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The hospital room was painfully still. A slice of streetlight poked through the pale blue curtain, and a few scattered car horns sounded from the street below. A cool breeze flowed through the open window, stirring the wilting plant on the sill. The delicate leaves blew off and toppled to the floor below.

Peter watched them from the waiting room chair he had commandeered in order to spend the night in Neal's room. The boy slept in the hospital bed before him, but Peter couldn't bring himself to look at him anymore. Even in the darkness of the hospital room, he could clearly see the damage that had been done. The damage that he had caused.

Neal's black eye from only two nights earlier had started to fade, but it had been replaced with a fresh bruise on the left side of his face, covering his check bone and eye. His lip was sliced and had started to scab over. Twelve stitches stretched across the gash on Neal's forehead. Fresh bandages poked out from the kid's too-big hospital gown, protecting the handful of broken ribs he had collected from the attack.

And yet the visible injuries were only the tip of the iceberg. Maybe that was why Peter couldn't look at the boy anymore. He knew that, as awful as Neal looked, he was in far more pain than he could see. Peter had seen his torn apart back. He had heard the boy crying out with every bump and sharp turn during the ride to the hospital. He had watched desperately as the boy gave into the pain and finally passed out just as they had arrived at the hospital. He had heard the doctor explain the kid's concussion and internal bleeding. He had sat, panicked, through the seemingly endless surgery.

He knew how bad it was. He knew that he had caused it. And he knew that when the boy finally woke up, he would have to deal with the immense guilt he had been feeling ever since he had found Neal on the apartment floor.

At Peter's side, Elizabeth let out a soft sigh, only magnifying Peter's guilt. He hadn't only done this to Neal. Elizabeth had been a wreck when he told her. It had been one of the worst phone calls he had made in his life. She had arrived during Neal's surgery, and Peter had to explain everything that had happened, and how it had all been his fault. The look on Elizabeth's face had been almost as painful to see as Neal's beaten body.

Peter rubbed his eyes and rocked forward in his chair, trying to get both of the images out of his head. He nearly jumped when a soft hand fell on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He craned his neck around to see Elizabeth looking back at him.

"Can't sleep either?" she asked him in a quiet voice. Her eyes lingered on Neal's sleeping figure for a moment before returning to her husband.

"No," Peter answered, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms against his chest with a sigh.

"Peter…" Elizabeth started. She had repeated to her husband over and over again that this hadn't been his fault, but the look of shame in his eyes told her that he didn't agree.

"He almost died, El," Peter said in a broken voice.

"But he didn't."

"But he could have," he didn't want to hear her optimism now. There was nothing to be optimistic about. "You didn't see him. Not when it happened. He was broken. I just can't believe his own father could do something like that to him. To his own kid."

"His father, Peter," Elizabeth echoed. "Jacob Caffrey did this. Not you. It wasn't your fault. How could you ever imagine that a man could do this to his own son?"

Peter was silent for a moment, pondering his wife's words. "I want to kill him, El," he finally said, bitterly. "The guy's lucky I was preoccupied with Neal when they brought him in. I swear, if I had been the one to take him down, I would've killed him." Elizabeth didn't say anything as she studied the mixture of fury and pain on her husband's face. "Fifteen years," Peter said. "Neal lived with him for fifteen years."

"He doesn't have to anymore," Elizabeth inched forward to the edge of her chair and pulled her arms around her distraught husband. "Peter, once the doctors clear him, we can take him home. He's safe now." Peter nodded slowly, but Elizabeth could see that the crease in his brow hadn't disappeared. She sighed. "He isn't going to blame you for this."

"How do you know that?" Peter asked. The concern in his eyes nearly brought Elizabeth to tears.

"Because he adores you," Elizabeth promised, running her hand through her husband's hair. "And he's smart enough to know that you never would have let him go into that apartment if you thought something like this was going to happen."

Peter bowed his head and studied the reflection of a glowing streetlight on the tiles at his feet. "I want him to trust me. I want him to know that I can protect him," he sighed and finally allowed himself to look at the boy. "I don't want him to think I'm just like his father."


When Peter woke up the following morning, his whole body ached. He was twisted into an unsuitable sleeping position in the plastic chair. He slowly got to his feet and stretched his back.

Elizabeth's chair was empty. A note sat in her place, informing Peter that she had gone to grab coffee. Neal was still lying in the hospital bed quietly, and it took Peter a few moments to realize that he was awake, his eyes staring absently out the window.

"You're awake," Peter pointed out as he crossed the room and went to Neal's side.

The boy startled at the man's sudden words, clearly unaware that he wasn't the only one awake. "Yeah," he said in a raspy voice. He turned to face Peter. The injuries on his face were even worse in the fresh light of the morning.

"How're you feeling?" Peter asked as he sank slowly down on the edge of Neal's bed, careful not to cause further pain to the injured boy.

"Like shit," Neal grumbled, wincing as he shifted into a more comfortable position. "What's the damage?"

Peter sighed, reaching a hand out to carefully brush at the boy's hair. "Three broken ribs, a pretty nasty concussion, and some internal bleeding…" Neal's eyes widened. "It's fine. They got you into surgery as soon as you came in and fixed you up."

"I had surgery?" Neal questioned. Peter nodded, a fresh wave of guilt hit him at full force.

"Neal, I am so sorry," he started, eyes wandering over every cut and bruise on the kid's body. "This was all my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous," Neal said with a humorless laugh. "Last time I checked, Peter, you weren't the one who landed me in this hospital bed."

Peter swallowed hard and grabbed Neal's hand, seemingly the only inch of his body that remained unharmed. "But…"

"But nothing," Neal said, leaning back with a grimace. "This wasn't your fault." Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Neal cut him off. "Yeah. Maybe you shouldn't have let me go up there. And maybe I shouldn't have convinced you to let me go. But you aren't the reason why I'm in this hospital bed. My father is."

Peter gave Neal's hand a reassuring squeeze, and they both fell silent for several moments.

"What's going to happen to him?" Neal finally asked in a quiet voice.

Peter exhaled loudly. "Right now, he's being held without bail at a facility just outside of the city. There'll be a trial in the next few weeks. And then, hopefully, he'll be put away for a long time."

Neal nodded, unsure of how he was supposed to react to this sort of information. It was a relief to know that his father wasn't going to hurt him again, but he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about the fact that the man would most likely be locked up for quite some time. He was still his father, after all.

"Am I going to have to testify?" he asked quietly. Peter could see the fear in his eyes at the thought of having to relive everything that he had just been through. Wasn't once enough?

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Peter explained. "They'll have my testimony along with the rest of my team's and the medical records from the attack…"

"But…?" Neal questioned, knowing that wasn't all of it.

"But even still, the only way to ensure that a jury sees Jacob for what he really is if we get you on the stand." Neal closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his pillow. "I know the last thing you want to do is have to relive what's happened, but—"

"I'll do it," Neal cut in before Peter could finish his thought.

"Neal, are you sure about this?" Peter questioned cautiously.

"Yes," Neal said decisively. He tried to give Peter the most confident smile he could muster, but it was hard to appear so sure of himself when he was already regretting his words.

It was easy enough to think about testifying against the monster who had attacked him. But it wasn't so easy to think about being the cause for his own father's imprisonment. He couldn't show Peter his doubt, though. There was no way he would understand that, despite everything his father had put him through, he still loved him.


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