Peter saw it coming like a car accident. He could see the disaster in slow motion but couldn't do anything about it. Peter loathed not being able to do anything about it. He saw Neal topple over the rose bush, saw the thorns sticking to his hair, clothes, skin. Saw the lazy bee floating around land on Neal's hand. Saw Neal flapping his arms, still trying to keep his already gone balance. Saw the bee sting him, the wince on his face.
Then like a snap of his fingers, time was moving again and Neal's clock was ticking. Peter flew across the grass as Neal's curses splintered his ears like glass. He muttered his own under his breath, pumping arms and legs to get him to Neal. Somehow, he had made it from one of the yard to the other, he didn't quite remember how. His CI was already panting like a dog stuck in a heat wave, face red, eyes starting to glaze. Peter kneeled on his hands, loosening the tie. Damn Spring, Damn the garden party, Damn the dog that ran Neal over. Peter placed his fingers over Neal's clammy wrist, letting the beats ground him.
Neal wheezed, feeling the breath elude him. He hated bees, little demons with stingers. He knew why the world needed them, he just didn't understand why the world needed him to be allergic. He had felt the black stinger penetrate his skin like a bullet slicing through his brain. He knew he had limited time before his measured breaths fell short. He knew he should have brought his epi-pen but it was just a garden party.
Neal had just wanted to sit with June and El, drinking bloody marys and fanning himself with a newspaper. Talking to them about whatever cuisine, art or events came up. But then he saw Peter's niece walking toward the fountain. The 3 year old could climb, but couldn't swim. Nobody wanted a drenched and half-drowned toddler. So he had excused himself, and run across the yard to pull the little girl away. Babbling about how pretty she looked in that dress to distract from the fact that he moved her from where she wanted to go.. A second later he was laying on his back on an actual bed of thorns, watching the bee with the too-good timing screw him over.
Neal could feel the life slipping from his hands. The seconds dripping out like grains of sand from a permanent hourglass. The pile of sand growing at the bottom while his life dissipated. He struggled to flip on his side, brown hair flopping back and forth while he puffed heavy breaths. Peter still in his counting trance. He tried to speak then,the words he needed spoken humming on his tongue. Trapped in by the fact that he didn't have enough air to choke them out. So he whimpered and kicked his legs, alerting Peter to the fact that he was moving, wasting more of his air than he had been allotted. He shushed him, rubbing circles on his back like he could rub more air in, more time into the hourglass piling up, up, up. This was it, he knew it, so Neal breathed out and let the rest of the sand
fall
out
slowly.
There will be a yellow part 3 which is just a continuation of this chapter. Review?
