(no subject)
It's been a long fucking day.
I left Dean alone, finally feeling okay enough to peel myself away. I went to work, I checked in with the council office, making a note in the books about Sharon and her little girl being gone. I make no mention of who might be officially claiming Cori. That's not my place to say.
By the time I head home in the afternoon, I feel hollowed out, jittery and dazed, and I spend two hours playing with the girls, coloring and watching cartoons and playing games that only they know the rules for. The whole time, I keep my eyes on them, like I'm almost afraid to look away.
The sun's dipping below the horizon when I head out again, and I take a slow, meandering route back to The Winchester, cutting through the Hamlet, cutting through the yard of the hut Logan and I used to share and making my way to Mamet's. I've done this countless times before, burst into his hut unannounced. There was a time, not too long ago, that I practically lived here. Shared on side of his bed, came and went as I pleased, night or day. Things are different now, but that doesn't stop me from walking right inside.
It's quiet, empty, and I don't think much of it at first. He could be anywhere, with Cassie or Joe or who the fuck even knows. I've got a few minutes, and I sink down on the end of his bed to wait, leaning back on my hands, legs stretched out in front of me. There's nothing unusual, it's an afternoon like any afternoon, but with every passing minute, there's a growing knot of dread in my stomach that I can't explain.
The dogs are gone. They could be with him, that wouldn't be too unusual, but Helena's gone, too. There are other things missing, too, and while there's no screaming baby here to tip me off to his glaring absence there's just something... wrong.
He hardly ever goes anywhere without at least one of his guitars, but there they sit, his boots lined up neatly against the wall by the door, and I just... know.
"Fuck..." I breathe, pushing to my feet and marching out the door, but I don't make it any further than the front stoop. Sinking down onto it, I light a cigarette, knees drawn up to my chest, scrubbing angrily at the prickling behind my eyes.
It's been a long fucking day. I keep wishing that it isn't real, but no amount of fucking wishing is going to change the fact that he's gone. He's just gone.
[[Yeah, sorry guys. Another angsty Neil post. This marks the disappearance of John Mamet, so if you want your pup to find out about it IG, here's the place to do it. As Kara said in her drop post, there's really not much left behind, and Starbuck gets dibs on most of it. Neil's getting at least one of the guitars, but if Joe Dick wants the other, Neil'll definitely give it up. This post is public, so it's obviously open to all, but unless you're a friend of Mamet or Neil, don't expect Neil to be really responsive. Timed to later in the afternoon, by the way.]]
I left Dean alone, finally feeling okay enough to peel myself away. I went to work, I checked in with the council office, making a note in the books about Sharon and her little girl being gone. I make no mention of who might be officially claiming Cori. That's not my place to say.
By the time I head home in the afternoon, I feel hollowed out, jittery and dazed, and I spend two hours playing with the girls, coloring and watching cartoons and playing games that only they know the rules for. The whole time, I keep my eyes on them, like I'm almost afraid to look away.
The sun's dipping below the horizon when I head out again, and I take a slow, meandering route back to The Winchester, cutting through the Hamlet, cutting through the yard of the hut Logan and I used to share and making my way to Mamet's. I've done this countless times before, burst into his hut unannounced. There was a time, not too long ago, that I practically lived here. Shared on side of his bed, came and went as I pleased, night or day. Things are different now, but that doesn't stop me from walking right inside.
It's quiet, empty, and I don't think much of it at first. He could be anywhere, with Cassie or Joe or who the fuck even knows. I've got a few minutes, and I sink down on the end of his bed to wait, leaning back on my hands, legs stretched out in front of me. There's nothing unusual, it's an afternoon like any afternoon, but with every passing minute, there's a growing knot of dread in my stomach that I can't explain.
The dogs are gone. They could be with him, that wouldn't be too unusual, but Helena's gone, too. There are other things missing, too, and while there's no screaming baby here to tip me off to his glaring absence there's just something... wrong.
He hardly ever goes anywhere without at least one of his guitars, but there they sit, his boots lined up neatly against the wall by the door, and I just... know.
"Fuck..." I breathe, pushing to my feet and marching out the door, but I don't make it any further than the front stoop. Sinking down onto it, I light a cigarette, knees drawn up to my chest, scrubbing angrily at the prickling behind my eyes.
It's been a long fucking day. I keep wishing that it isn't real, but no amount of fucking wishing is going to change the fact that he's gone. He's just gone.
[[Yeah, sorry guys. Another angsty Neil post. This marks the disappearance of John Mamet, so if you want your pup to find out about it IG, here's the place to do it. As Kara said in her drop post, there's really not much left behind, and Starbuck gets dibs on most of it. Neil's getting at least one of the guitars, but if Joe Dick wants the other, Neil'll definitely give it up. This post is public, so it's obviously open to all, but unless you're a friend of Mamet or Neil, don't expect Neil to be really responsive. Timed to later in the afternoon, by the way.]]