Chapter Text
I want to entangle myself
In the fabric of your jackets,
Sleep on leather upholstery,
Wear oversized t-shirts.
-----
The idea of the car trip starts out casual. Dean mentions it over dinner one night, while they're sitting on the couch, take-out Chinese boxes lying on the coffee-table in front of them as the radio plays old jazz tunes. He pitches it like it's not a serious thing, not a talk, but casual conversation.
It's simply - "Shay, do you think we could go on a vacation?"
"A vacation? To where?" Seamus replies. He's still sleepy at that time of the day, and he stretches and yawns as he replies. The nap he just took hasn't been shaken off yet, and Seamus is still dressed in his singlet and boxers.
"I don't know. Travel." Dean says. He takes a careful bite of his food. "Everywhere, nowhere, to the north and the south. We haven't gone out for a long time. You know, just... travel."
Seamus yawns once more, and when he opens his mouth he has a quick reply that would shoot the idea down. But when Seamus catches the Dean's look, the burning in his eyes, Seamus realises that Dean's completely serious about this idea, casual voice be damned. "Ah," Seamus lets out a breath of surprise, and right there and then, considers the possibility of something new over cardboard box dinners.
It's been a long time since Seamus has done anything notable. Ten years have passed since the Last Battle. After that long war, of running, hiding, screaming, Seamus had joined Dean and settled down into their life in Liverpool. And it had been a place for them to cope, and deal with the wounds that war had left on them - those that weren't physical.
Seamus welcomed the routine, the safeness, the concreteness of normality. And over that first year of their new life, because Seamus had not understood the feelings he had for Dean, he'd tiptoed around Dean the way Dean had tiptoed around him, and tried to prop Dean up without fixing him.
But that was a long time ago, and all things somehow or the other worked out. Things came into the open, and since the confession nine years ago, their lives had mixed together, intertwining schedules and interests into a lazy jigsaw puzzle that would always retain a quality of paradoxical incomplete completeness. Their apartment in Liverpool had become a place to stay, and ten years have passed while they stayed within those walls.
Perhaps, Seamus thinks, they can try something new.
"Well, why not." Seamus eventually replies, and they settle on a date, two weeks from the day.
The holiday has been long in the coming anyway, and Seamus knows Dean wants it.
-----
I want to smell the taste of
Spicy nutmeg and soft cottons
Stitched into the fabric of your soul.
I want to taste your skin.
-----
It is already, so late in the night that it's already early morning when Seamus finally pads into the room after bathing. Dean is already asleep, curled up on the bed, breaths deep and slow.
Seamus is smashed. He feels the exhaustion in his muscles, in his bones, under his skin. But his last shift is done, and Seamus is free from routine for the first time in a long, long while. He has a stretch of two weeks ahead of him, with nothing to do and time to spare. And in his own way, Seamus welcomes this change, though he doesn't quite embrace it either.
Dean stirs from his sleep when Seamus gets onto the bed. Murmuring a greeting, Seamus slides under the duvet and nudges Dean, whose eyes are barely cracked open. Dean looks sleep-warm, blurry but aware, and Seamus leans over and kisses Dean gently before resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "It's tomorrow." Seamus says.
"Later, you mean." Dean corrects.
"Yeah," Seamus acknowledges. "Sleep, Dean."
"I'll drive first," Dean tells Seamus, sounding almost as if he sighing. "You can sleep in the back if you're tired." Seamus makes a sound in response, already too tired to respond, and closes his eyes. With all the exhaustion of settling his affairs in proper order, sleep claims him within seconds.
Five hours later, Dean nudges Seamus, and Seamus comes awake, still groggy. Their bags are already lying next to the door of their apartment, and Seamus is chased out of the bedroom to get dressed. Once properly attired, Seamus watches Dean blearily, cup of coffee in hand, as Dean makes the final checks. "Well, hurry up," Dean says when he catches Seamus watching him and not drinking his drink, and Seamus sticks out his tongue. "Get a move on." Dean says, completely unfazed.
Seamus finishes up his coffee just as Dean finishes zipping up their bags. Drying out the cup, Seamus follows Dean as they exit the apartment, locking the door, and make their way downstairs to their car. Seamus helps Dean load their packs in the back of the car whilst Dean checks the gas.
The door handle of the car is cold, and before Seamus realises it, they're driving off.
Seamus lies upon the leather upholstery and absently watches the world slide by. It's been a long time since he has left home, and the sensation of distance falling away awakens his thoughts.
Seamus has never done thing kind of thing - leaving his place, that is. Seamus invites people to visit him, he doesn't go anywhere unless life tells him to. Dean is the one who moves, leaves, and returns. Dean is the one who ventures out to pitch his works and sell his ideas. It always was this way - Dean going and Seamus staying. What he's doing now - it's like he's being lightened and made happier because he's doing something different.
That in itself draws a few feelings up that Seamus has not dealt with, and doesn't quite want to.
"I was serious about sleeping, you know." Dean interrupts Seamus' thoughts, and Seamus cuts back to reality, relieved for the distraction. Dean eyes Seamus from the side, and shakes his head slightly. With one hand, Dean gropes around the back of the car till he finds the sweaters that they had tossed into the car a few days back in preparation for the trip. He tosses one to Seamus, and Seamus, loose-limbed, doesn't even try to catch it. "Get some sleep, Shay." He says. "I'll wake you up later."
Seamus tugs on the woollen sweater. "Alright, alright." He says, voice soft. He manages to work his hands through the sleeves, and leans over to kiss Dean on the cheek. "Thanks, Dean." He says. Dean smiles, and Seamus falls asleep to the sound of Dean's fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on the steering wheel.
A few hours later, Dean shakes Seamus awake for the second time. He's found a cafe off the highway, and they finally have breakfast sometime around lunch. The little transgression is delightful, and Dean and Seamus take their time in eating simply because they can.
"So, where are we going?" Seamus asks, over a mouthful of scrambled eggs. The cafe they're in is crowded. They've got a corner to themselves near the windows, which presents to them a view of a miraculously sunny day. Britain it seems, is not in a weepy mood today. Seamus thinks it agrees with his own mood.
"I was thinking of Leicester first." Dean shrugs. "Luna's there, we can stay a night or two with her." Seamus hums in agreement. Dean and Luna are not the likeliest of friends, but war had brought them together, forging a bond that Seamus would never fully understand. "I'm not sure where to after that - I'm keeping our options free."
"Sounds good," Seamus says. "Should we tell her we're coming?"
"Ah, I settled that already." Dean says, and has the grace to look slightly shy at that admission. Seamus raises an eyebrow for the effect of it, and Dean hurries to explain. "I told her we were going to be arriving sometime between Wednesday and Friday, but I didn't tell her exactly when."
"Then we should surprise her," Seamus says magnanimously. "Luna'll love that."
-----
I want to curl up in the car
Next to you under the milky way
Whisper small things of love,
And breathe in tandem with you.
-----
Luna's new home is surprisingly, quite normal looking.
Luna had moved out of her dad's home a couple of years back. She mentioned it over a Christmas dinner, in that matter-of-fact voice that left her so blindly unassuming to the shock that that piece of news inspired in others. Luna didn't simply move away from family - Luna loved her father. But Dean had guessed to Seamus in bed that night, after Luna had left, that Luna probably never got over what Xenophilius did to Harry and the others. And like most people, Luna had been changed by war irrevocably in some regards.
But then again, with Luna marrying Rolf a year after she moved out, and Rolf moving in after that - most people were pretty certain that Luna left because she wanted to. After all, if one considered everything that had happened, Luna had managed to get out of the war with most of her optimism intact. Her penchant for the unusual was unabated, and she still made it a point to visit her father every four days.
Luna was (and is) simply, Luna.
Luna reinforces this sentiment on Thursday night, when Seamus and Dean arrive at the address given to them in her loopy shorthand. "I knew you'd be coming," she promptly says upon opening the door for them, and gives them both each a cheerful hug. "I had a feeling it would be tonight." She smiles, and Rolf Scamander appears behind her to help get Seamus and Dean's bags out from the car.
The pot on the fire is bubbling nicely when they enter the kitchen, and Luna asks if they need anything to drink. Dean gently refuses Luna's offer when it becomes apparent that Luna is the one who made it. "Ah well," Luna says, not disappointed in the least. "You at least will take dinner, won't you? Rolf cooked."
"Of course we will." Seamus says automatically, and at that very moment, five-year-old Lorcan chooses to make his presence known. Luna hears his shouts as he thunders out of his room that the guests are finally here, and without breaking stride, leans down to scoop her son up and swing him around lightly in one fluid motion.
Seamus smiles at Lorcan's appearance and Lorcan's happy shouts, and he pulls on his old persona, wrapping joviality and wit around him like a familiar old coat. "Hey there, Lorcan," he says cheerfully, as they settle down for dinner.
The night is pleasantly cool, and the food Rolf cooks is excellent. The table set out for four is not enough to hold everyone, but Rolf, having foreseen that, had two chairs brought in to sit at the bartop that separates the cooking area from the dining table in the kitchen. Dean and Luna establish themselves there, and Seamus keeps company with Rolf and Lorcan. The past few days of rest have given Seamus more than enough time to build up a surplus of energy to spare, and laughter comes easily to him during the dinner. He plays up his accent when Lorcan begs for it, mimes mixing a cocktail, and shares a few choice stories that he repeats regularly to his customers, twisting them a little bit now that they're in private company.
And barely noticed, the hours slip away.
Eventually, Lorcan gets neatly caught by drinking up a cup of warm milk his father had casually left in his reach. Rolf seizes the opportunity when Lorcan yawns, and immediately bundles him off to bed. Seamus shouts one last goodbye as Rolf carries Lorcan off, and when he turns back to look at Luna and Dean, he finds them giving him similar expressions of gentleness.
"Rolf managed to get Lorcan to bed early tonight," Luna observes with her usual airy voice. "Most of the time he gets to stay up."
"He's an energetic little kid," Seamus agrees. "Takes after you, doesn't he - just a little bit off-kilter, in the best way."
Luna simply smiles in that manner that is the closest thing to an admission without being voiced aloud. "He did add too much salt to the apple pie," she admits, and Seamus laughs.
"You didn't stop him?" He says, and Luna shrugs.
"The best things are found by accident." Luna smiles. "I do believe that we still have some time before it's time for bed. You aren't on a tight schedule, now are you?" When Seamus indicates no, Luna beams. "Perfect. I'll have Newt come back later, and we can spend time talking. Talking is a great way to pass the time."
-----
I want us to go somewhere
Where no one can find us.
To take a car and keep going
Far from the world - and
To a place where the world
Is just us.
-----
Like Luna had said, Dean and Seamus don't need a schedule. There isn't a need for one.
Back in Liverpool, almost everything Seamus and Dean did had a schedule to it. Seamus would wake up in the mornings to clean the bar, settle orders, and take a run, before returning in the afternoon to take a nap before waking up to have dinner with Dean. Dean would spend most of his time working in the little studio down at Ilsington, or wandering the streets to take photographs. But now, on the road, where everything is determined by their position on the map, Seamus doesn't have to worry about settling orders, or when to open up the doors. Dean doesn't have to worry about completing his work - though he does bring his camera along, to document their trip.
They don't have to stop because they must, they only have to stop when they want to.
Sometimes they stop for food, other times, because they're passing through towns and cities, they stop to wander around the place, to feel how Britain is slowly moving on and changing. Then there are times they stop on the side of the road, and Dean heads out to take pictures of the wild - seeing something that Seamus would pass on by.
On some occasions - strange occasions - Dean and Seamus park at the entrance of a forest trail to take a walk through the forest. There are plenty such trails in Britain, if one can get away from the concrete and glass jungles of the city long enough to look for them. But the unusual thing about these walks to Seamus is that he thought that Dean would have spent more than enough time within these forests. Dean, after all, spent a good part of the war running away in the forests of Britain and Scotland, and so many of the pictures Dean had drawn to cope with his experiences involved these dark, shady places. Seamus would think (not that he would go so far as to say he knows) that Dean wouldn't want to return to these places.
But during these jaunts, Dean walks through the forests looking perfectly fine.
Just to be safe though, Seamus summons his Patronus. And in their walks, the moonlight-silver fox bounds ahead of them, being the beacon that tells them they're safe.
On the sixth day of their trip, Dean parks their car in front of one particular forest. The set of his shoulders are tense when he gets out of the car, and his eyes are remote, as if reliving something painful. Seamus needs to take only one look at Dean as he closes the car door and knows this is The Forest. And suddenly, like he's been thrust out of his depth, Seamus feels extremely shy.
Seamus walks over to rest a light hand on Dean's arm. "Are you sure --" He starts, but Dean stops him before he can finish his sentence. Dean closes his eyes, and breathes deeply once, twice, thrice.
"I -- I have to face this at some point or the other." Dean says. The pain is clear in his voice. "I -- Let's go." Dean says, and with a visible effort pushes his feelings back. Squaring his shoulders, he pushes his way through the bushes, and then vanishes into the forest.
Seamus looks after Dean unhappily, but he understands what Dean needs to do. Turning back and casting a disillusionment charm on the car, he pockets his wand and shoves through the bushes as well. He feels for a few seconds twigs and thorns scrape against his parka, and then he's through into the forest, catching up to Dean, who is already vanishing into the leafy graveyard.
Something about the way Dean walks tells Seamus to keep quiet. Old Seamus may have tried to lighten up the mood, make a brash joke and bump shoulders with Dean, but after ten years, Seamus has grown quieter. He's not Old Seamus anymore - New Seamus knows how silence can comfort someone. So Seamus shadows Dean, wand gripped in his hand once more, and watches the forest for anything off.
The forest is beautiful in silence, light dappling the forest floor in blotches, revealing more of the darkness than dispelling it. They walk through the forest for an hour, never deviating, never changing direction. But Seamus knows exactly when they've arrived by watching Dean. Dean's steps pause for a moment at that exact spot of recognition, and with one last deep breath, Dean steps through another set of bushes.
Seamus follows, and finds himself in a clearing.
Time has probably changed the place from what it used to be. Leaves crunch under Dean's feet, and Seamus watches as Dean turns around, slowly taking everything in. The clearing is gloomy like the rest of the forest - sunlight marking small patches on the leaf-strewn ground. And Dean, to Seamus, looks so small within the glade.
Dean turns, like a marionette in a snowglobe, and ignores the big logs that were probably used for sitting in the past, the rocks spaced around the clearing, the pristine, undisturbed forest floor patterned by leaves. He ignores them all, turning and searching, till he spots a tree, not too large, not to small, whose only distinguishing characteristic is its large roots that jut above the forest floor.
Dean breaks off his teetering dance, and walks towards the tree with his wand drawn. Stooping down to poke at the tree's roots, Dean mutters something too low for Seamus to catch, and between one blink and the next, whatever spell that had been left here for years is dispelled. A pile of firewood, completely dry - protected by the spell, lies in the nook of the tree's roots.
Seamus watches Dean as Dean gets to work, moving the firewood to the center of the clearing, and lets Dean do what he should have done a long time ago. But as Seamus continues to catche little glimpses of Dean's distant gaze, Seamus feels terrible. Because there's so much history bound to this pleasantly dry lonely clearing on a summer evening, and Seamus can't feel the emotional weight that is so clearly affecting Dean. It builds, as Seamus watches Dean work, and Seamus stands by the side because he doesn't know if he wants to help or if he should or if he can.
Eventually, Seamus realises that he can't just keep standing around and feeling out of place. That's not an acceptable option - that would be a betrayal to the relationship that he and Dean has. Seamus promised Dean, in being with him, that they'd be together in everything. So he moves to help. So Seamus moves with purposeful steps, and stoops to pick up the two remaining pieces of firewood that remains in the original pile. Hefting them, he makes his way over to the center of the clearing, where all the wood has been shifted to, and dumps it there with a huff. Dean watches him, half-standing, half-crouching, hands on his knees, hunched and breathing out heavily. Again, feeling abruptly shy, Seamus moves over and lays a gentle hand on Dean's back.
"Do you want to light it up?" Seamus asks gently.
"Yeah, well, wait --" Dean gets up, and Seamus drops his hand as Dean heads back to his jacket which he left on a log. Unzipping a pocket, Dean draws out a folded piece of paper that he places on the top of the pile when he returns. When he's done that small gesture, Dean closes his eyes, and then lets out a long sigh. "Yeah. Okay. Fire it up."
The resultant light from the burning of wood that had ten years to dry is beautiful.
Seamus draws Dean away from the fire, because Seamus knows better than anyone else the dangers of fire, and they sit down, leaning against a log. And as they watch the fire, Seamus feels Dean slowly loosen - letting go of a pain so tightly grasped that it had become almost part of him.
"That picture," Dean starts, about an hour later, when the fire has mostly burnt itself out. Seamus looks at Dean, and Dean's face is calm now, growing calmer as he continues to talk. "It was Ted. I - I meant to come back a long time ago to settle things, you know - for good. But somehow, I never could manage it." Dean laughs, and leans absently against Seamus, head resting on top of Seamus' head. Seamus hums.
"You did good." Seamus says, simply because he doesn't what to say, but saying anything would be better saying nothing.
Dean laughs again, a strange, strangled little laugh, and they sit there till it is almost dark. They return to their car in the dying light of the evening, with the moonlight dazzle of Seamus' fox Patronus to guide them.
-----
I want us to go on a car trip
To nowhere.
-----
Seamus didn't quite expect their car trip to turn out like this.
When he first thought of what might happen, six days ago as he lay on the seat of the car and watched Liverpool slide past them, Seamus thought that their trip would be simply what it was called - an extended vacation. Of more time for Seamus and Dean to bond together, to fix their friendship and partnership deeper into their souls.
He didn't expect that they'd do so much exploring. That they'd do things that they never did before. That they'd travel and do things without rhyme or reason, without a schedule that Seamus had spent so long for the past few years working himself into.
Seamus should have hated it. But he didn't.
Instead of hating it, Seamus liked it.
Seamus likes the sense of possibility, the feeling of unlimited choices stretched before him. Seamus likes the uncertainty, the strange feeling chance inspires, in being free from the architecture of planning. And as Dean drives them down a road that stretches onwards and onwards some more, Seamus knows, with a deep seated certainty, that only more good things are in store for them. They have just over a week left to go, and Seamus feels that this trip has been changing the both of them in ways they didn't expect.
In the past few hours, Seamus has felt the ice around his soul begin to crack. It started at the beginning of the forest, and sped up as he watched the fire. Seamus knows now, as he continues to creak, shatter, break out of this feeling of detachment and apathy that he never noticed, that for too long, Seamus had ice creeping through his heart. That his own way of dealing with the world after the war, by forcing his feelings into a box and separating his life into different compartments, had frozen him inside out.
And as he continues to return, breaking free and slowly coming back to life, Seamus feel gratitude and love for Dean.
Because Dean knows Seamus better than Seamus does.
How many years, Seamus thinks, did Dean watch Seamus slowly fall into a trap that he made for himself? How many years did Dean take to convince himself that Seamus was not okay anymore, that he needed a change, a kick, a reminder to return to what he once was? It must have been a long time - Dean must have tried to push and laugh, to fix Seamus without actually pulling Seamus away from the very foundations Seamus based his identity on, the stability of a place and routine and life.
But Dean must have also watched as Seamus fell deeper and deeper, miring himself and losing himself, till Dean must have decided to throw caution to the winds and take a risk.
Dean called the trip.
Seamus is now returning to what he was. The fiery Seamus, the Seamus that felt, lived, laughed, loved. Seamus realises in his seat, in a surreal way - because his inner world is catching fire while his exterior is still blank, frozen - that he's never ever going to become the Old Seamus once more. He's matured, grown, changed past the smiling and ever-laughing Seamus. But Seamus is coming to a new balance within himself, as the seconds tick by in the car, he becomes someone more like his past self. Seamus finds himself again, and when he's done, Seamus finally feels like the jigsaw of his soul has finally settled down into its new configuration.
Seamus takes in a breath. The smell of leather and slight cotton and the smell of dusky earth from their jackets floods his nose. Seamus lets out that breath, closes his eyes, feels for his heart - and reaches over to the gearshift to entwine his hand with Dean's.
Seamus shivers. Everything feels new again, everything feels strange. Seamus's spent too long being passive, acting within the bounds of his own restrictions. Now that he's reaching out, about to say something that isn't comfortable, Seamus feels light-headed and jittery. But it's a good feeling.
Seamus smiles at Dean - a genuine Seamus Finnigan smile that cracks his mouth and makes him feel like he's dusting the last of the ice off. "Hey," Seamus says, and in that word Seamus let's Dean know that Seamus finally knows and he understands and is back at last.
And Dean - Dean's always known what Seamus wanted to say. Dean smiles, slow and joyful.
"Welcome back, Shay."