(Untitled)

[little_moons]

If you're reading this, I'm probably not around anymore...There's dirt under my nails. I don't know a fuckin' thing about gardening, but I don't have it in me to let his flowers die. It seems like a part of him, one of the only parts any of us have left, his ashes scattered in the dirt under the cascading blue bells and morning glories, the new,

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[badblood_rising]

The amount that Dean had been drinking recently -- and was sure to be in the future -- made Sam think twice about drinking himself. But really, when it came down to it he didn't go to the Winchester to drink. He went to the Hub to drink and to the Winchester to see people.

He was mostly still avoiding Jess, trying to give her space, but that needed to stop sometime. If she was on a shift, she was on a shift. Sam could leave just as easily as he could come.

He was kind of grateful though that the first person he saw upon entering was Neil. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a friendly grin as he walked over. "Hey, man," he greeted. "How're you doing?"

[little_moons]

"I'm fuckin' spectacular," I mutter dryly, smirking at him behind an exhale of smoke. It's not like it's a stupid question or anything, but I've been asked it so many times over the couple months and there are only so many times I can say shit like fine or hanging in there or really fuckin' shitty before I get bored of hearin' myself.

"Didn't expect to see you in here."

[badblood_rising]

Sam rolled his shoulders in a shrug that only pretended to be easy and unconcerned. But Sam was pretty good at that kind of pretending. "Have to start coming back sometime," he said, leaning against the bar near to Neil's side. "You might miss me too much and break into my hut again."

[little_moons]

"I might do that anyway," I say with a grin that's maybe a little too rough around the edges. Taking another drag, holding the smoke in deep and offering him the joint, even though he always turns it down, I say, "You were so fuckin' accommodatin', why wouldn't I come back?"

[dreambigger]

Eames isn't looking for Neil, exactly, but it's to his side that he gravitates after walking in, spotting him almost instantly. In fact, he's pretty sure it tends to be that way as often as not, but he doesn't think about it, simply does, sliding easily onto the stool at Neil's side, the small smile curving his lips more thoughtful, for once, than teasing. "Good reading material?" he asks without preamble, chin tilting towards the page, though he doesn't go so far as to look at what it says. "Or just filling time?"

[little_moons]

Smiling a little more easily, I set the joint back down to rest on the lip of the ashtray, knocking back the last of my drink and lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

"It's Mike's. His journal," I say, flipping the notebook closed and brushing my hand across the cover, "He started it when the girls were still babies. It's mostly letters and stuff. For them."

[dreambigger]

"Shit," Eames says, eyes widening slightly, at a loss for what else to say. It's heavier subject material than he expected, though Neil's smiling, and that keeps him from worrying too much about it. (The fact that he worries at all is something of a novelty, Neil being among the few people he's come to care about in earnest here.) Even so, he leans forward just a little, so he can effectively look up at him. "And you're alright, reading that?"

[little_moons]

"Not really?" I admit with a cough of laughter, "I don't know. I needed to do it. I've pulled it out to look at it a couple times, already, this is just... the first time I've really looked. I mean, none of it's anything I didn't already know, it's just... seein' all of it laid out, you know?"

Scratching my thumbnail over a scar in the countertop, I say, "We're supposed to decide what's okay for the girls to know about, now, and what isn't. Tom and me, I mean. I don't even know where to start."

[cibosity]

Here's the thing that I've gotta make clear: I know that Neil McCormick is entitled to however long of a recovery period he needs to get over the loss of someone so close to him. A husband. I'm a guy who ended up holding the loss of my parents close to my heart for decades, who still can't get over the whole ordeal, so the last thing I'm going to do is judge someone for it. But that don't mean that I can't hope to see somethin' a little brighter from Neil, like for him to actually goof off, tease, and not with that melancholy cloud hovering over his head all the while. So when I spot him first thing when I head into the restaurant, I walk right on over and clap a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Evenin', Moonbeam," I say, slipping onto the next stool over.

[little_moons]

There's a moment where I'm too lost in it, a moment where that smirk and the friendly jostling and his voice only barely filter in through the fog. But then I break out in a grin, one that actually manages to make it all the way to my eyes, and I say, "Moonbeam. Seriously?"

I cough out a laugh, setting the joint back down on the rim of the ashtray. "Where the hell'd that one come from?"

[cibosity]

See? This is better than having him mope about all of the time. Not that I was really trying to get him to smile with the judicious use of nicknames, but it does seem like a whole lot more people on this island appreciate them than the previous one. Then again, I ain't called anyone here names too unflattering. Except for that one kid, but I was just tryin' to keep him from getting sick.

"Dunno where it came from; inspiration sometimes hits quick and outta nowhere," I shrug, reaching out to pour myself a glass of whatever that decanter in front of me's holding. "Seemed like a hippie sorta name and you strike me as a hippie sorta person."

[little_moons]

"I got too many fuckin' jobs to be a hippie," I point out with a snort of laughter, snapping the notebook shut and stealing the bottle from him so I can top off my drink.

"Moonbeam sounds like a fuckin'... My Little Pony."