Word count; 701
They're lying in the grass in Max's back yard, fingers laced together. Dean wonders if Piers notices that he's holding on a little more tightly than usual, that he's afraid to let go. Leaving the previous summer had been hell, and it hadn't been the easiest decision to make. The worst part was knowing he couldn't even tell his boyfriend the truth and had to offer him weak, flimsy lies and hope for the best.
By some miracle, Piers didn't hate him when Dean finally came back from the war. There were so many questions, questions Dean couldn't answer yet, but there was no hatred.
"You're different now," Piers says. There's no harshness behind his words, just a simple statement, like he's commenting on the weather.
Dean wishes he could deny it, but what's the use. The war took so much from him. How could anyone endure that hell and come back the same person? Maybe it isn't impossible, but Dean can't see it happening.
"I am," he answers.
Piers gives his hand a soft squeeze, a gentle reminder that he's there and Dean can talk to him. It makes Dean's stomach flutter. Somehow, even three years later, Piers still has that effect on him.
Dean closes his eyes, breathing in the fresh air. He doesn't know where to begin. How can he ever tell Piers about the things he's seen, the things he's done? It feels like a terrible weight to keep inside, but he doesn't think he has much of a choice.
"If you could change the past, would you?" Dean asks.
He knows it's impossible. There's no magic that can do that, except for maybe something in the Department of Mysteries that isn't meant for the general public.
And yet his mind wanders there again and again. Would he change anything? Would it do any good? What would have happened if he had insisted on Ted fleeing to safety, or if he had faced the Snatchers in Ted's stead?
"Something must really be bothering you." Piers rolls onto his side so he can get a better look at Dean, his lips twisting into a frown. "What happened to you last year?"
Dean swallows dryly. He wants to change the subject, deny that anything is wrong, anything but tell Piers the truth and risk his boyfriend thinking he's some sort of freak. But he can't seem to do that, and the words spill from his lips. He tells Piers everything. His magic. The war. His time on the running. The way he still sees Ted in his dreams. The guilt. All the dead bodies lining the corridor in the castle. So much grief and pain.
And Piers listens to every word. If he thinks Dean is insane, he doesn't say it aloud. Dean supposes that has to count for something.
"So… That's where you go during the school year? A magic school?"
"You're taking this better than I would have thought," Dean says, his tone a mixture of surprise and relief.
"Dudley's cousin does magic. Harry Potter. I mean… I don't know if it's actual magic, but he does something."
"Oh. You know Harry?"
The tension he's felt seems to melt away. Dean laughs and shakes his head. Maybe he should have done this sooner. It would have made it a little easier to leave, he thinks. Or, at the very least, it might have hurt a little less.
"Wait. How do you know Harry?" Piers demands, sitting upright and folding his arms over his chest.
Dean sits up as well, unable to resist a smile. It's like so many barriers have fallen away, and he can finally speak openly and freely about the things he's kept inside for so long, the things he thought people in the Muggle world would never truly understand.
The war has taken so much from him, and he knows he will never be the same. Still, there's one silver lining, however faint it may be. As he and Piers talk, it's like the weight has been lifted, and he no longer has to hide from the boy he loves. Finally, for the first time in what feels like forever, he can breathe again.