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Seamus Finnigan (openbottle) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"Not really?" Seamus hazarded, because he hated lying to Dean, even when it was for his own good. Which it really had been. It didn't help that Seamus didn't particularly relish admitting to how stupid he'd been to take on Susan when they were both riled up. She could have done much worse than land him with a few splinters. On the other hand, flat out refusing to explain wouldn't help either. "Just the usual. Me being an idiot." Maybe Dean wouldn't press for details. Seamus didn't really think it likely, but he could hope.

He let his eyes closed as Dean sighed, though quickly opened them again when he started talking about Ophelia. Talking was good, Seamus knew that - and Battlescars had proved it over and over again. So though he didn't really want to hear it, Seamus didn't interrupt. Instead, he groped about for Dean's hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing hard. He hoped it helped Dean, because it didn't do anything to slow the solid wall of anger Seamus could feel building. He was half-tempted to leap back on his broom, fly to Dean's studio and find Ophelia - make her hurt the way she'd hurt Dean. He knew Susan had scared her already, but it wasn't enough. Fury was heavy in his stomach and weighed down his tongue, making it hard to spit the words out. "She should be fucking ashamed of herself," he choked out. "You were in a fucking war!" He pulled himself into a sitting position, shoulders tense and avoiding Dean's eyes.

"I can't-" He balled his free hand into a fist, still clinging to Dean with the other. "It wouldn't be normal if you -" As so often happened, anger made it harder for him to string a sentence together. "What did she think it was going to be like?" His mind seemed to fly in two directions at once - wanting to rail on Ophelia and how anyone could be so lacking in compassion while also wanting to reassure Dean that nothing she'd said was remotely close to reality. After a long moment where the air seemed to burn in Seamus's throat, he settled on the latter. "There is nothing fucking wrong with you," he insisted grimly. He'd said it before, and probably would again. "Nothing a decent person couldn't handle. You're as normal as me with this," he gestured up and down his side, "or Justin with his nightmares, or Susan with the scary ruthlessness." Granted, none of them had exactly had much relationship success - and that stray thought was enough to deflate Seamus's anger. He slumped forward against his knees. Maybe it really wasn't possible. Despite the weekly meetings and the dreamless sleep potions and the therapy. Maybe none of them would ever make it work long-term.

"You're brilliant," he insisted, still. "A hundred times better than her. I want to just - obliviate every memory of her." He shifted and lay back down on the grass, defeated, his head up near Dean's shoulder this time. "I won't," he promised. "I know it's not that easy." He turned his body slightly towards Dean. If they'd been in bed at home, he'd have curled up against him - but it didn't feel quite right on the grass like this, even though it was completely innocent. "Have you thought about making an appointment with - whoever?" Therapist, psychologist, Seamus had never completely got to grips with the various words. He knew that Dean saw someone, sometimes, and that it had helped. That was enough.