Written for QLFC

Base Prompt: S.S Kicks & Giggles - Dean/Seamus.

Additional Prompts: (word) cosy, (word) tremble, (dialogue) "You're crazy." / "Were you ever under the impression that I was normal."

The white room, the soft hum of magic, and the dying flowers all paint a picture, a picture Seamus doesn't want to see. The person in the bed barely moves, and soft snores occasionally penetrate the unnatural stillness of the room. Seamus observes Dean's chest rise and fall with his shallow breaths.

He shouldn't be lying there like that, Seamus thinks. Sitting beside the bed, Seamus has Dean's bandaged hand clenched in his own undamaged one as he cries.

This is not the bed that Dean should be lying in on their honeymoon.

"You're crazy," Dean said. They were lying in bed together, legs tangled under the sheet that barely covered their naked forms.

"When have you ever known me to be normal?" Seamus responded without missing a beat. He was watching Dean with wide, wild eyes. His right hand was tapping a random rhythm on Dean's chest, and his left was playing with the soft hairs at the base of Dean's neck.

Dean shivered at the sensation but smirked at Seamus' response. "Never," he replied, "but this is a little different."

"How?" Seamus lifted himself up and looked down at his smiling fiancé. "I just want to have our honeymoon somewhere different," he said.

"But why the Muggle world?"

"I want to. . ." Seamus started. "I want to see how it's changed." He stopped tapping his finger and started to trace a pattern. The soft fingers running over Dean's chest had him closing his eyes and moaning softly at the sensation.

Seamus smirked and leaned close to let his breath graze over Dean's closed eyes. "It would be perfect. We could see the sights and experience something new," Seamus continued his movements and hopes that the sensation drown out any arguments Dean may have. It didn't quite work how he planned.

Dean's eyes opened, filled with lust as he gazed at Seamus. "Y-you haven't been in the Muggle world since you were five," Dean gasped, his voice breathless.

"So what?" Seamus lowered his head until his lips were right next to Dean's ear. His hand also moved lower, now tracing a pattern on Dean's stomach and drifting lower by the second. "I think it would be amazing," he said, purring out the last word.

"For me?" Seamus continued when Dean gave no indication of talking. He rested his hand on Dean's thigh and stilled all movements.

Dean released a throaty whine."Fine. We'll honeymoon in the Muggle world."

Seamus' smile was blinding as he leaned forward and smashed his lips against Dean's. "Thank you," he said. "Now, where were we?"

Dean's eyes open, and he is already panicking. Seamus is sleeping in the chair, but Dean's noises of distress wake him within a minute.

"Dean, it's okay. You're at St. Mungo's." Seamus stands and ignores the lingering pain in his legs and lower back.

Dean continues to moan, his eyes shut tight. A sweat breaks out over his brow, and his hands shudder, as though he's trying to clench them into fists.

Seamus gently grabs each of Dean's hands—he doesn't want Dean to hurt himself—and speaks to him with a soft voice. "It's Seamus. You're okay."

Dean's frantic movements slow, though his eyes remain clenched shut.

"Open your eyes. Please, open your eyes for me." Seamus can't prevent the break in his voice. Three days Dean had been sleeping. Three long days, and he was finally awake.

Dean's eyes open—wild and anxious—and instantly lock onto Seamus' face.

"There are those beautiful eyes," Seamus murmurs. When he's sure Dean won't hurt himself anymore, he removes his hands from Dean's and fiddles with his own fingers.

Dean blinks up at Seamus. His eyes are squinting like he has a headache. Seamus is sure his pain is a lot more than a headache.

"Wh—" Dean breaks off. His body starts to shake as he brings a hand up to his face.

Seamus goes to stop him, but the sound of a throat clearing interrupts his movements. He looks to the doorway and spots Dean's healer. The man shakes his head, and—despite his doubts—Seamus stands back.

Dean's hand stops freezes as he stares at the bandages covering it. He tries to flex his fingers, but the movement is prevented by the tightly bound cloth. Dean stares with a blank face for a moment longer, before he is moving the bandaged hand to his face. He hesitates before placing his hand on his cheek and frowning.

"Wha—" Seamus steps forward when Dean looks around with wet eyes.

"You're going to be okay," Seamus says. "There was an explosion, faulty wiring or something—"

"Mirror?" Dean asks, his voice croaky and rough from disuse.

Seamus hesitates, but one look at Dean's wet eyes has him moving. He conjures a mirror from a pencil and holds it in front of Dean so he can see his face.

Dean stares at his reflection without moving. He observes the red and raw blotches, the melted—because that's the only way it could be described—skin, and the lack of any hair on his face. Dean brings a bandaged hand up again, but this time Seamus grabs it before he can touch his face.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Seamus insists.

Dean starts to tremble.

Seamus lowers the mirror and places it on the bedside table with a soft thud. His hand tightens around Dean's, though Seamus is careful not to harm him. "Your hands received the most damage," he says, trying to encourage Dean to ask some questions. He doesn't.

"The explosion wasn't as bad as it could have been," he stammers. "The only reason you're still healing is because we were stuck in a Muggle hospital while we were both unconscious. Dennis found us. He was visiting his sick grandmother at the time. Did you know she lived in… Well, that doesn't matter." Seamus uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck.

Still no response.

"They won't be able to remove all the scarring, but you'll probably look even better. . ." Seamus trails off when Dean moves his head to the side and closes his eyes.

Seamus watches Dean shut down in front of him. His chest aches and his stomach tightens. His eyes prickle, but he doesn't cry. Dean needs him to be a rock at the moment, and that's what he is going to be.

Seamus moves forward to lean over his husband. He rests his head against Dean's forehead and listens to him as he starts to cry. "I'm sorry," Seamus whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"This is cosy," Dean muttered, his voice bland.

Seamus looked around the small room that he had rented for the week. The hotel looked good from the outside, but looks could be deceiving, as he had discovered. The bed was covered in an old-fashioned floral bedspread, and the wallpaper was mouldy and peeling. The window was caked over with dirt—at least, Seamus hoped it was dirt—and the floors were stained with indescribable substances.

"I don't think cosy is the right word. . ." Seamus glanced into the bathroom, which appeared to be flooded. "It looked good when I went on the net."

Dean rolled his eyes, but he picked up his luggage and walked into the room with confidence. "It'll be fine, we'll only spend the nights in here anyway."

"But the nights are the best part of a honeymoon," Seamus whined.

Dean didn't respond. He placed his bags at the end of his bed and entered the flooded bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"I'm going to make some adjustments," Seamus called out. He heard a muffled response, but the words were unclear. Seamus took this as an acceptance.

"What could go wrong with a little magic to clean the place up anyway?" he decided. He kicked away a broken power cord and started waving his wand. When he was done, the room would be fit for royalty.

"Home sweet home," Seamus says as he opens the front door. A weight Seamus didn't even realise he was holding seemed to lift as he stepped inside. Dean's waking up was only the start of tests and procedures and potions. Through it all, Dean didn't say a word.

"We'll have to open a few windows to clear out the stale air, and I'll need to unpack our bags." Seamus looks back at Dean with a wide, false smile.

Dean's face is a lot better now with the redness completely gone and facial hair starting to grow back. The scars are still etched into Dean's skin. His left cheek looks like someone pinched it too hard, and the right side of his face gives the impression of the skin being pulled down at an angle. Dean's forehead is mostly clear, though there is a long scar over his left eye that caused by a piece of debris. The scars will never disappear. The delayed treatment made sure of that.

Dean's hands tighten around his own bag, and when Seamus goes to take it upstairs, Dean shakes his head.

"You can't unpack yet. The Healer said you have to take it easy, especially on your hands. They are still healing, after all." Seamus tries to keep the cheer in his voice, but it is hard when Dean refuses to look at him.

Dean starts walking up the stairs when Seamus finishes speaking. His longs strides take him past their shared bedroom and into the guest room.

"You want to sleep here?" Seamus asks. His heart breaks when Dean nods once with a jerk of his head. "Okay, wherever you're comfortable, I guess." Seamus stutters

Dean turns his back to Seamus and starts to unpack.

Despite knowing he isn't wanted, Seamus waits in the room. He watches Dean unpack with a critical eye. He looks for any tremors or flinches of pain. When Dean finishes unpacking without any signs of distress, Seamus turns to leave.

"I'll make some lunch; would you like any?" Seamus asks as he was walking out of the door. He looks over his shoulder and catches Dean's low shake of his head. "Okay, I'll leave you be."

Seamus exits the guest room and shuffles down the hall. When he is far enough away that he can't be heard, he collapses against the wall. Heaving, but quiet sobs tear through his lips as he leans against the nearby wall.

Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. He loathes this. He can't bare to see Dean so sad and quiet. He detests seeing Dean withdraw from everyone, and he's disgusted with himself, knowing it is all his fault.

Dean has every right to blame me. It's no wonder he won't look at me.

The loud sounds of debris falling mixed with the sounds of screams surrounded him. They might have been the only people on this level before the explosion, but Seamus was almost positive the floor dropped out from under him at least once.

Seamus looked around the room, frantic. He scanned the rubble and peered through flames. He was stuck, trapped under a large piece of the wall, but he was awake and alert. He could feel pain radiating through his legs and lower back, but he tried to ignore it.

"De—" he broke off into a coughing fit as dust and smoke blocked up his voice. "Dean," He managed to croak out, but his voice was so soft he barely heard it over the other sounds in the room.

Frenzied eyes continued to search the surrounding area. He saw an older woman stand a few metres away, but she stumbled to the ground after a few seconds and didn't move again.

Seamus pulled his eyes away and pushed against the wall that had collapsed on top of him.

"Dean!"

Movement caught Seamus' eye. He glanced that way and saw a body. The face was a mess.

Blood ran over the person's forehead and into the eyes. The skin was blackened and blistering, and the rest of the body wasn't much different. He saw what looked like a hand almost completely black. Seamus felt bile rise up in his throat and went to tear his eyes away from the body—which he was sure was dead—when he saw the wide open and moving eyes.

They were Dean's eyes.

Seamus threw the covers off and raced to the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. His body trembled as his breathing started to calm. Seamus closed his eyes, but they flew open a second later. He couldn't get the memory of Dean's blistered and blackened body out of his head.

I'll just go check on him.

Seamus pulled himself from the ground and rinsed his mouth out. He swallowed some water before leaving the room and silently approaching the guest bedroom.

Dean had slept in here every night since his return from the hospital. He practically lived in the room during the day as well. Seamus only entered when he was delivering food or potions; otherwise, he wasn't welcome.

Seamus hadn't shaved for days. His appetite was non-existent, and his eyes held bags the size of suitcases under them. He spent his days wandering around the house without a purpose, and he spent the nights reliving the explosion in his dreams.

Seamus suffered through it all. It was the least he deserved after hurting Dean as much as he had. I should never have suggested a Muggle honeymoon.

Seamus jumped when the door to the guest room opened and flinched back at Dean's blank look.

Dean was wearing the same clothes as yesterday (as it was now three in the morning), and his eyes were rimmed with red like he'd been crying. He just stared at Seamus. He didn't say a word, and his facial expression didn't change. His head was slightly lowered so his growing hair somewhat covered the right side of his face.

"I'm sorry," Seamus whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Still nothing. No words, or sound. Dean didn't even twitch.

"I had a nightmare about you."

Dean flinched.

Seamus blinked a few times and covered his face with his hands when the tears didn't stop. "This should have never happened," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

Seamus' whole body froze at hearing Dean's voice. It was hoarse, but it was clearly Dean's. A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over. He lifted his head from his hands, and his voice wavered. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for suggesting the Muggle holiday. I'm sorry for picking the crappy hotel. I'm sorry I caused your pain. You have every right to hate me."

The tears fell as Seamus' shoulders slumped and he seemed to collapse into himself. He'd been wanting to say this for so long, but he didn't want to hurt Dean anymore. He was terrified of losing him altogether.

Dean reached out and grabbed his hand in a light grip. He steered Seamus to the window seat and sat down with him. The whole time, he didn't let go of Seamus' hand.

"I don't hate you," Dean said.

Seamus looked up and gazed at Dean with wide eyes. The full moon shone through the window, casting a shadow over Dean's downturned face. His scars stood out, but Seamus could only see his husband almost cowering in fear.

"Then why?"

Dean looked out of the window and stared at the moon. The whistle of the wind outside the only sound. "I'm hideous," he said eventually.

"What? No, you're not," he said. His voice was strong despite the tears he'd just shed.

"I am. Just look at me." Dean turned and lifted his head to face Seamus properly for the first time since being released.

Seamus gazed at the man he loved more than anything, taking in the disfigured skin and the scars that would never heal. "All I see if the handsome man I married."

Dean turned his head away with a sharp jerk. "Don't lie," he said.

"I'm not." Seamus placed a hand on his husband's cheek, forcing him to face forwards.

Dean flinched when Seamus' hands touched his skin, but he didn't resist the movement. He kept his lips pressed together in a straight line, and he glared at Seamus, though tears threatened to spill over.

"I've never seen a more handsome man in my life," Seamus said, his voice still strong. "Do you understand me?"

"How?" Dean whispered. His voice broke, and his whole body seemed to crumble—a mirror of Seamus only a few minutes ago. "How can you love someone so mutilated?"

"Your scars aren't who you are. I love you, not your face, though I love what those lips can do."

Dean's mouth fell open. He started laughing, a proper and real laugh. Seamus laughed with him, ecstatic to be able to hear that laugh again. It wasn't long before Dean's laughter turned to sobs.

Seamus pulled Dean close. They lay back until they were sprawled over the seat, Dean lying on top of Seamus. Seamus traced a pattern over a small piece of exposed skin, taking note of the scars under his fingers.

Dean flinched again, but he still didn't pull away. He settled his trembling hands on Seamus' chest and relaxed against him. "I've missed you," he said.

Seamus breathed the scent that was purely Dean and closed his eyes. "I've missed you as well," he said. "I was so scared you hated me," he said.

Dean let out a broken laugh, a mimic of the laughter from before. "I could never hate you. I thought you wouldn't want me." Dean buried his head into Seamus' neck and closed his eyes.

"I'll always want you," Seamus said, moving his hand under Dean's shirt and continuing his caress. "Never doubt that."

Dean placed a kiss on Seamus' neck. "I won't."

(w.c 2,999)

WolfWinks -xx-