Cautiously, Peter reached for the coin in Neal's palm, but his eyes never averted the deep blue gaze of his injured friend. Neal was breathing heavily and listing to one side, looking at Peter with so much affection and trust that it breaks Peter's heart. Again and again he accuses Neal of misusing his faith in him only to be proven otherwise. The young con is the best person he knows. Maybe better than all of them combined.
The agent just wants to get this over with and make sure that his wife is safe and his friend will get medical attention.
He picked up the coin and was about to turn towards the kidnapper, when Neal elicited a small sigh of relief. "P'tr. Make it right." He said.
And with that, his arm fell away from his side, his legs folded in, his eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness and Peter had just a second to react, he balled the coin in his fist and wrapped his arms around his friend, who was now draped in his embrace like rag-doll.
"Neal!" Neal's head was bent all the way backwards and his lips parted, his arms hanging by his side. "Damn it, he needs help!" Peter yelled towards the kidnapper, who still had his gun trained on Elizabeth. El was covering her mouth in shock with both hands, stifling a cry.
Jones stood stock-still, not daring to move at all, too scared the situation would escalate further if he made a wrong move.
Peter crouched down and carefully laid Neal out on the pavement. He just had time to notice that his friend's chest was still rising and falling when the criminal bellowed: "The coin! Hand it over!"
Slowly, Peter got up and took tentative steps towards the kidnapper. When he was close enough, he extended his arm and held out the blood covered coin.
The criminal snatched it from Peter's grip and retreated down the sidewalk first slowly, then he turned and started running.
El let out a loud sob and sagged into her husband's embrace. "Neal..." she whispered.
In the distance, a booming "FBI!" could be heard. The backup Jones had called before driving to the museum himself had arrived and caught the kidnapper down the road.
"Thank god. Keller might get away with this now, but his little sidekick won't." Peter sighed and turned towards Jones, who was kneeling beside Neal, applying pressure to the wound.
"Damn it, kid." Peter said, crouching down beside his unconscious friend. It was scary to see him so still, unmoving, features completely slack.
"Neal, come on." Peter reached for the young man's face, rolling his head towards him, Neal's dark, soft curls flopping with the movement, but he doesn't make a sound. "Please, wake up. You'll be alright. El is safe now. It's over. Come back to us." But Neal's features remained slack, his lashes dark against his pale skin, his parted lips revealing his glinting white teeth in the semi-dark of the street lamps.
"Peter, he's lost a lot of blood. I saw the inside of the museum and … and... the walls, the floor..." Jones had to stop himself from painting the gruesome picture he had seen inside the building. Peter closed his eyes in defeat and felt a light touch on his shoulder, knowing El was standing behind him without looking.
They sat like that for a while. In utter silence. All eyes trained on their fallen friend. All of them saying silent prayers, hoping it would not be too late to safe the one person who made all of their lives more fun, more interesting, more social, more whimsical, more extraordinary, warmer, faster, better.
Neal always can only be thought of in superlatives.