A/N: So, this chapter comes with a little warning. I will state outright no part of this story will include rape of a main character. However, without giving too much plot away there are references to sexual misconduct against a main character. It's not graphic and I hope I've handled it well in a fictional story-telling sense, but if that's still not for you then you might want to skip this chapter.
Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the read.
…
Neal comes to, a sudden wakening that results in a faster than usual heartbeat and the distinct feeling of being watched. Lying very still, blinking into the darkness, his brain kicks into survival mode and quickly takes stock. The first thing he notices is the unfamiliar smell of the room. It's pungent, but not totally unpleasant, like unscented disinfectant. Feeling around, the spongey material beneath his fingertips suggests he's on a bed of some sort. Not like his bed at June's or the one he uses at Peter's from time to time. This mattress is cold, surface slick and it sticks to his bare skin when he moves. Further exploration reveals he's also missing the majority of his clothes.
Gingerly tilting his head to the side, trying not to think too hard on why that would be just yet, Neal can make out the fuzzy shapes of city buildings through the ceiling high windows running the length of one wall, their bright lights a welcome beacon in the dim greyness surrounding him. Though he can't say for sure where he is exactly, the evidence suggests he hasn't left the city. That was good for two reasons. One, Peter should be able to find him pretty easily and two, it shouldn't take him long to get here.
Surprisingly, the fact he's woken up half naked in a stranger's bed isn't his main concern at the moment. It's actually the effort needed to think he's finding more disconcerting. Overall his mind feels pretty numb, like a dense fog has settled over him, thick and impenetrable, making holding onto any coherent thought next to impossible. Despite the feeling of being watched Neal does believe he's alone now, at least in the literal sense, and deep in the far recesses of his confused and truthfully terrified little mind, that thought brings a sense of relief. He can't remember how he got here exactly, but he knows he wasn't always here. He remembers being somewhere else, somewhere not exactly safe but familiar, somewhere he wishes he'd stayed because he doesn't know here- he doesn't like here.
A sudden memory fills his mind, pushing through the fog with tremendous force, like a demon demanding to be invoked. With it comes a barrage of images, thoughts and feelings that instigate a chain reaction of panic. Neal quickly loses control as his own body rebels against him. Shaking and sweating he tries to sit up, to adopt a less vulnerable position while he wills his brain to stop working against him. He really, really doesn't want to be here, and now Neal remembers why.
Here is where men he thinks he should remember but doesn't removed his clothes, ripping them from his limbs, leaving him in only his t-shirt and boxers. Here is where those same men talked about him while he lay half naked and paralysed at their feet, calling him pretty and other words Neal really didn't like or want to remember. Here is where another man, this one with an oily voice and hot breath told him to 'take it easy' then proceeded to run his coarse hands over Neal's cold exposed skin before leaving him alone to contemplate his fate. Here is the only place Neal has felt truly and utterly afraid.
'You won't feel a thing.'
Neal rolls, gagging at the bile surging up through his throat upon recalling those words, whispered with a lover's caress over his ear. It burns, deep within his chest, but nothing comes up. The coughing creates spasms which awakens the muscles in his previously sluggish limbs and make it easier to push himself up into a sitting position. He'd known what was happening was wrong, known the crass voice belonging to the face Neal still can't recall had told him a bare faced lie, but couldn't stop it from happening. The hands didn't rush as they explored, the touch feather light and almost teasing. His attempts to get away, to remove himself where thwarted by his own body's uncooperativeness. His limbs had felt heavy and though he didn't think he'd been restrained they still dropped like dead weights the second he got not an inch off the floor.
Neal doesn't know how long he sits there, numb to the pain in his chest, frightened and alone, watching the sun rise through the expanse of glass laid before him. Daylight creeping in and slowly engulfing the room while his mind replays the memory of that man on top of him, over and over again in his head. His stomach signals a hunger he doesn't feel, which leads him to wonder if anyone is coming back for him, and whether he really wants them to or if he's better off alone. He thinks he should move, do something, before he's exposed to a fate worse than light petting, but his brain and body are operating on two different plains right now. Neal tries to lift his arms again, testing his powers and manages to wave his palm through the air. A smile of triumph starts to form until, energy spent, the hand drops suddenly and unable to guide it's decent he smacks himself in the face.
Disappointed, a wave of exhaustion flows over him and Neal's eyelids start to droop. Shoulders hunched, his head bobbing towards the floor unconsciousness is only seconds away from claiming him when the walls unexpectedly explode in a barrage of noise and light. Screams fill the air and Neal's head instantly snaps back, eyes wide and alert to the new danger surrounding him. He frantically tries to move, to hide before he's discovered, but something he hears clicks in his mind. A phrase spoken that he recognises.
And with that spark of recognition filling his heart and mind with hope, a connection is formed, compelling one thought to leave his desolate mind and escape in an expulsion of sound passed numb, chapped lips-
"Peter"
...
"FBI!" Peter's team announce their presence and break through the large heavily secured door, storming the loft.
Waiting for the warrant after Diana ran into his office sometime around 3am declaring they'd connected an account of Benedict's to an apartment – in Brooklyn of all places - was excruciating, but now, standing in the middle of said loft, one look inside made the wait all worth it.
There in plain view, sat on a mattress central to the sparsely furnished room, was Neal.
Trusting his team to continue securing the area Peter loses all sense of modesty and runs. Smashing both knees on hard floor tiles when he lands Peter grabs Neal up, pressing that gel-less head of curly hair to his shoulder and squeezing him tight.
"Boss?"
"What?" Peter snaps, when Diana approaches, finger tips digging into the very warm, very much alive body in his arms.
She leans over them, own hand squeezing his shoulder. Peter briefly releases his death grip on Neal, long enough to swipe the back of his hand across his eyes.
"I'm good." He tells her, voice congested.
"What about him?" She drops, crouching at his side.
Except a lowly uttered Peter, Neal hasn't shown any reaction to his rescue and as happy as he is to have finally found him, the implication drops like a stone in Peter's stomach.
Reluctantly pulling back to get a better look, the pair of agents immediately notice the unfocused and confused quality to his gaze.
Peter squeezes his arm. "Neal, look at me please," he commands, tone steady and clear, hiding all his inner distress and turmoil.
It takes a second, but eventually Neal's dilated eyes roll to meet his and Peter releases a heavy sigh. The bright blue, no doubt part of what made him so desirable to the sick bastard they were after, is engulfed by the jet-black of his pupils. Taking his wrist in hand, Peter can feel Neal's pulse racing under his fingertips. A rapid thump, thump, thump acting in complete contrast to his outwardly relaxed presentation.
"Drugged?" Diana whispers, watching his movements.
"Definitely."
Without having to be asked she steps away and can be heard instructing medical personnel be brought up immediately. Peter doesn't take his eyes off Neal, a move that pays because within seconds of Diana leaving them alone Neal makes a lazily attempt to reinitiate their hug by hesitantly grabbing fistfuls of Peter's jacket. His expression remains lax like his grip, but Peter knows Neal and he doesn't need him to say the words to recognise he's hurting.
"You're going to be okay," Peter guides him back in, shuffling forward and letting Neal settle his hot forehead in the curve of his neck, rocks him gently. A stuttered breath of air is sharply inhaled and quickly let go again by the too slack body in his arms. To himself he whispers, "I'll make damn sure of it."
"EMT's are here." Jones appears, "they're up to date on everything, want to check him out first then they'll be taking him to NYU."
Peter doesn't get the chance to do more than nod his gratitude. The pair of medics quickly move Jones out of the way, rest their equipment on the floor and get to work. Neal behaves throughout the initial examine, his expression never changing from muted indifference as his pulse and blood pressure are measured and read out without any urgency.
"He okay?" Peter blurts, "I mean-"
"He's doing fine." The medic disposing of his glove's reports, offering a reassuring nod. "He's definitely ingested some form of muscle relaxant, which explains the subdued behaviour, but his vitals are stable."
Further conversation takes place between the pair. Arrangements for travel mostly. Peter readily agrees to escort Neal in the ambulance. He'd have insisted on it anyway, but Neal's status as a ward of the state certainly made for less arguing on the matter.
The pram had been placed on the floor and everyone was ready to move Neal onto it ready for transporting down the stairs, but the second the first guy lays hands on him and attempts to pull Neal away from Peter, Neal's eye lids snap back and a shrill cry of defiance fills the frigid air. The bigger EMT of the pair approaches but backs off when Neal's fist collides with his shins. Peter orders the two medics to stand back with such fierce protectiveness neither argue with his assessment. Making eye contact with Diana he silently instructs her to block the door. Jones aligns himself behind Peter but in that moment of hesitation to act Neal throws himself off the mattress and slides backwards on his butt across the smooth clear floor, pressing himself into the furthest corner, where the window and wall meet. Generally, Peter has no issues with heights, he could stand on the 102nd floor of the Empire State and not even blink. But seeing Neal in his current out of mind state, a pane of glass the only thing separating him from a thirty-story drop…
"Neal!" Peter wastes little time in getting close.
Crouching in front of him, cupping the too smooth cheek and feeling that stone in his stomach plummet further at the flinch he receives.
"Peter." Neal's tone is hard, almost accusing.
That's when Peter realises, they aren't out of the woods yet. No by a long shot.
.
A/N: Thanks for reading all the way through, I love to hear your thoughts and comments. Next chapter coming very soon.