Neal stumbled. He fell. He caught himself on stinging concrete. He pushed himself back up. He kept walking.
He was injured, that he knew. His memories of recent hours (days?) were muddled, flashes of darkness and pain and fear, waiting to spring fresh into his mind once the initial numbing shock had faded. He limped, leg dragging, ankle throbbing. Broken, maybe. His swelling flesh strained and chafed against the ruined anklet. He kept walking.
Not a soul was on the street. Occasionally a disinterested car sped by, blinding him.
He had no phone, no wallet, no jacket, no shoes. He had only a soiled shirt and bloodied pants and swelling eye and purpling cheek. His stomach, tired of howling, had settled into a deep ache. Wind whistled between buildings as through a child's front teeth. He shivered, and hugged himself. Ripening bruises dissented. Red, clotting seams ripped. He could taste metal.
He kept walking, stumbling, falling, walking. There was a veil in front of him, formed from pain and exhaustion and long gone adrenaline. A cold sheen of sweat clung to him. He'd been walking forever, probably.
Then he caught sight of one particular brownstone amongst this garden of them, and it was a spot of sunlight. He staggered to it with renewed purpose, dragged himself up the steps, and leaned heavily on the doorbell.
There was a frenzy of barking, creaking footsteps, and an "I'm coming!"
The door swung open to reveal Elizabeth, silhouetted by the yellow light within. Her lively eyes took on a cast of concern and alarm.
"Neal! Oh my God, are you alright? Peter!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Come in, please!" she placed a hand on his arm. "What happened to you? Should I call an ambulance? Peter's been going crazy trying to find you!"
Neal couldn't seem to form a sentence. Her hand, the house, it was all so warm. He wanted to come in, but was fairly certain that his grip on the doorframe was the only thing still keeping him upright.
Peter appeared at El's shoulder. Pale and tired, but solid, as always. His eyes widened.
"Neal!" he cried, reaching for him.
"Peter," Neal sighed. He felt himself relax.
And without another word, he collapsed into Peter's arms.