Hero.

It was the outcome of so many scenarios.

Peter had run through millions of them: El taken hostage, Peter stuck in a meeting with his phone turned off, Neal to the rescue; Peter getting shot at and Neal taking the bullet for him; Neal being found by some old associate of his and getting attacked for turning fed. So many different ways of Neal getting a piece of lead lodged in him.

And Hell. It had happened a couple of times—they'd ended up in a hospital and Peter had even gone and gotten Neal a superhero cape. It was a fact, after two years of working with the FBI. Neal was a hero and as such got his ass handed to him more times than Peter cared to think about.

But no one ever thought that the ex-con would be brought down by the run of the mill mugging.

Peter had been waiting for Neal to meet him at June's, but after ten minutes of waiting Peter pulled up his tracker and found that Neal was three blocks away and stationary.

That was when he had phoned for back up and ran out the door. He nearly got lost, and only managed to find the right alley by following the smell of blood. There, tucked behind a dumpster, was Neal. He was half naked, his dress pants were undone, he was covered in bruises and lacerations, and he had a gaping hole in him.

And he was still breathing.

Peter ripped off his jacket and pressed it against Neal's wound, trying to staunch any further bleeding, and with one hand fumbled for his cell phone.

"Cruz? Cruz, can you hear me?"

"What's wrong, Peter?"

"Call an ambulance. Neal's been shot."

Peter hung up before she said another word, and he looked back at Neal. He had never seen a sadder sight in his life—so much blood, so much bruising… Peter could only imagine what else had happened to Neal. He felt sick; there were very distinct hand prints on Neal's body. Maybe they'd be able to get matches from his attackers... Oh God, when he got his hands on the scum that had done this to Neal, he was going to... Neal suddenly stirred, very slightly, and a gasp escaped his lips.

"Neal! Neal!" Peter cried, and Neal hissed through his teeth.

"Too loud, Pete…r."

"Neal, you've been shot. Don't talk too much."

"The girl…she was calling for help…" Neal's head lolled to the side and his eyes fluttered closed again. "She got away…"

"Figures you'd be shot being a damn hero. Look, Neal, how many times do I have to tell you, leave the hero work to me?"

"But the cape," Neal said weakly.

Peter groaned.