Harry Potter Shorts

Deamus Short

TRIGGER WARNING!!! PTSD, post-war depression
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Seamus woke up in a cold sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead and the bare skin of his back sticking to the sheets of his bed. He looked around, grasping for the person who wasn't in the bed beside him.

He looked toward the window, and a shadow turned a bit. He knew it was Dean, with a mug in his hands, probably warm lemon water. "You were screaming." He moved, handing the cup to Seamus. "I thought you would wake up a bit quicker, so it's a bit cool." he sat on the edge of the bed, gripping it tightly with his hands.

"Thanks-" he grabbed the cup with shaky hands, and took deep breaths, trying to clear his head. Dean crawled up onto the bad beside him, sitting with his legs crossed, his head dropped.

"Its been months. Why are we still like this? His head was still down, but Seamus knew that he was crying. The silent crying, that held more weight than sniffling, ugly crying. Crying that showed he had been through too much. Without taking a drink of the bitter water, he set it aside, and wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him tightly in his arms. He didn't say anything, just sat there, until Dean sat up, and put his head on his shoulder, and his arms around his back. He gripped at him, but without a shirt on, it just scratched his skin, not that he cared. A few more scars couldn't hurt much more. Dean just wept.

"I'm here. Don't worry, I'm here." he rubbed down his fiancees back, and held his head lightly. "I'm right here. I won't ever leave you."

Dean knew that Seamus needed this just as much as he did, and didn't move from his arms, even after he had stopped crying and spasming. They held each other, barely moving, for at least an hour. They had both been plagued after the war. Seamus, with awful nightmares. Watching people fall, die, all around him, and not being able to help. The same dreams almost every night for the last 2 months. He had barely slept, and when he did, it was fitfully and did nothing to make him feel better.

Dean had waking dreams. Anything could set one off. The light off a wand when even a simple spell was cast, or something falling. He would go back. Back where he was helpless. Sometime after the sun has risen, they had fallen back asleep, still holding each other tightly.

At least they had each other, some people weren't that lucky.