Both My Anchor And Life Preserver (2/3)
Title: Both My Anchor And Life Presever
Author: Ashley5627
Summary: Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes you need someone to be your anchor, life preserver, to keep you afloat while at the same time, anchored to reality. Sometimes you need a lighthouse to tell you which way is home. Sometimes you need a superhero, not one with a cape, but with a badge. Sometimes you need Peter Burke to put everything back together. Neal!Whump.
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: None
Characters: Neal, Peter, Diana, Jones
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, friendship
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I told you guys that I was going to post this chapter today! Well, here it is! Enjoy!
The chapter name is from a song by The Fray.
WCWCWC How To Save A Life WCWCWC
Peter, Diana and Jones were all sitting in the van together, their combined body heat and the various machines around them keeping them warm and making them feel sympathetic towards Neal, who had the be out in the cold, rainy weather.
Peter had a hand holding headphones to one ear while he listened intently to the conversation of Neal and Carlos, a man that had been smuggling everything from paintings to illegal immigrants, that was coming through the tiny speaker of the device. Since Carlos insisted on leaving the dry warehouse that he and Neal had met in to assure that if Neal was wearing a wire the rain would short it out, the loud rain distorted their voices slightly. Fortunately they had to talk over the rain so they were loud enough to hear. Carlos was smart, and paranoid, though for good reason since he actually was being recorded. Fortunately the earpiece Neal had was waterproof.
Suddenly there was a strange sound - a gasp, like someone was shocked or in pain. It sounded like it came from Neal. Peter's heart-rate picked up at that thought. There was a soft whisper, but Peter couldn't make out what was said, or even who said it. Then there was another gasp, but this one sounded choked, strangled.
"Neal?" Peter asked into the microphone that was sitting on the desk in front of him. "Neal, is everything okay?"
Peter could hear footsteps splashing in the water on the ground and getting quieter - someone running away. Then there was a dull thudding sound, like something - or someone - hitting the ground. Peter's mind started to panic, thinking of every worse-case scenario possible, but he stopped himself from showing it. His team - Neal - needed him to have a level head.
"Neal, what's going on? Where's Carlos?" Peter asked, his voice as steady as he could manage at the moment.
Over the loud thrumming of the rain, Peter could here a gasping noise and he hoped against hope that Neal had just run away from some kind of danger, that he was trying to catch his breath before he answered Peter. But Carlos wasn't one to resort to violence, so why was Neal running, if he even was?
"Neal, you need to tell me what's going on. Do you want us to come in?"
The gasping got louder, not like someone that was catching their breath, and Peter was seriously concerned now.
"Neal, answer me, dammit!" Peter yelled, maybe a little too loud because Jones jumped and Diana gave him a questioning look.
"Fancy." It was one word, one little word that Peter and Neal had been bickering about only an hour before that twisted Peter's gut into knots. "Fancy."
Peter cursed, then focused back on Neal. "Neal, what's going on? Where's Carlos?" he asked, trying to get ahold of the situation.
"Stabbed," Neal panted breathlessly. "Carlos stabbed me."
Peter cursed vividly all the while his heart was twisting in his chest. "Jones, get us to the warehouse - now," Peter ordered his agent. Then he looked over to Diana to tell her to call for an ambulance, but she was already a step ahead of him, her phone to her ear as she barked out orders into the device.
Jones immediately jumped into the drivers seat and then took off toward the warehouse. Peter and Diana held on to anything they could as Jones sped through the rainy streets towards the warehouse. They didn't have backup with them since it was just supposed to be a routine meet where Neal and Carlos sized each other up. The bust wasn't supposed to go down until Carlos actually showed Neal his smuggling operation. It wasn't supposed to go down like this at all.
"I'll be there in just a minute, okay?" Peter said into the microphone. Neal didn't respond and Peter was getting even more worried. He knew that Neal was still alive because of the harsh breathing he could hear through the headphones that he had glued to his ear, but that still didn't comfort him very much. "Neal, answer me, please," Peter said, his voice getting far too close to desperate.
"Hurts," Neal uttered quietly. Peter wished more than ever that he could take Neal's pain away. He couldn't do anything until he was next to his friend, but it seemed like it was taking forever to get there.
Finally the van made it to the warehouse. All three agents rushed out of the vehicle, guns drawn and ready. The rain was falling down in sheets and they were almost immediately soaked.
Knowing that Neal wasn't inside, they circled the building until they found Neal's prone form in the middle of a parking lot right outside of the warehouse, a diluted crimson puddle next to him. Jones and Diana obeyed protocol and went in the warehouse to make sure Carlos wasn't still around, but Peter, without any hesitation, went straight to Neal.
Neal opened his eyes as Peter got closer. Peter crouched down next to his friend and could see far too much pain and confusion in those cerulean blue orbs. Rain was pounding relentlessly on Peter's back, but he ignored it as he bent over his friend to block some of the rain from hitting his face.
"I'm here, Neal. You're okay," Peter said as confidently as he could. He just hoped that Neal didn't notice the waver in his voice as he looked at all of the blood that had already pooled around Neal's body. Peter knew that the water was making it look like there was so much more than there really was, but it didn't stop him from panicking a little more inside.
"I'm okay," Neal mumbled.
He didn't seem too sure about that so Peter said, "Yeah, buddy. You're going to be fine. Helps coming." Peter wanted to do anything other than cause Neal more pain, but he had to try to stop the bleeding. He gently moved Neal's hand away, unbuttoned Neal's formerly white dress shirt and quickly found the source of all of the bleeding. Peter then took off his soaked jacket while wishing he had something dry to try to stop the bleeding, muttered a quick "Sorry," then press down hard on the wound to staunch the bleeding.
Neal cried out and arched his back in agony as his fancy Italian leather shoes pushed at the ground, his eyes tightly pinched shut against the pain that no doubt just became ten times worse.
"Neal, stay with me," Peter said urgently. Neal's hand reached out blindly for something to hold onto and Peter didn't even hesitate to grab ahold of his friends hand, to anchor him. "I got you. I got you," Peter reassured Neal.
Peter could see Diana approach them out of the corner of his eye. He turned briefly to acknowledge her presence before returning his attention back to Neal. "We got Carlos. Jones is sitting on him. Ambulance is on its way," she reported briskly, then looked worryingly down at Neal as he laughed for no apparent reason, then winced when the movement jarred his wound.
Peter had absolutely no idea why Neal was laughing when he was laying on the ground of an old parking lot, bleeding to death. No - not death. Neal was going to be fine. Like Diana said, an ambulance was on the way. They'd come and put Neal back together and the kid would be back to bugging him and getting into trouble in no time. That was how it was going to happen.
Seconds later Peter could hear sirens in the distance. Relief washed over him at the knowledge that help was close, but it was short-lived when he felt Neal start to struggle under him.
"No, don' wan't to go," he said weakly as he tried to sit up, but Peter gently pushed him back down.
"You're not going anywhere," Peter said, but he was pretty sure they weren't talking about the same thing. Neal stopped struggling and Peter was both relieved and even more worried at the same time because Neal had closed his eyes now. "Neal, open your eyes," he said in a voice that sounded foreign to his own ears.
Neal opened his eyes and locked them with Peter's, much to the agents surprise and relief. Peter gave Neal what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then looked back down at his blood-and-water-soaked jacket that was trying, and failing, to stop the blood from spilling out of his CI, his partner, his friend.
"Am I dying?" Neal suddenly asked, making Peter's head snap up to stare at Neal with something close to terror in his eyes and in his heart.
"No, you're not dying," Peter said with determination that he didn't really feel, but Neal didn't need to know that he was barely holding on. He needed to be strong for Neal, now more than ever. "I'm not going to let that happen, you hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear you," he breathed after a moment.
"Good," Peter said, then looked over his shoulder for a second, wishing that paramedics would just suddenly appear and put his friend back together.
"Who's coming?" Neal asked, his voice so weak that it made Peter worry even more, if that was even possible.
"Help, help is coming," Peter said, praying that it would be in time. Neal was fading fast. When the younger man closed his eyes again and his body relaxed, Peter thought that that was the last time that he would see those sky-blue orbs and that freaked him out. But then he realized that he could still feel Neal's chest moving unsteadily under his hand and that grounded him slightly.
"Neal, you can't sleep now," Peter said, trying to make it sound like a command, but it ended up sounding more like a plea of a desperate man. Maybe it was.
Peter held his breath for the couple of seconds it took for Neal to open his eyes again. Peter could feel his friend tense under him again, no doubt in a lot of pain. His friend then looked strangely at him for some reason, like he was confused or something.
"Why are you...crying?" Neal asked between unsteady breaths. Only then did Peter realize that there were tears in his eyes and that they were alarmingly close to falling.
"I'm not crying, bud," Peter said, his voice strangely rough, only half lying. To officially be crying, you had to have let the tears actually fall, right?
Neal seemed to accept what Peter said. Peter could hear that the ambulance was very close now and he was relieved to see two paramedics come rushing toward then a few agonizing minutes later, a stretcher being wheeled with them and getting soaked to the bone as well.
"Help?" Neal asked quietly.
Even though it was only one word, Peter knew exactly what Neal was asking. "Yes, help," he said with relief.
When they finally reached the duo, one of them started asking questions and Peter tried his best to answer them, but then the other one had him move away from Neal so he could take over. Peter reluctantly let go of Neal's cold, nearly limp hand and stood up so they could save his partner and friend.
When the paramedic pressed down on the wound to staunch the bleeding, Neal cried out, the sound physically painful to Peter's ears and heart. Suddenly Neal started struggling against the people that were trying to help him. The hand that Peter had been holding only seconds ago was reaching out blindly for something to hold onto. "No, no! Peter! Peter!" Neal said, his voice almost too quiet for Peter to hear from where he was standing. "Peter!" Neal wanted - no, needed - him, needed to know that he wasn't alone in what Peter prayed wasn't the young man's last moments.
Peter knew he was supposed to stay back and let the paramedics do their job, but he couldn't just watch Neal struggle and plead for Peter to come and comfort him. His struggles were making it difficult for the paramedics to help anyway, Peter rationalized as he knelt next to Neal's head and took the questing hand in his own.
Neal seemed to be holding on for dear life, but his grip was still so weak. "I've got you, Neal. I've got you," Peter said as soothingly as he could. Neal kept his pained eyes locked on Peter's as the paramedics worked.
Peter whispered reassuring words to Neal without really knowing what he was saying. Neal seemed soothed by his presence and voice, so he continued to hold his hand and talk to him in a calm tone.
The first thing that told Peter that Neal had passed out was when the younger man's hand went completely limp. Peter had looked briefly down at the mess of Neal's stomach, feeling sick at the sight of Neal's blood outside of his body, but when he felt the hand in his slacken, he looked back up to see that Neal had closed his eyes.
"Neal?" Peter called, maybe a little louder than necessary. Neal didn't make any noise, didn't stir, didn't do anything.
Peter looked to the paramedics for answers. "Is he...?" he asked, waiting with baited breath for the answer but so very afraid of it.
The paramedic next to him shook his head. "No, he's still breathing," he said. Peter let out the breath that he had been holding, almost as if he was afraid to breathe until he knew that Neal still was.
The two paramedics worked quickly and efficiently and soon Neal was on the stretcher that they had brought with them. Peter had to let go of Neal's slack hand, but he was not letting the younger man out of his sight.
As the two paramedics and Peter rushed toward the ambulance that was parked nearby, Peter looked at Diana, who was standing off to the side. The younger agent nodded her head, silently telling him that she had the scene under control. Peter couldn't take care of the aftermath of Carlos stabbing Neal and the whole op being blown, not when Neal was hanging onto life by a thread. He had to be there for his friend.
They finally made it to the ambulance and the two paramedics loaded Neal into the back of the vehicle. Without asking for permission, Peter jumped into the vehicle and sat on a bench next to the stretcher, giving the man that was going to ride in the back a look that told him not to even try to argue. The paramedic, deciding against a fight, jumped in and sat on the bench on the other side of the stretcher that held Neal.
The paramedic quickly bundled Neal with blankets to combat the cold that Neal had been in much longer than Peter had. Only then did Peter realize that he was shivering from the cold. The paramedic handed him a blanket as well. He took it gratefully and wrapped it around his shoulders while he continued to stare at Neal's slack face.
An oxygen mask had been put over Neal's nose and mouth, making him look even more alien. His usually perfectly coiffed hair was plastered to skin that was so deathly pale while the blood covering him was so red. There was so much blood. Too much blood. How was Neal still alive?
Peter took Neal's limp hand in his. The younger man was so cold, so still - it was terrifying. Neal was always in motion, playing with his silly hat that made him look like a cartoon character or the pen that he had proudly won by cracking an identity-theft ring or the rubber-band ball he had found tucked away in some drawer one of the first days he had started working with Peter - just doing things. He could never hold still, one of the reasons he could never stand the van, but now he was so, so still. It was so wrong.
Peter took a deep breath, then let it out of his nose. Neal was going to be okay - he had to be. Peter wouldn't accept anything other than Neal making it out of this alive.
Sirens and flashing lights cleared a path through congested New York traffic, allowing the ambulance to bring its precious cargo to the hospital as fast as possible. They'd make it there in time - there was no other option.
WCWCWC
A/N: Well, there's chapter two! The next and last chapter will be up tomorrow. It's much shorter than the other two, but good things come in small packages, too!
Reviews make me smile!