I've decided for the last chapter(s)- don't worry a good chapter is still to come- I'd end one of them the way I started by touching upon Kate. I've also mixed it up and this is the bad chapter with the good to come. I just want to thank everyone who encouraged me to restart this series and continue where I left off. Thank you soooo much. Also thank you Thesaurusgirl for recommending wine as a purple chapter!

He sets his paintbrush down the purple paint streaking the floor of his apartment. His eyes are overflowing with tears and there's purple in his hair and on his clothes. There's purple in his soul and wine's overflowing from his mouth. He's drunk, a dozen canvases painted and burned in the span of a night. He's edgy and he just can't settle down. His mind is screaming at him, begging to let it out. Neal wants to wreck everything. Tear everything down until there's nothing left but his pain and the bruises he's sure are evident on his heart. It has been beaten down, been blended to nothing but blood and pain and the tears that Neal's eyes never stop producing. Kate's death was just a week ago and he needs to move on.

He knows it's not healthy to stay this way. Neal knows the night isn't meant for midnight drinks and 2 am paintings and the blood in his sink from his nightly puking. He knows dreams aren't meant for screaming or for haunting. They're for escaping but they haven't had that idea in a week. Neal can't stand his bed anymore, it's littered with empty wine bottles and the paintings so lifelike to Kate that Neal can't bear to destroy. It'd be like losing her again. But now Peter's been looking at him with his detective stare, noticing the slump to his shoulders and the tear tracks tattooed on his cheeks. He has to find a way to break the spell. But he feels like it's betrayal to Kate. She died. He loved her. He should feel this way. Neal knows it's the grief talking but he wants to let it continue. To drag him under and drown him until he doesn't resurface.

Its why his hands are shaking as he holds the black trash bag and scoops the bottles into it. He flinches as they clank against each other. His eyes dart around to avoid looking at his paintings. The ones that make him curse his talent, make him want to beat his hands until the bones are broken and he can't hold the damned paintbrush. Neal slips out under the moon and out to the dumpster. He counts the stars like the reasons to keep his sanity. His head is lifted up to the sky as he stumbles and a voice cries out a be careful, the trash bag flying out of his hands and into the man. Peter stumbles back like he's been shot as Neal connects to the sidewalk.

" I knew it!" Peter shouts as he examines the bag full of wine bottles. "Neal you need help," Peter dies off when he sees Neal on his back staring at the sky with no move to get up.

"She was everything Peter. And I keep staring at the sky and counting the stars like my sanity but what if none of it's left. What if she took it with her?" Neal asks. His heart is in his throat and he's suffocating. Love is nothing but all encompassing.

"She didn't take it Neal. She just… borrowed it." Peter says and squats next to Neal. "Keep counting the stars like your sanity. The sky is endless and so is your strength. You convinced me to break some loser out of jail on a kind of human leash." Peter jokes, nudging Neal with an elbow.

Neal nods; a single jerky movement but still a start to something near trust.

Y'all know the drill. Hope you liked it, please leave a review, and happy October!