Strange-Eyed Constellation, Post 9
Title: Strange-Eyed Constellation
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: This chapter R; language and potentially disturbing imagery
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."
Previous Posts:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
"So where're you meeting Fred, again?" Seamus asked through a mouthful of toothpaste foam. He glanced from his reflection in the mirror down to Kipper, who sat on top of the toilet lid, watching him brush his teeth with a disinterested gaze. Her stumpy tail slowly swished back and forth.
"Calliope's Caboodle. I'll take the Floo to the Leaky and go to meet him at Wheezes, first," Dean called from their bedroom.
"The music shop? What for?" Seamus spat into the sink before brushing his tongue, wondering what was going on since neither Dean nor Fred were particularly musically inclined.
"Fred's decided to get a guitar. I have, too."
The amused excitement in Dean's voice carried down the corridor and Seamus rinsed his mouth quickly. He shook his head before he a perfunctory gargle, daubing at some water on his chin.
"You're getting a what?" he asked in disbelief, scooping out a galleon-sized bit of lurid green gel to twist into the ends of his hair.
"A guitar. We're going to take lessons together."
Seamus pondered that for a moment as he made the hair edges into stiff green spikes, pointedly ignoring the disapproving clucking sounds of the mirror. He worked at a pub, not Gringott's, and the pub owner didn't mind when Seamus got a bit colourful with his hair or clothes.
"How're ye gonna learn? You can't read music." He ambled down the corridor to their room to lean against the doorframe. Admiringly he watched as Dean took a pick to his own hair, feeling around the brushed-out waves until he looked wild and tousled. It suited him, very much.
"I know. I've been talking with a couple of guys at the Centre for the Blind and they've convinced me they can do a Braille version of the reading charts."
"That's that's great!" Seamus said as Dean shuffled over to their closet, feeling through the hanging clothes until he found his favourite tracksuit top and pulled it off the hanger. "What brought this idea on, then?"
"Fred. We talked about it for a little while when you were in hospital, during the transfusion. You could get one too, if you wanted."
"Nah. Not me. Too expensive, anyway."
"Is there some other instrument you'd be interested in?" Dean patted at his groin, making sure he'd zipped his flies. He made his way to the door, his arms as always stretched out just in case a piece of furniture had moved.
"Bagpipes," Seamus deadpanned, hooking his fingers in Dean's belt loops to pull him in for a quick kiss on the mouth.
"No way! You've not got a drop of Scottish blood in you!" Dean exclaimed with a barked laugh, rubbing at Seamus' arse and moving out of the doorway to the living room.
"Actually, that's not true," Seamus said, trailing behind him. "I've got some McGhinty in me, a smidge of Scotch-Irish, I'll have you know."
"You're having me on," Dean said from the front door, retrieving his guide stick and returning to the fireplace. "Mister I'm So Irish I Bleed Green?"
"Yes, it's a shameful family secret," Seamus said dramatically as Dean huffed through his nose. "Me mam had a couple of small cloths of the McGhinty tartan. How 'bout that? I could wear a kilt! I've got the right, even though it'd be completely unnatural."
"Well, if you wore it as they say they do, with nothing but their pride on underneath " Dean raised a provocative eyebrow.
"I'm full of pride." Seamus frotted against Dean's hip and Dean laughed aloud.
"No shite. Get the floo power, will you? I want to get on my way before you're too full of yourself and there's no room for anything in this flat but your big head," Dean said, still grinning.
"Sounds like you and Fred've been getting on well." Seamus' spirits were lifted by that thought. He hadn't yet brought up their unexpected threesome, listening for once to his instincts, which had suggested he wait.
"He's a good bloke."
Curiosity got the better of Seamus, and as he handed Dean the bowl of verdant sand he asked, "Have you two talked about our brunch? And after, I mean?" he clarified, looking over to gauge Dean's reaction to the question.
"No. I think he's as embarrassed about it as we are," Dean confided, shaking his head ruefully.
"I'm not embarrassed!"
Dean turned, a small culvert forming between his brows. "You're not? I mean, we must've been totally pissed to get together like that. I know I was. I'll have to start mixing my own drinks, somehow."
"Why would you be embarrassed? I thought you'd liked it. All of that skin, and mouths, and hands, and " Seamus let his words stop as he scooted closer, putting his arms around Dean's waist and nosing at his neck.
"Well, I did, but I quite like how things are with just us, thanks all the same." Dean started to lean into Seamus' embrace before changing his mind and standing more stiffly, placing the Floo powder bowl back up on the fireplace mantle. "You're not thinking that was anything more than a drunken one-off, are you?"
"Why not?" Seamus asked honestly. The sight of a tightening around Dean's mouth clued him in to Dean's thoughts on the matter with lightning speed.
"For fuck's sake, Seamus! You and I are together. Why in bloody hell isn't that enough? I agonised over telling you how I really felt, and things've been bloody brilliant and then Fred puts on some fucking poor me act and then you can't seem to have enough of him around. You did fuck him when you first visited him at Wheezes, didn't you?" he snarled, the angry words causing Seamus to rush to his own defence, and he stepped a pace away from Dean.
"No! I wouldn't do that! I just thought-"
"You thought you'd just invite him to join in, when we've not even been together but a few months? I know he seems honest, and he's been through a lot of shite, but so fucking have I!" Dean was fuming, his ire and hurt radiating from him. "Why can't you just be with me, Shay? You're all I want, or thought I did. Dammit!"
He breathed loudly through his nose and stomped a few steps away to plant a hand against the wall, sightlessly glaring back at Seamus. "Don't you realise how the world's a fucking nightmare to me without you nearby, being with me, helping me out without making me feel like a useless excuse for a man? You're enough for me, Shay, always have been. 'S like breathing, being mates, and now all of this, sleeping together and sex and "
The sound that tore from his throat made Seamus think of an animal caught in a trap. Dean beat his hand against the wall a couple of times, his tirade having turned into a low rumbling of furious unintelligible syllables. Seamus wanted to tell him he felt exactly the same, that he couldn't bear the thought of waking up without Dean there. It was just that he did want Fred there, too. Maybe not all the time, but as a constant in their lives.
"Dean- I've not told you of these thoughts I'd had because I thought they were half-mad meself, but then Fred-"
"AUGH!" The sound was a punch of miserable vindication. "So you've been chatting him up about this ménage a trois fantasy of yours, have you? Fuck it all! I'm leaving!" Dean yelled, reaching back up to the mantle for the bowl of Floo powder. He grabbed a fistful of granules with a ferocious dig so that it wobbled precariously on its ledge.
"Not like this!" Seamus pleaded, moving closer but uncertain how Dean would react. "Don't just go. I know it sounds crazy, and you are enough-"
"Shut up! I'm not talking about this right now," Dean seethed, his jaw clenched so tightly Seamus' own muscles twinged at the sight. Dean kicked his foot out to be sure of the edge of the hearth before hurling down the powder. "The Leaky Cauldron!" he bellowed, stepping into the green flames and vanishing into the brief flare of light.
"FUCK!" Seamus swore, storming out of the room to their study, wanting to find something to throw at the wall. With a marrow-deep cry, he slammed his fist into the wall instead, backing away dazedly after a few moments of ringing silence. He saw he'd made a hole in the plaster. His hand throbbed; it really hurt. Merlin, did it fucking hurt, though nothing compared to the pummeling he felt in his chest.
"You deserve it," he growled to himself, already beginning to nurse his wounded knuckles as he stalked to the kitchen. He yanked the bottle of scotch out of a pantry, twisted off the cap with his left hand and took several swallows straight from the bottle. His eyes burned; the pressure of holding himself together proved too much and he collapsed to the floor, the bottle clunking onto the lino as his back thumped against a cabinet door. Scalding tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he breathed heavily, finally letting go with a hiccoughing wail. He cried and raged, banging the sturdy Glenmorangie against the floor before taking another swig and then slamming it down across from him. He pulled his knees up, cradling his aching hand against his chest and half-sobbing, half dry-heaving into the palm of his left hand.
Utter anguish filled his mouth; he could smell the sickly tang of self-derision as he wiped his nose on his shirt before leaning his head back so it hit the cabinet door behind him. His mouth hung open to let out the last of the battered cries from deep in his chest, until finally it had all poured out of him, leaving him limp and sullied, wrung out like a soggy old tea towel. Still sniffling, he glanced down at the watch around his left wrist. It was a few minutes after three, and he needed to be at the pub ready to work a bit before four. Thankfully that gave him a half-hour to clean up and get his emotions under control- and to cast a sobering spell on himself. Dean may have just stormed out of the flat to go and do Merlin only knew what with Fred - or to him - but Seamus had a job, and he took his work ethic seriously. Despite feeling as though he'd really been run over by a Muggle lorry, work was work. He knew Dean nearly as intimately as himself; Dean would calm down, and if some drama came to pass in Diagon Alley, no doubt he'd hear about it later.
Still.
After easing to his feet, Seamus put the scotch back in the pantry, found his wand on the living room table and cast a two-part healing spell on his hand. He winced a bit as he flexed and stretched the fingers, reckoning that it would continue to be sore through the evening until he could get Dean to cast one as well. In the meantime, there was a draught of pain potion in the bathroom.
A tentative mewing sound came from under the small dining room table. Seamus smiled sadly as Kipper silently walked to him, purring lightly and winding a figure eight around his ankles. He reached down to rub at her head and ears, surprised when he realised that he was grateful for her company.
"Think he still cares about me?" he asked her, picking her up until she mewled in displeasure and he put her back down on the floor. She continued to use his ankles as head-rubbing posts, occasionally stopping to lick at a paw, or leg, or rub at her nose.
"Yeah. I hope so, too. That really wasn't how I'd hoped that conversation would go," he said gloomily, padding down the corridor to the bathroom where he took a washcloth to his blotchy, tear-stained face.
"You look-" his mirror began.
"Get stuffed," he growled, ignoring the mirror's mutinous response.
He looked like shite, which was an equal reflection to how he felt. So much for thinking that Dean would understand that Seamus truly did love him with a depth he'd not felt for anyone else, Fred included. Dean probably figured that Seamus was a freak, and in all likelihood would tell Fred to stay the fuck away, or that he could have Seamus to himself, or he'd come home and tell Seamus that he had to choose: Fred or him.
That was easy enough, though as he regarded himself, the green spikes of his hair and his red-rimmed eyes, his heart fiercely protested against having to pick only one. But he could, and it would be Dean. If Dean still wanted him, that was. The drink and ebbing away of powerful emotions left him feeling rather mellow, and contemplative. He thought about fire-calling Harry, but didn't know what in bloody hell he'd tell him. Instead he went to the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of gingerbeer, found a wool cardigan he'd tossed onto a chair a day or two ago, buttoned it up and swept up his pack of fags from the countertop to go smoke on the porch.
He replayed the conversation in his mind, hearing Dean's shouts and incredulity again and again, looping endlessly while he inhaled the pungent tobacco. He realised that all hope wasn't lost; Dean hadn't said he hated him, hadn't told him to pack his stuff and leave. There had been a menagerie of hurt and incomprehension, but that could be remedied with time and some potentially awkward but perhaps needed talks. All in all, things would be okay, he decided, taking a deep pull on the cigarette and glancing warily at the leaden sky. Well, things would be okay for them, but his hopes for Fred's presence, his protective, indomitable spirit and, to be candid, a body that still attracted Seamus more strongly than the most potent sticking spell that opportunity seemed to be over before it had ever really begun.
He stubbed out the cigarette into a makeshift ashtray and went back into the flat, toying again with the idea of fire-calling Harry as he assumed Ron would be at work. Shaking his head, he listened to Kipper's insistent meows. He wandered back into the kitchen and got her a few treats from a jar spelled to stay shut so she couldn't get into it, a lesson learned the hard way. After she ate them, he played with her for a time with a long feather on a pole until she tired of it and settled down on one of her favourite spots on the couch to take a nap.
Rather than take the Floo network as he normally did, Seamus traipsed down to Seth. Something in him made him check to ensure that the spare set of leathers and helmet were in their compartment, charmed to a size at which they could be strapped onto the back of the seat. Tugging up the zip on his burgundy leather jacket, he sat astride his motorbike, turned on the engine and let it idle until it purred with its distinctive low throb, and headed to the Dove's Cry.
* * * * *
It was a busy night, the perfect mixture of frenetic activity so Seamus was never idle, but not so frantic that he couldn't get some downtime here and there. It was during one of these brief interludes when he'd taken a rare smoking break out in the alley behind the pub that a familiar but disorientingly unexpected figure appeared.
"Hullo, Fred!" Seamus said as Fred approached, his hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression tinting his features.
"Seamus. Can I have a word?"
"Sure," Seamus said expansively before he found he was caught up in Fred's burly, warm embrace. "I'll get you a drink inside, if you'd like."
"No, that's all right." Fred stepped back, declining Seamus' offer of a cigarette. "You and Dean had a row." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah. He told you? Did you two really buy guitars?" Seamus was still finding the whole concept of Dean and Fred picking up a musical instrument rather fanciful.
"No, but we will soon. Just looked and tried playing a couple. Look, Seamus, you should know- he practically pounced on me. Very odd. I didn't let him do all that he said he wanted to, though it took a lot of discipline on my part. He's a fabulous kisser."
"I know." The words were out of Seamus' mouth automatically, well before the shock of what Fred had said actually registered with him and he could think of a proper reply. "He what?!"
"I could tell it was out of revenge, or anger, or something," Fred went on.
"Are you sure you don't want to come inside? I've got to go in in just a few, and this sounds like something we should really talk about," Seamus said, his thumb brushing over the bit of chest hair exposed in the open vee of his shirt.
"No, I really just wanted to find out what's going on, a quick summary is fine. If you don't think that's breaking confidence." Fred's gaze was intense, much as he'd looked when they'd gone through the details of their daily missions those last few months of the War.
"No, I don't reckon. I told him I didn't feel at all badly about our time together, the three of us, at your place, and that I wanted that to go on." Seamus took a final drag and ground out the cigarette under his boot heel, exhaling the last bit of smoke toward the pub wall. "Dean didn't like that idea very much."
Fred nodded knowingly. "That explains a few things. He seemed pretty preoccupied, then wouldn't keep his hands off of me, saying he wanted to know more what I was like. Normally I wouldn't mind, but without you there " His voice trailed off and Seamus couldn't help but glance at his watch, swearing under his breath. He hated it when he got so conscious about time and being late.
"I won't keep you," Fred insisted, shaking his head when Seamus tugged him toward the building. "He just seemed off, and really disappointed when we didn't shag right there."
"What, in the shop?" Seamus was thunderstruck. He was going to have to try and firecall Dean. This was all going to Hades in a cauldron and he felt like the world's biggest idiot.
"No, back at my flat. We did snog, and there was some serious groping, but that's it. Again, not that I minded, but he seemed all desperate about it, not like he really wanted me. Just thought I'd find out what's going on. You've not spoken yet, I guess?"
"No, but I'll firecall him, or go down to the Muggle pub a block or so down on my next break and ring him on the telephone proper." Seamus was agitated now; he needed to get back to work, but he was thrown by Fred's visit and Dean's shocking behaviour.
"You have a telephone?" Fred asked, confused. "Why?"
"So Dean can talk with his two surviving sisters. The ones who weren't there when the Death Eaters torched the house," Seamus ground out angrily.
"Oh. I didn't know," Fred said, his voice respectfully quiet. "Well, I know you've got to get back to work, and I have things of my own to do. I also want to be clear about the fact that I'm not sneaking around- tell Dean or don't that I came by here. I just wanted to find out from you what his motivations were. If he does come by alone again, though, I won't turn him down."
"I wouldn't be able to," Seamus admitted, circling an arm around Fred's waist and kissing him firmly on the mouth. The kiss deepened for a very few moments, their tongues tangling just long enough for Seamus' pulse to pick up speed.
"Thanks for telling me," he said, fairly certain Fred could hear the resignation in his tone. "Guess this is what I get for listening to my instincts. Reckon I can expect to spend some cold and lonely nights on the couch."
"I know where there's a warm bed, and pretty decent company." There was both humour and sultry invitation in Fred's voice.
"I can't." Seamus felt his heart twist painfully at Fred's quirked mouth, his still-thin face evaluating the conflicting thoughts Seamus knew must be stamped so obviously in his expression.
"I know. Talk to you later."
Fred wandered off a few paces before Apparating away, and Seamus returned to the comforting bustle of the pub. Given the strangeness of the evening due to Fred's visit, he still found himself marveling at how surreal his night had become when he heard the unmistakable tapping of Dean's guide stick in the relative hush of the quarter hour before closing.
"Dean?" Seamus asked, stunned as he carefully approached the bar.
"Hi Shay. Get me a drink?"
The other bartender, a man in his late thirties named Hamish with luminous violet eyes gave Seamus a questioning look.
"I've got it," Seamus said hurriedly. "Dean's me mate. We live together- you keep cleaning up." Turning to Dean as he felt his way around the stool and bar ledge, he asked, "What's your poison?"
"Irish volcano." A slow smile eased onto his lips and Seamus found his heart easing from the constricting knots that had been bound around it since their fight that afternoon.
"One Irish volcano, coming right up."
He made the drink and set it down, barely touching Dean's long fingers outstretched on the mahogany wood of the bar.
"Thanks, Shay." He took a swallow, grimaced slightly, then took another as he seemed to come to a resolution unfurling from deep within himself. "I think I overreacted," he said softly. "Oh, and I'm not here to keep you late, just wanted to have a quick chat and then we can go home together."
"Suits me." Seamus leaned forward from inside the bar, resting on his forearms.
"I've been thinking about what you said, and trying to figure out what it is you're looking for, and what it is that I want, or expected." He paused, the fingers of his right hand drumming out a pattern on the polished surface. "I know I didn't expect this at all, being blind, or being with you, like we are."
There was another silence, but Seamus had no desire to rush him. He could lock up the pub if need be; the owner trusted him implicitly, and this was too important not to take as long as Dean wanted to speak.
"Fred's a decent guy. Better than decent, actually. I've just been trying to figure out why you still cared for him at all, after all the crap he put you through. After talking with him some today, I can tell he regrets it. Enough that he'd be with you, if I weren't. But I am, and he respects that."
He took another swallow, his thumb smearing a path in the condensation on the side of the glass. "It doesn't come naturally to want to share you. You're my best friend, the person I care most about in this world. George was that person for him, but it's obvious from the tone of his voice, the words he says, that you were pretty high up there, too. I know you really well, Shay; you were hurting for a long time because of him. I also know deep down that if I said you had to pick, it'd be me, though."
Seamus made an affirmative noise, but didn't interrupt. He was practically chewing on his tongue to keep silent as Dean let out a long breath.
"Maybe you shouldn't have to. I'm not saying I want Fred to move in or anything, but he's good company, and seems to like me well enough. He respects me, and you, and I suppose, well " Dean turned the glass slowly, Seamus hanging on his every word, trying to contain the elation bounding madly in his chest.
"I just need to know that you'll never intentionally leave me out. I feel like I know you wouldn't, that you'd always put me first, when push came to shove. But maybe- maybe it'd be all right for him to be with us, sometimes. Or a fair bit of the time."
Words failed Seamus for a few moments. He was grinning ear to ear, though Dean couldn't tell, of course. He eased out his arms to that his fingers could slide over Dean's, and a hesitant smile like a winter sun straggling into dawn rose to his lips. Seamus didn't trust himself to words, fearing he'd say something that would sound as though he somehow loved Dean more because he was willing to let Fred into their twosome again which wasn't really the case. He took out his pewter flask from a cabinet underneath the bar, poured himself a shot of Bitter Banshee, and tossed it back.
"I don't know what to say that won't sound stupid," Seamus said, squeezing one of Dean's hands and deflecting a disgruntled look from Hamish. "But the truth is, I really just want to close up shop here, have you slide behind me on Seth, go for a wee bit of a drive, and get home so I can ravage you properly. Because you mean the absolute world to me, ye know you do."
A bit more heat warmed Dean's smile. "I do. But I don't mind hearing you say it."
"I don't mind showing you, either," Seamus said, not caring who heard his innuendo, though it was now down to just the two of them, Hamish, and a couple of regulars lingering at the door putting on their coats.
"Then I should let you go ahead and work so you can get out of here." Though Dean's milky eyes could no longer help express how he felt, the crinkles at the corners went a long way to show Seamus that he really was at peace with his decision.
"Drink up, then!"
Seamus worked efficiently, hoisting chairs to rest upended on the tables and instructing Hamish to wipe down the wooden surfaces in the booths. He balanced out the till and shelved the money in a special safe, casting a locking spell known only to three of them on the management staff. After washing and placing Dean's glass on a rack to dry, he gave Hamish permission to leave. Dean slid off of his barstool and with a small happy noise, allowed Seamus to drape his arm around his waist, guiding Dean through the back room to head into the alleyway.
"Love you, " Seamus said rather breathlessly before plundering Dean's mouth with his tongue. He'd pushed Dean against the wall, earning a rumbled unintelligible affirmation in reply.
"Let's be off then, Romeo," Dean said softly once they'd broken apart, taking the proffered leathers to go over his jeans and then donning his riding jacket and helmet.
"Who?" Seamus asked, buckling his helmet and watching as Dean shrank down his guide stick, sliding it inside one of his ankle-height boots.
"Muggle guy in literature. Quite the romantic."
"Ah. I try. For you, anyway."
He straddled Seth, easing back once Dean was arranged securely behind him, his wiry arms firmly gripped about his waist. They sped off, Seamus taking a more circuitous route than usual, enjoying the borderline carnal joy of the night air whipping past them, Dean's long torso pressed up flush behind him in a warm solidarity. He was rather caught up in his visceral contentment when a deer leapt out across the road. Time slowed to a terrifying molasses, though the succession of actions his body took seemed quixotically to occur twice as quickly as his mind could bark out the silent commands.
Seamus screamed a hysterical, blurred mixture of "FUCK!" and "DEAN!" The faint slick of an earlier shower resisted any traction as he futilely stomped on the brake; jarred out of balance, he felt the bike lean, helplessly careening through an eternity of seconds as they slid horizontally at a speed much too fast for his body to comprehend. He was still gripping Seth's handlebars when the lip of the ditch slammed up to meet the cycle, the force of impact jolting him. He felt Dean's hands torn away from his waist even as he skidded and bounced until he, too, was thrown off from the motorbike. The night landscape tumbled topsy-turvy in a sickeningly lethargic tempo until he landed an eternity later - though rationally he knew he couldn't have been airbourne but for the briefest of trajectories - in a bruising heap, hearing nauseating snaps of broken bones as his body crumpled against the hard earth.
Seamus seemed to be outside of himself, his racing mind thinking of ten thousand self-evaluations and physical assessments. He willed his closed eyes open, and his ringing head to rise up so he could go find Dean. Dean. Dean, Dean, oh fuck. Seamus' broken and battered body was trapped in a redviolent haze of pain. He barely heard Dean's voice calling for him, almost couldn't feel Dean's clammy fingers move under his nose in a routine check for breathing.
"Shay!" The wail rose around Seamus, wrapping him in the knowledge that Dean was okay, had crawled or something to find him. With unbearable effort, Seamus breathed in past the arrows that appeared to pierce his lungs, forming Dean's name, but all that came out was a raspy gurgle. A metallic gorge rose into his mouth and he choked, feeling the relentless, pulsing spectre of physical agony creeping into his consciousness. His shredded mind tried without success to keep it at bay.
"Expect-" Dean's voice was mutilated, hoarse and frayed by fear and pain. "Expecto Patronum!" he forced out with strength that even in his fractured sanity, Seamus admired. Pain began feasting on his body, yet in Seamus' mind's eye, he was able to envision Dean's pearly Irish setter bounding off in search of help. In the ensuing swirl of damning himself for dying in front of his best friend and berating himself for not protecting him, Seamus fought the jaws of unspeakable agony but found himself wrestled into unconsciousness.
..:~TBC~:..
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: This chapter R; language and potentially disturbing imagery
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."
Previous Posts:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
"So where're you meeting Fred, again?" Seamus asked through a mouthful of toothpaste foam. He glanced from his reflection in the mirror down to Kipper, who sat on top of the toilet lid, watching him brush his teeth with a disinterested gaze. Her stumpy tail slowly swished back and forth.
"Calliope's Caboodle. I'll take the Floo to the Leaky and go to meet him at Wheezes, first," Dean called from their bedroom.
"The music shop? What for?" Seamus spat into the sink before brushing his tongue, wondering what was going on since neither Dean nor Fred were particularly musically inclined.
"Fred's decided to get a guitar. I have, too."
The amused excitement in Dean's voice carried down the corridor and Seamus rinsed his mouth quickly. He shook his head before he a perfunctory gargle, daubing at some water on his chin.
"You're getting a what?" he asked in disbelief, scooping out a galleon-sized bit of lurid green gel to twist into the ends of his hair.
"A guitar. We're going to take lessons together."
Seamus pondered that for a moment as he made the hair edges into stiff green spikes, pointedly ignoring the disapproving clucking sounds of the mirror. He worked at a pub, not Gringott's, and the pub owner didn't mind when Seamus got a bit colourful with his hair or clothes.
"How're ye gonna learn? You can't read music." He ambled down the corridor to their room to lean against the doorframe. Admiringly he watched as Dean took a pick to his own hair, feeling around the brushed-out waves until he looked wild and tousled. It suited him, very much.
"I know. I've been talking with a couple of guys at the Centre for the Blind and they've convinced me they can do a Braille version of the reading charts."
"That's that's great!" Seamus said as Dean shuffled over to their closet, feeling through the hanging clothes until he found his favourite tracksuit top and pulled it off the hanger. "What brought this idea on, then?"
"Fred. We talked about it for a little while when you were in hospital, during the transfusion. You could get one too, if you wanted."
"Nah. Not me. Too expensive, anyway."
"Is there some other instrument you'd be interested in?" Dean patted at his groin, making sure he'd zipped his flies. He made his way to the door, his arms as always stretched out just in case a piece of furniture had moved.
"Bagpipes," Seamus deadpanned, hooking his fingers in Dean's belt loops to pull him in for a quick kiss on the mouth.
"No way! You've not got a drop of Scottish blood in you!" Dean exclaimed with a barked laugh, rubbing at Seamus' arse and moving out of the doorway to the living room.
"Actually, that's not true," Seamus said, trailing behind him. "I've got some McGhinty in me, a smidge of Scotch-Irish, I'll have you know."
"You're having me on," Dean said from the front door, retrieving his guide stick and returning to the fireplace. "Mister I'm So Irish I Bleed Green?"
"Yes, it's a shameful family secret," Seamus said dramatically as Dean huffed through his nose. "Me mam had a couple of small cloths of the McGhinty tartan. How 'bout that? I could wear a kilt! I've got the right, even though it'd be completely unnatural."
"Well, if you wore it as they say they do, with nothing but their pride on underneath " Dean raised a provocative eyebrow.
"I'm full of pride." Seamus frotted against Dean's hip and Dean laughed aloud.
"No shite. Get the floo power, will you? I want to get on my way before you're too full of yourself and there's no room for anything in this flat but your big head," Dean said, still grinning.
"Sounds like you and Fred've been getting on well." Seamus' spirits were lifted by that thought. He hadn't yet brought up their unexpected threesome, listening for once to his instincts, which had suggested he wait.
"He's a good bloke."
Curiosity got the better of Seamus, and as he handed Dean the bowl of verdant sand he asked, "Have you two talked about our brunch? And after, I mean?" he clarified, looking over to gauge Dean's reaction to the question.
"No. I think he's as embarrassed about it as we are," Dean confided, shaking his head ruefully.
"I'm not embarrassed!"
Dean turned, a small culvert forming between his brows. "You're not? I mean, we must've been totally pissed to get together like that. I know I was. I'll have to start mixing my own drinks, somehow."
"Why would you be embarrassed? I thought you'd liked it. All of that skin, and mouths, and hands, and " Seamus let his words stop as he scooted closer, putting his arms around Dean's waist and nosing at his neck.
"Well, I did, but I quite like how things are with just us, thanks all the same." Dean started to lean into Seamus' embrace before changing his mind and standing more stiffly, placing the Floo powder bowl back up on the fireplace mantle. "You're not thinking that was anything more than a drunken one-off, are you?"
"Why not?" Seamus asked honestly. The sight of a tightening around Dean's mouth clued him in to Dean's thoughts on the matter with lightning speed.
"For fuck's sake, Seamus! You and I are together. Why in bloody hell isn't that enough? I agonised over telling you how I really felt, and things've been bloody brilliant and then Fred puts on some fucking poor me act and then you can't seem to have enough of him around. You did fuck him when you first visited him at Wheezes, didn't you?" he snarled, the angry words causing Seamus to rush to his own defence, and he stepped a pace away from Dean.
"No! I wouldn't do that! I just thought-"
"You thought you'd just invite him to join in, when we've not even been together but a few months? I know he seems honest, and he's been through a lot of shite, but so fucking have I!" Dean was fuming, his ire and hurt radiating from him. "Why can't you just be with me, Shay? You're all I want, or thought I did. Dammit!"
He breathed loudly through his nose and stomped a few steps away to plant a hand against the wall, sightlessly glaring back at Seamus. "Don't you realise how the world's a fucking nightmare to me without you nearby, being with me, helping me out without making me feel like a useless excuse for a man? You're enough for me, Shay, always have been. 'S like breathing, being mates, and now all of this, sleeping together and sex and "
The sound that tore from his throat made Seamus think of an animal caught in a trap. Dean beat his hand against the wall a couple of times, his tirade having turned into a low rumbling of furious unintelligible syllables. Seamus wanted to tell him he felt exactly the same, that he couldn't bear the thought of waking up without Dean there. It was just that he did want Fred there, too. Maybe not all the time, but as a constant in their lives.
"Dean- I've not told you of these thoughts I'd had because I thought they were half-mad meself, but then Fred-"
"AUGH!" The sound was a punch of miserable vindication. "So you've been chatting him up about this ménage a trois fantasy of yours, have you? Fuck it all! I'm leaving!" Dean yelled, reaching back up to the mantle for the bowl of Floo powder. He grabbed a fistful of granules with a ferocious dig so that it wobbled precariously on its ledge.
"Not like this!" Seamus pleaded, moving closer but uncertain how Dean would react. "Don't just go. I know it sounds crazy, and you are enough-"
"Shut up! I'm not talking about this right now," Dean seethed, his jaw clenched so tightly Seamus' own muscles twinged at the sight. Dean kicked his foot out to be sure of the edge of the hearth before hurling down the powder. "The Leaky Cauldron!" he bellowed, stepping into the green flames and vanishing into the brief flare of light.
"FUCK!" Seamus swore, storming out of the room to their study, wanting to find something to throw at the wall. With a marrow-deep cry, he slammed his fist into the wall instead, backing away dazedly after a few moments of ringing silence. He saw he'd made a hole in the plaster. His hand throbbed; it really hurt. Merlin, did it fucking hurt, though nothing compared to the pummeling he felt in his chest.
"You deserve it," he growled to himself, already beginning to nurse his wounded knuckles as he stalked to the kitchen. He yanked the bottle of scotch out of a pantry, twisted off the cap with his left hand and took several swallows straight from the bottle. His eyes burned; the pressure of holding himself together proved too much and he collapsed to the floor, the bottle clunking onto the lino as his back thumped against a cabinet door. Scalding tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he breathed heavily, finally letting go with a hiccoughing wail. He cried and raged, banging the sturdy Glenmorangie against the floor before taking another swig and then slamming it down across from him. He pulled his knees up, cradling his aching hand against his chest and half-sobbing, half dry-heaving into the palm of his left hand.
Utter anguish filled his mouth; he could smell the sickly tang of self-derision as he wiped his nose on his shirt before leaning his head back so it hit the cabinet door behind him. His mouth hung open to let out the last of the battered cries from deep in his chest, until finally it had all poured out of him, leaving him limp and sullied, wrung out like a soggy old tea towel. Still sniffling, he glanced down at the watch around his left wrist. It was a few minutes after three, and he needed to be at the pub ready to work a bit before four. Thankfully that gave him a half-hour to clean up and get his emotions under control- and to cast a sobering spell on himself. Dean may have just stormed out of the flat to go and do Merlin only knew what with Fred - or to him - but Seamus had a job, and he took his work ethic seriously. Despite feeling as though he'd really been run over by a Muggle lorry, work was work. He knew Dean nearly as intimately as himself; Dean would calm down, and if some drama came to pass in Diagon Alley, no doubt he'd hear about it later.
Still.
After easing to his feet, Seamus put the scotch back in the pantry, found his wand on the living room table and cast a two-part healing spell on his hand. He winced a bit as he flexed and stretched the fingers, reckoning that it would continue to be sore through the evening until he could get Dean to cast one as well. In the meantime, there was a draught of pain potion in the bathroom.
A tentative mewing sound came from under the small dining room table. Seamus smiled sadly as Kipper silently walked to him, purring lightly and winding a figure eight around his ankles. He reached down to rub at her head and ears, surprised when he realised that he was grateful for her company.
"Think he still cares about me?" he asked her, picking her up until she mewled in displeasure and he put her back down on the floor. She continued to use his ankles as head-rubbing posts, occasionally stopping to lick at a paw, or leg, or rub at her nose.
"Yeah. I hope so, too. That really wasn't how I'd hoped that conversation would go," he said gloomily, padding down the corridor to the bathroom where he took a washcloth to his blotchy, tear-stained face.
"You look-" his mirror began.
"Get stuffed," he growled, ignoring the mirror's mutinous response.
He looked like shite, which was an equal reflection to how he felt. So much for thinking that Dean would understand that Seamus truly did love him with a depth he'd not felt for anyone else, Fred included. Dean probably figured that Seamus was a freak, and in all likelihood would tell Fred to stay the fuck away, or that he could have Seamus to himself, or he'd come home and tell Seamus that he had to choose: Fred or him.
That was easy enough, though as he regarded himself, the green spikes of his hair and his red-rimmed eyes, his heart fiercely protested against having to pick only one. But he could, and it would be Dean. If Dean still wanted him, that was. The drink and ebbing away of powerful emotions left him feeling rather mellow, and contemplative. He thought about fire-calling Harry, but didn't know what in bloody hell he'd tell him. Instead he went to the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of gingerbeer, found a wool cardigan he'd tossed onto a chair a day or two ago, buttoned it up and swept up his pack of fags from the countertop to go smoke on the porch.
He replayed the conversation in his mind, hearing Dean's shouts and incredulity again and again, looping endlessly while he inhaled the pungent tobacco. He realised that all hope wasn't lost; Dean hadn't said he hated him, hadn't told him to pack his stuff and leave. There had been a menagerie of hurt and incomprehension, but that could be remedied with time and some potentially awkward but perhaps needed talks. All in all, things would be okay, he decided, taking a deep pull on the cigarette and glancing warily at the leaden sky. Well, things would be okay for them, but his hopes for Fred's presence, his protective, indomitable spirit and, to be candid, a body that still attracted Seamus more strongly than the most potent sticking spell that opportunity seemed to be over before it had ever really begun.
He stubbed out the cigarette into a makeshift ashtray and went back into the flat, toying again with the idea of fire-calling Harry as he assumed Ron would be at work. Shaking his head, he listened to Kipper's insistent meows. He wandered back into the kitchen and got her a few treats from a jar spelled to stay shut so she couldn't get into it, a lesson learned the hard way. After she ate them, he played with her for a time with a long feather on a pole until she tired of it and settled down on one of her favourite spots on the couch to take a nap.
Rather than take the Floo network as he normally did, Seamus traipsed down to Seth. Something in him made him check to ensure that the spare set of leathers and helmet were in their compartment, charmed to a size at which they could be strapped onto the back of the seat. Tugging up the zip on his burgundy leather jacket, he sat astride his motorbike, turned on the engine and let it idle until it purred with its distinctive low throb, and headed to the Dove's Cry.
* * * * *
It was a busy night, the perfect mixture of frenetic activity so Seamus was never idle, but not so frantic that he couldn't get some downtime here and there. It was during one of these brief interludes when he'd taken a rare smoking break out in the alley behind the pub that a familiar but disorientingly unexpected figure appeared.
"Hullo, Fred!" Seamus said as Fred approached, his hands in his pockets, a thoughtful expression tinting his features.
"Seamus. Can I have a word?"
"Sure," Seamus said expansively before he found he was caught up in Fred's burly, warm embrace. "I'll get you a drink inside, if you'd like."
"No, that's all right." Fred stepped back, declining Seamus' offer of a cigarette. "You and Dean had a row." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah. He told you? Did you two really buy guitars?" Seamus was still finding the whole concept of Dean and Fred picking up a musical instrument rather fanciful.
"No, but we will soon. Just looked and tried playing a couple. Look, Seamus, you should know- he practically pounced on me. Very odd. I didn't let him do all that he said he wanted to, though it took a lot of discipline on my part. He's a fabulous kisser."
"I know." The words were out of Seamus' mouth automatically, well before the shock of what Fred had said actually registered with him and he could think of a proper reply. "He what?!"
"I could tell it was out of revenge, or anger, or something," Fred went on.
"Are you sure you don't want to come inside? I've got to go in in just a few, and this sounds like something we should really talk about," Seamus said, his thumb brushing over the bit of chest hair exposed in the open vee of his shirt.
"No, I really just wanted to find out what's going on, a quick summary is fine. If you don't think that's breaking confidence." Fred's gaze was intense, much as he'd looked when they'd gone through the details of their daily missions those last few months of the War.
"No, I don't reckon. I told him I didn't feel at all badly about our time together, the three of us, at your place, and that I wanted that to go on." Seamus took a final drag and ground out the cigarette under his boot heel, exhaling the last bit of smoke toward the pub wall. "Dean didn't like that idea very much."
Fred nodded knowingly. "That explains a few things. He seemed pretty preoccupied, then wouldn't keep his hands off of me, saying he wanted to know more what I was like. Normally I wouldn't mind, but without you there " His voice trailed off and Seamus couldn't help but glance at his watch, swearing under his breath. He hated it when he got so conscious about time and being late.
"I won't keep you," Fred insisted, shaking his head when Seamus tugged him toward the building. "He just seemed off, and really disappointed when we didn't shag right there."
"What, in the shop?" Seamus was thunderstruck. He was going to have to try and firecall Dean. This was all going to Hades in a cauldron and he felt like the world's biggest idiot.
"No, back at my flat. We did snog, and there was some serious groping, but that's it. Again, not that I minded, but he seemed all desperate about it, not like he really wanted me. Just thought I'd find out what's going on. You've not spoken yet, I guess?"
"No, but I'll firecall him, or go down to the Muggle pub a block or so down on my next break and ring him on the telephone proper." Seamus was agitated now; he needed to get back to work, but he was thrown by Fred's visit and Dean's shocking behaviour.
"You have a telephone?" Fred asked, confused. "Why?"
"So Dean can talk with his two surviving sisters. The ones who weren't there when the Death Eaters torched the house," Seamus ground out angrily.
"Oh. I didn't know," Fred said, his voice respectfully quiet. "Well, I know you've got to get back to work, and I have things of my own to do. I also want to be clear about the fact that I'm not sneaking around- tell Dean or don't that I came by here. I just wanted to find out from you what his motivations were. If he does come by alone again, though, I won't turn him down."
"I wouldn't be able to," Seamus admitted, circling an arm around Fred's waist and kissing him firmly on the mouth. The kiss deepened for a very few moments, their tongues tangling just long enough for Seamus' pulse to pick up speed.
"Thanks for telling me," he said, fairly certain Fred could hear the resignation in his tone. "Guess this is what I get for listening to my instincts. Reckon I can expect to spend some cold and lonely nights on the couch."
"I know where there's a warm bed, and pretty decent company." There was both humour and sultry invitation in Fred's voice.
"I can't." Seamus felt his heart twist painfully at Fred's quirked mouth, his still-thin face evaluating the conflicting thoughts Seamus knew must be stamped so obviously in his expression.
"I know. Talk to you later."
Fred wandered off a few paces before Apparating away, and Seamus returned to the comforting bustle of the pub. Given the strangeness of the evening due to Fred's visit, he still found himself marveling at how surreal his night had become when he heard the unmistakable tapping of Dean's guide stick in the relative hush of the quarter hour before closing.
"Dean?" Seamus asked, stunned as he carefully approached the bar.
"Hi Shay. Get me a drink?"
The other bartender, a man in his late thirties named Hamish with luminous violet eyes gave Seamus a questioning look.
"I've got it," Seamus said hurriedly. "Dean's me mate. We live together- you keep cleaning up." Turning to Dean as he felt his way around the stool and bar ledge, he asked, "What's your poison?"
"Irish volcano." A slow smile eased onto his lips and Seamus found his heart easing from the constricting knots that had been bound around it since their fight that afternoon.
"One Irish volcano, coming right up."
He made the drink and set it down, barely touching Dean's long fingers outstretched on the mahogany wood of the bar.
"Thanks, Shay." He took a swallow, grimaced slightly, then took another as he seemed to come to a resolution unfurling from deep within himself. "I think I overreacted," he said softly. "Oh, and I'm not here to keep you late, just wanted to have a quick chat and then we can go home together."
"Suits me." Seamus leaned forward from inside the bar, resting on his forearms.
"I've been thinking about what you said, and trying to figure out what it is you're looking for, and what it is that I want, or expected." He paused, the fingers of his right hand drumming out a pattern on the polished surface. "I know I didn't expect this at all, being blind, or being with you, like we are."
There was another silence, but Seamus had no desire to rush him. He could lock up the pub if need be; the owner trusted him implicitly, and this was too important not to take as long as Dean wanted to speak.
"Fred's a decent guy. Better than decent, actually. I've just been trying to figure out why you still cared for him at all, after all the crap he put you through. After talking with him some today, I can tell he regrets it. Enough that he'd be with you, if I weren't. But I am, and he respects that."
He took another swallow, his thumb smearing a path in the condensation on the side of the glass. "It doesn't come naturally to want to share you. You're my best friend, the person I care most about in this world. George was that person for him, but it's obvious from the tone of his voice, the words he says, that you were pretty high up there, too. I know you really well, Shay; you were hurting for a long time because of him. I also know deep down that if I said you had to pick, it'd be me, though."
Seamus made an affirmative noise, but didn't interrupt. He was practically chewing on his tongue to keep silent as Dean let out a long breath.
"Maybe you shouldn't have to. I'm not saying I want Fred to move in or anything, but he's good company, and seems to like me well enough. He respects me, and you, and I suppose, well " Dean turned the glass slowly, Seamus hanging on his every word, trying to contain the elation bounding madly in his chest.
"I just need to know that you'll never intentionally leave me out. I feel like I know you wouldn't, that you'd always put me first, when push came to shove. But maybe- maybe it'd be all right for him to be with us, sometimes. Or a fair bit of the time."
Words failed Seamus for a few moments. He was grinning ear to ear, though Dean couldn't tell, of course. He eased out his arms to that his fingers could slide over Dean's, and a hesitant smile like a winter sun straggling into dawn rose to his lips. Seamus didn't trust himself to words, fearing he'd say something that would sound as though he somehow loved Dean more because he was willing to let Fred into their twosome again which wasn't really the case. He took out his pewter flask from a cabinet underneath the bar, poured himself a shot of Bitter Banshee, and tossed it back.
"I don't know what to say that won't sound stupid," Seamus said, squeezing one of Dean's hands and deflecting a disgruntled look from Hamish. "But the truth is, I really just want to close up shop here, have you slide behind me on Seth, go for a wee bit of a drive, and get home so I can ravage you properly. Because you mean the absolute world to me, ye know you do."
A bit more heat warmed Dean's smile. "I do. But I don't mind hearing you say it."
"I don't mind showing you, either," Seamus said, not caring who heard his innuendo, though it was now down to just the two of them, Hamish, and a couple of regulars lingering at the door putting on their coats.
"Then I should let you go ahead and work so you can get out of here." Though Dean's milky eyes could no longer help express how he felt, the crinkles at the corners went a long way to show Seamus that he really was at peace with his decision.
"Drink up, then!"
Seamus worked efficiently, hoisting chairs to rest upended on the tables and instructing Hamish to wipe down the wooden surfaces in the booths. He balanced out the till and shelved the money in a special safe, casting a locking spell known only to three of them on the management staff. After washing and placing Dean's glass on a rack to dry, he gave Hamish permission to leave. Dean slid off of his barstool and with a small happy noise, allowed Seamus to drape his arm around his waist, guiding Dean through the back room to head into the alleyway.
"Love you, " Seamus said rather breathlessly before plundering Dean's mouth with his tongue. He'd pushed Dean against the wall, earning a rumbled unintelligible affirmation in reply.
"Let's be off then, Romeo," Dean said softly once they'd broken apart, taking the proffered leathers to go over his jeans and then donning his riding jacket and helmet.
"Who?" Seamus asked, buckling his helmet and watching as Dean shrank down his guide stick, sliding it inside one of his ankle-height boots.
"Muggle guy in literature. Quite the romantic."
"Ah. I try. For you, anyway."
He straddled Seth, easing back once Dean was arranged securely behind him, his wiry arms firmly gripped about his waist. They sped off, Seamus taking a more circuitous route than usual, enjoying the borderline carnal joy of the night air whipping past them, Dean's long torso pressed up flush behind him in a warm solidarity. He was rather caught up in his visceral contentment when a deer leapt out across the road. Time slowed to a terrifying molasses, though the succession of actions his body took seemed quixotically to occur twice as quickly as his mind could bark out the silent commands.
Seamus screamed a hysterical, blurred mixture of "FUCK!" and "DEAN!" The faint slick of an earlier shower resisted any traction as he futilely stomped on the brake; jarred out of balance, he felt the bike lean, helplessly careening through an eternity of seconds as they slid horizontally at a speed much too fast for his body to comprehend. He was still gripping Seth's handlebars when the lip of the ditch slammed up to meet the cycle, the force of impact jolting him. He felt Dean's hands torn away from his waist even as he skidded and bounced until he, too, was thrown off from the motorbike. The night landscape tumbled topsy-turvy in a sickeningly lethargic tempo until he landed an eternity later - though rationally he knew he couldn't have been airbourne but for the briefest of trajectories - in a bruising heap, hearing nauseating snaps of broken bones as his body crumpled against the hard earth.
Seamus seemed to be outside of himself, his racing mind thinking of ten thousand self-evaluations and physical assessments. He willed his closed eyes open, and his ringing head to rise up so he could go find Dean. Dean. Dean, Dean, oh fuck. Seamus' broken and battered body was trapped in a redviolent haze of pain. He barely heard Dean's voice calling for him, almost couldn't feel Dean's clammy fingers move under his nose in a routine check for breathing.
"Shay!" The wail rose around Seamus, wrapping him in the knowledge that Dean was okay, had crawled or something to find him. With unbearable effort, Seamus breathed in past the arrows that appeared to pierce his lungs, forming Dean's name, but all that came out was a raspy gurgle. A metallic gorge rose into his mouth and he choked, feeling the relentless, pulsing spectre of physical agony creeping into his consciousness. His shredded mind tried without success to keep it at bay.
"Expect-" Dean's voice was mutilated, hoarse and frayed by fear and pain. "Expecto Patronum!" he forced out with strength that even in his fractured sanity, Seamus admired. Pain began feasting on his body, yet in Seamus' mind's eye, he was able to envision Dean's pearly Irish setter bounding off in search of help. In the ensuing swirl of damning himself for dying in front of his best friend and berating himself for not protecting him, Seamus fought the jaws of unspeakable agony but found himself wrestled into unconsciousness.
..:~TBC~:..