is not always the best option.
When he returns from St Mungo's and walks right into Dean's waiting arms, tired and exhausted beyond belief, he feels glad that he hasn't given in and taken his life.
Even when a nightmare seeps into his sleep and makes him cry out in the middle of the night, he knows that he is happy to live; for Dean is always there to pull him close and whisper soothing words into his ears, and remind him that it's not real it's not real it's not real.
There are times when he becomes frustrated, mad, for no reason at all, and breaks down into angry tears that take hours to cease pouring. There are times when he digs his nails into the wounds that are yet to fade, and causes the blood to reappear. There are times when he lies in bed all day and refuses to move, or eat, or drink.
But Dean is there to hold him, to pull his hands away from hurting his skin, to place soft, warm kisses on his lips, on his cheeks, on his knuckles, to calm him down. He passes his long fingers through his sandy blond hair, rubs his eyes and cheeks with the ball of his thumb, tells him jokes that cause a small smile to crack through his mouth amidst the salty tears. He pulls out his sketchpad and shows him the new drawings he has made, tells him the stories behind them. Even when there aren't any stories, he makes one up, so absolutely ridiculous that Seamus can't help but laugh, and he is reminded of Sir Cadogan. As Dean's calming words float through the air to reach his ears, he sinks into his embrace and forgets about everything else.
For in Dean's arms, he is home.
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