If you would like to read this on Livejournal, you can find it at: pucktheperv+DOT+livejournal+DOT+com+SLASH+tag+SLASH+origamisoul
See prologue for warnings and summary.
o o o
Author's Notes: For the 'Possession/Mind Control' square on my H/C Bingo Card for hc_bingo on LJ. I am aware that this chapter is a little... weird. And very late. Sorry bout that. Hopefully you guys like it okay.
o o o
Chapter 3: A Little Bird Told Me
"Welcome home!"
Neal jerked back as El actually jumped out from behind the couch, waving her arms around in the air. Satchmo followed, though he chose to leap *over* the couch and bound straight toward Neal, his wet doggy nose pressing against Neal's hand.
Neal blinked rapidly as he glanced around the Burkes' living room, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Was there really a 'WELCOME BACK NEAL!' banner hanging from the ceiling? And *streamers*?
El's arms were around his neck before Neal knew it, squeezing tight, and he forced himself not to flinch away. El wouldn't hurt him, that was one thing he was sure of, even if everything else in his life was confusing as hell. Carefully Neal returned the hug, glancing nervously over at Peter, hoping it was okay. The man didn't look displeased, in fact, he looked pretty happy, so Neal gave himself to it, holding El tight.
Oh God, it felt good to just touch someone, to feel flesh and blood without fear. Neal had to close his eyes for a moment to keep tears from rising. He wouldn't want Peter to think he was anything less than thrilled to be here, and he sure as hell didn't want to clue El in on what was going on behind the scenes.
After a moment she released him and he let her go regretfully. "Thanks, Elizabeth," he said quietly as they pulled apart. He gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, a warm feeling growing inside of him. He hadn't felt this way since the day he'd been shipped off to DC. It was beautiful, and humbling. He hadn't realized how much he had missed kind touches.
"So, you get that cake done?" Peter's voice was jovial, but it still made Neal hunch his shoulders and stare down at the floor.
"Oh yes," El said, grinning widely. "It's in the kitchen. Come on, Neal, I made your favorite!"
Neal shot another look at Peter as Elizabeth gesture for him to follow her into the kitchen. Cake? He was getting cake? He hadn't done anything to deserve cake. Hell, Neal was pretty sure that there was nothing he *could* do to earn something as exotic as cake under Kramer's twisted training system.
"I can have cake?" Neal questioned cautiously, voice quiet so El couldn't hear. Peter shot him a strange look.
"Um, yeah, it's for you," Peter replied with a half grin.
For him? Why would Peter have cake for him?
"El spent all day making it, so you better tell her you love it."
Ah, that made sense. Peter didn't have cake for him, Elizabeth did. And since the first rule of training was that you don't talk about training, he couldn't tell her not to make cake for Neal, not if he wanted to keep her in the dark.
"Come on, I'm starving," Peter said lightly, heading off toward the kitchen.
Neal followed behind silently, breath catching at the smell of freshly baked cocoa as he stepped into the room. On the table in the center was a large cake with the words 'Missed You Lots!' painted across it in purple and green icing with big yellow polka dots all around it.
"It's great," Neal said, giving El a small, tight smile. "Thank you, El."
El's big smile faltered a little and Neal's stomach turned. Had he offended her? Surely he couldn't have offended her. Maybe he hadn't been excited enough? Maybe he should have said more? Or less? It had been so long since Neal had a real conversation with anyone that even basic chatter was difficult for him.
"Neal… Not to sound rude, but what are you wearing, sweetie?" She stepped forward, reaching out to run her hand through his short cropped hair. "And what happened to your hair?"
Neal blushed deeply and glanced over at Peter, searching for some sign of what the man wanted him to say. It was like that first night with Billings all over again, out in public in his bedraggled state, humiliation overshadowing everything.
"I-I decided to make a change," Neal said, forcing a shaky smile on his face. He could practically feel Peter's eyes boring into him. "Easier to take care of." He glanced down at his hideous clothes. "The DC branch is a little more thrifty than the New York office."
"Obviously," El said, raising an eyebrow. "June kept your suits at her house if you want to pick them up tomorrow."
Neal's shoulders tightened at the words. This was definitely Not Good. There was no way Peter would want him dressing up like that, but he couldn't say that to El. How would he explain it when he showed up tomorrow wearing the electric orange tie with a screwdriver and the words 'Adams' Electric Co' on it?
"Aw, I kind of like the new look," Peter said, clapping a hand down on Neal's shoulders. His big, strong hand felt *exactly* like Billings' and Neal lost his appetite completely, baked chocolate wonder be damned. Peter's voice was teasing, but Neal heard it for the warning it was.
"I don't really care," he said as casually as he could manage. He licked his lips, trying to figure out some way to change the subject. His eyes fell on one of the bright party napkins sitting on the table. He grabbed a pink one and quickly began to fold. The movements were familiar, comforting, and, within a few seconds, the napkin had been transformed into one of his favorite little friends: Finny the flamingo.
Neal presented it to El with a small flourish, summoning up the remnants of his previous self to flash her the best smile he good. He was pretty sure that it fell flat, at least compared to the killer grin he used to sport, but she brightened up, giving him a small hug as she took Finny from him. It was a nice change from the way Billings would rip Neal's best offerings between his hands, crumple them in his dangerous fists, and fling them in his trashcan to die a sad little death.
"Why thank you, Neal," El said with a small giggle as she placed Finny Flamingo on top of the microwave. "You are quite talented at that."
"Please tell me that Alex isn't back," Peter said, voice sounding pained. Neal's attention jerked back to the other man, a sick feeling rising in his gut.
"No, Agent Burke, Peter," Neal said, a little too quickly. He needed to slow down. Fast talking was suspicious, and being suspicious got you discipline marks. By Neal's calculations, he was already at least three discipline marks in—the first for getting off the airplane without permission, the second for making Peter think he was pulling a con, the third for accidentally setting off a recitation of Biblical verses about asking forgiveness when he'd bumped a random button in the Taurus and then said 'sorry.' Damn that fucking car and its endless number of useless amenities. It had taken Peter ten minutes and at least forty versus to figure out how to turn it off. "I haven't seen or heard from Alex, I swear. I *swear*."
"Okay," Peter said, though he still looked a little suspicious. "Let's keep it that way, okay?"
Neal nodded rapidly. "I promise. I really, really promise."
"We believe you, sweetie," El said, shooting Peter a look as she reached out and gave Neal another hug. "Now, how about that cake?"
o o o
"There's something wrong with him," El said in a low voice as she glanced out the window at Neal's slim figure silhouetted in the streetlight. "*Really* wrong."
"I know," Peter replied grimly. "I'm really worried. I think he might have some kind of con going on."
"Really?" El said, looking surprised. "A con?"
Peter shrugged. "The last time he changed his appearance like this, he escaped from SuperMax."
"So you think he did this to himself?" El questioned, sounding doubtful.
"Well, who else could have done it? I mean, okay, maybe Kramer grabbed a random bin at Goodwill and that's where he got those terrible clothes, but the haircut? Something is up with that. I'm thinking maybe he did it himself on the plane."
El's brow furrowed. "What kind of con involves destroying your hair?"
"I don't know," Peter admitted, "but most of Neal's cons are beyond me. Carrier pigeons? Bakeries? Parachutes? He has a long history of absurdity when it comes to these things."
"It's not just the looks," El said, shaking her head. "There's something off about him. Did you hear him calling you 'Agent Burke'?"
Peter sighed. "Yeah. Obviously he's still mad at me, but I don't know what I can do to make it better."
"I don't know. I think it goes beyond that, hon. When I hugged him… I don't know… I can't really describe it. Something about the way he held me, like I was his last hope in a storm," she said, running a hand nervously through her hair. "And the way he's acting… It's just not like Neal. I don't know what they did to him in DC, but I don't think it was anything good."
"You think this was Phillip?" Peter asked, his face darkening. "I mean, it wouldn't surprise me if he did his best to make Neal's life miserable, but that wouldn't be enough to bring him down. Neal's too strong headed for that."
"Yeah," El said, shaking her head. "You're right. I mean, he's *Neal.* He always comes out on top. But the way he's acting… Something is seriously wrong. The way he acted when we showed him the cake? And now he's out there on the front porch all alone when he could be in here with us. He ducked out the first moment he had the chance. I don't care how upset he is about what happened, that's not normal. Not with us."
Peter sighed, glancing through the window at Neal, who was know sitting on the steps staring up at the sky. "I know. Something *is* up. I just wish I knew what."
"Why don't you go talk to him?" El suggested, squeezing his arm.
"I don't know that he wants me to," Peter said, the thought making him feel a little blue. "He's made it pretty clear that we're not friends any more."
"Give him a chance, hon," El said. "He'll come around." She leaned over, pressing a kiss against his temple. "I know how you feel about him," she said quietly, "and I know that, deep down, he still feels the same about you. You'll win him back. Go talk to him."
"Okay," Peter said, feeling a little heartened. He had such an amazing wife. He gave her hand a squeeze then stood, heading toward the door. He pushed it open, letting the screen swing shut behind him. Neal's shoulders tightened noticeably at the sound, the dim streetlight casting an orangish glow over his slim figure.
"Hey, buddy," Peter said, settling down on the step next to him, trying to ignore the way Neal sort of leaned away. "You star-gazing?" he joked as he looked upward at the empty sky, the biggest supernova not enough to conquer the lights of New York.
"You can't see the stars in DC, either," Neal replied in a voice so low that Peter could barely hear it. "Dark. It's all dark."
"Yeah," Peter agreed, "it's not exactly Van Gogh's 'A Starry Night.'" He looked over at the other man, brows raising as his eyes fell on a line of small, colorful animals arranged carefully around Neal's feet. "You've really made good use of those napkins."
Neal's body grew even more tense, if that was possible, and he reached down slowly, picking up a little yellow cat—no, a lion, Peter realized as he noted the little rips making up its mane—and holding it out to Peter, eyes carefully on the ground before him. "For you?"
Peter took it gently, giving Neal a smile even as his chest tightened with worry. El was right, something was very wrong here, something more than some clever con. "Thank you, Neal," he said quietly, spinning it around in his fingers.
"His name is Lincoln." There was an absent quality to the words, like the man was speaking from another world.
"They have names?" Peter questioned, setting the lion down on the step.
Neal looked him in the eye for the first time, and Peter's breath caught as he stared into those bright, blue depths. God, Neal was so handsome, even with his ratty clothes and terrible hair. No, he was more than handsome. He was beautiful.
"Yes. They have names. Personalities, too." Neal gave a short laugh at the troubled look Peter shot him, but it wasn't happy. "Don't worry, I'm not insane, Agent Burke. Not yet, anyway. I just have nothing better to do. Everyone needs friends. They're my little friends. You can tell Billings. He already knows. He's ripped up enough of them." The words were distinctly defensive.
Peter frowned. "You have friends here, Neal. Or you did. What happened?"
Neal picked up a little purple dragonfly, folded it flat, and carefully slipped it into his pocket. "I was bad. I know, I swear I do." A blue shark followed the dragonfly into Neal's pocket, then a mouse, then a lizard. "Three marks?"
Neal's voice made it clear that the words were a question, but Peter wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean. "Excuse me?"
"Is it more?" There was a hint of fear to his voice. "I'm sorry, Agent Burke. I thought it was three." His breath hitched a little. "It was El, wasn't it? I shouldn't have hugged your wife. I'm sorry, Agent Burke, I'm really, really sorry."
"Neal," Peter said, "please, tell me what's wrong." He reached out to wrap an arm around Neal's shoulders only to have the man duck and whimper. What the fuck was going on here? "Neal, please—"
Peter was cut off as the squeal of tires filled the air. His head jerked up, eyes widening as a black van careened toward them. Training kicking in, he grabbed Neal, wrapping his arms around him and hoisting him to his feet, trying to shove him out of the way. At the last second the van jerked to the right and the door slid open, revealing a pair of guys with ski mask and rather formidable looking guns.
Neal let out a cry of alarm as Peter grabbed for a gun that wasn't at his waist. He didn't wear his holster at home. He shoved Neal to the side, swinging a fist at the first guy, only to get a hard slam to the head with the butt of the second guy's rifle. As the world began to sway and blur, the last thing Peter saw was Neal's thrashing body being dragged into the van.
o o o
Neal's head was firmly buried in his knees and he didn't plan to come out anytime soon. If he'd still been the Neal from Before, he'd have been counting their turns and timing their travel, but it was all this Neal could do to keep himself from breaking down in a full out panic attack. He had Dougie Dragonfly clutched tightly in one hand, like a goddamn baby's blankie, and he was too afraid to even raise his head up enough to see what had happened to Peter. God, he was so pitiful. He disgusted himself, but he couldn't do anything about it. Kramer and Billings had thoroughly stripped him of the brazen courage that had made him who he was, leaving behind this ridiculous shell.
A groan echoed through the van and Neal froze, a mixture of fear and hope rushing through him. Fear because Peter was fearful, and hope because Peter was hopeful, too. Better than the strangers with guns who had pulled them into the van to begin with.
Neal let out cry as heavy hands came down on his shoulders, burying his face deeper in his knees.
"Neal? Neal, look at me! Neal, are you okay?"
Neal blinked, recognizing the voice as Peter's, and slowly raised his head just enough to see the other man.
Peter didn't look good. There was blood running down his face from a cut on his scalp and a nasty bruise was already forming on his face. His eyes were slightly out of focus, but his hands were steady on Neal.
"Wh-what happened?" Neal managed to choke out, feeling like he wanted to puke.
"Somebody grabbed us," Peter said grimly, as if that wasn't obvious. "Are you okay?"
Was he okay? Physically, sure. He was covered in bruises, but none of them were from the kidnapping. No, those were all courtesy of Billings. Mentally? Was he ever okay mentally? Not really, but he wasn't too much worse for the wear than he was every day, so he gave a nod. "Yes," he whispered. "I'm okay."
Peter nodded and sat back, brow furrowing. Neal sighed in relief as the other man's hands left his shoulders.
"Do you have any idea where we are?" Peter questioned.
"No, sir," Neal replied, dropping his eyes. "I… I don't know."
"How long was I out?" Peter asked, voice growing urgent.
Neal gave a tiny shrug, bracing himself for the fist. "I-I don't know. I… I couldn't… I didn't… I—"
The van chose that moment to come to a screeching halt, pitching Peter forward into Neal. Neal whimpered as Peter's heavy body pressed down on him, flashbacks of Billings pressing him down into the mattress flooding his mind. "Please, don't…"
Peter shot him a strange look, but before he could say anything the door to the van swung open revealing the two masked men with their guns. A third man stood behind them, also wearing a ski mask, but he was different. The two guys who had grabbed them practically screamed 'hired guns' with their black clothing, beefy shoulders, and the easy way they handled the rifles in their hands. This new man was wearing a sleek looking grey suit with a tasteful red tie and charcoal dress shoes. He was medium height and build with sharp brown eyes. Beyond that Neal couldn't tell much physically, but he sensed immediately that this was the man in charge.
"Get them in the cells," the man said, his voice too low and monotonous to be his normal tone. He was being careful this one, making sure they wouldn't be able to identify his face or voice. That was good, Neal knew. It meant that there was a chance they would live.
"You should know that I'm an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Peter said in a harsh voice. "You do not want to do this."
"I know exactly who you are, Special Agent Peter Burke of the White Collar division," the man replied in that same deep monotone. "And I know about your little pet there, too. Neal Caffrey, former crime superstar, fallen so hard at your hands." He gestured at his men. "Take them."
Peter pressed himself harder against Neal. "You're not going to touch him."
Neal's eyes widened slightly, the pounding in his chest slowing a little. Shielding him. Peter was shielding him. That's why he was still on top of Neal. He was protecting him, just like he had in prison all those years ago. The question was, why?
"Oh, I think we will," the man replied, letting out a little chuckle as one of hisflunkies yanked Peter off of Neal, tugging the man's hands behind his back and snapping a pair of cuffs around his wrists. Peter let out a growling sounds, trying to shove him away, just getting a hard kick to the groin for his efforts.
"Come on, Neal," the man in the suit said, stepping up into the van. He moved over toward Neal, holding out a hand. "Let's go."
Neal took a deep breath, forcing down the panic rising in his chest. "Why would I go with you?" he said as bravely as he could, though the words came out pretty pitifully in his opinion. They definitely didn't have the arrogantly assured feel to them that he had been going for. Of course, when you were clutching to Dougie the dragonfly like he was your last hope, it was sort of hard to act like a man.
The man in the suit crouched down next to him, and Neal could tell he was smiling by the wrinkles next to his eyes. "Because I'm here to help you, Neal," he said as he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a near whisper, like he was telling a secret. Neal tensed as the man reached into his jacket, holding his breath as he slowly pulled something out of his pocket. "I'm on your side." Neal's eyes widened as the man opened his fist to reveal a tiny bird formed out of crisp folds of red paper. "I'm here to save you, Neal," he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Peter, who was now on his knees outside the van, glaring angrily up at his kidnappers. "I'm here to save you from *him.*" He reached out and took Neal's hand, gently settling the bird into his palm. "It's all going to be okay."
o o o
Peter paced the tiny cell for what had to be the twentieth time, kicking angrily at the thick steel bars that lined the front. He wasn't sure where they were, but it was definitely old school, a line of cells with three concrete walls and bars. There was no window and from the damp interior and the smell of mildew in the air, he guessed they were underground. There were no electric locks to hatch, just the heavy lock built into the bars and then a thick chain with a massive padlock placed over that for good measure.
It had been at least fifteen minutes since the thugs who'd grabbed them outside his house had dumped Peter here, but there was no sign of Neal. Endless scenarios were flashing through his mind of what they might be doing with the other man, and none of them ended well. What the hell was going on here? Who the hell had kidnapped them, and why?!
This was insane. The Keller thing… that had made sense. Okay, it had still been insane, because Keller was insane, but he'd kidnapped them for a reason. This… Not only did Peter have no clue who their kidnappers were, he had no idea why anyone would want to kidnap them. The U-boat treasure was gone, and Peter had nothing to give that was worth bringing the full wrath of the FBI down upon your head. He wasn't even sure who the target had been, himself or Neal. Hell, he didn't even know where Neal was, dammit!
Peter kicked the bars again, not that it made him feel much better. El had to know they were gone by now—God he wished he could see her sweet face—and Hughes would have every agent on it, but what good would that be when they had absolutely no idea *why* he'd been taken. Could it have something to do with his current case? Peter didn't see how. Their thief was like Neal, he ran when spooked. This wasn't his M.O. An old case, maybe? Or an old enemy of Neal's? There was no way it was a coincidence that they'd been taken on Neal's first day back in New York. Something was going on here, something he didn't yet understand.
"All right, kid, come on."
Peter moved over to the bars at the sound, pressing against them so he could see down the narrow pathway between the cells. One of the thugs who'd dragged them into the van was herding Neal down the hall. Peter let out a sigh of relief, a heavy weight lifting at the realization that Neal wasn't hurt.
"Okay, you're going in this one," the man said, coming to a stop at the cell next to Peter's. He gave Neal a shove, sending him stumbling forward into the cell, then slammed the door shut behind him, pulling the heavy metal keys off of his belt.
"What the hell do you want with us?" Peter growled, baring his teeth at the bastard.
The man ignored him, busying himself with securing the chain backing up the main lock.
"Talk to me!"
The man glanced over and Peter could practically see the smirk on the son of a bitch's face, ski mask or no ski mask. "Got nothin' to say." The lock in his hands clicked and he dropped the chain, letting it clank against the metal bars. "Don't worry, the boss will be down to chat soon enough."
Peter gripped the bars angrily as the man spun on his heel and took off back down the dim hallway, disappearing behind the corner.
"Neal," he said, moving over to the wall he shared with Neal, running his hands across the concrete like his touch might make it magically vanish. "Are you okay? What's going on? What do they want?"
There was no answer, just a soft sniffling sound. Was Neal crying? Peter had a hard time imagining Neal crying.
"Neal?" he said urgently, moving over to press his face through the bars as much as he could in an attempt to see into Neal's cell. Most of it was blocked from view, but Peter could see a few feet on the far right. "Neal, are you okay? Come here so I can see you."
There was another sniffling sound, then some rustling, and Neal appeared in the small section that Peter could see, shoulders hunched and eyes red.
"Hey," Peter said, reaching through the bars to try and touch Neal's hand. The other man took a step back, big blue eyes staring down at Peter's hand like it was a poisonous snake. Peter slowly withdrew it, brow furrowing with worry. "Neal, what's wrong?"
Neal lifted his eyes slowly to look at Peter. "It was more than three, wasn't it?" His voice was distant, like it had been earlier, as though his mind was someplace else entirely.
"What was more than three, Neal?" Peter asked slowly, like he was talking to an old person. He was beginning to think that Neal was in shock.
"Three marks." Neal reached into his pocket, pulling out one of those origami animals, some sort of red bird, and staring down at it like it held the answers to the universe. "Just tell me why, Peter," he said after a long moment, blue eyes lifting to meet Peter's. "Was it El? The kidnapping. Because, I swear to God, I never meant to hurt her. I would never hurt El."
Peter frowned deeply. "I know you wouldn't, Neal."
"So why then?" Neal slammed a hand suddenly against the bars, making Peter jump. "Why? Why did you do this to me?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Neal," Peter said, confused as hell.
Neal's eyes went cold. "Bullshit. I'm tired of not talking about it! Tell me why or I'll give them what they want. Tell me!"
"Wait, you'll give them what they want? What do they want, Neal?" Peter asked urgently.
"It doesn't matter," Neal said shortly. "Tell me why. Please, Peter, give me a reason." He sounded choked up. "I need to understand why you'd do this to me…" He ran a hand over his head, looking like he was on the edge of tears. "I thought we were friends."
"Neal, if you're talking about DC—I didn't have any choice!"
Neal's eyes flashed. "Fine. Don't tell me. But don't blame me when your body washes up on the riverfront." He turned and walked away, taking him our of Peter's view.
"Neal, what the fuck are you talking about?" Peter said to the concrete wall, hitting it in frustration. "Neal!"
"Oh, I think you know what he's talking about, Peter Burke," a deep voice said. Peter turned, his lip turning up as he took in the man in the suit, still sporting his ski mask, one of his lackeys at his side.
"I have no fucking idea," Peter snapped. "What did you tell him?"
"Tell him?" The man laughed coldly. "What is there to tell? I think your actions have spoken much louder than any of my words could."
Peter shook his head, mind screaming in frustration. What the *hell* was going on here? "I don't know what you're talking about!"
The man clucked, shaking his head. "Sure you don't." He raised his voice. "Oh Neal… What's the first rule of training?"
There was a moment of silence before Neal spoke up, his voice dull and emotionless. "That you don't talk about it."
"Right. And Agent Burke here is really holding well to that rule." The man reached into his jacket, pulling out a handgun. "Now, you're going to come with me, nice and easy, so we can have a little chat."
"I don't want to chat," Peter snapped furiously.
"Too bad," the man responded shortly, holding up his firearm. "Because you don't have a choice." He turned slightly. "Mike, come get Burke out of here, take him upstairs. It's time for a little one on one with our lucky Fed."
o o o
Neal stared down at the little bird in his hands, heart pounding fast. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on red alert, and sitting still was killing him. He wanted to get up and scream and kick and jump and do anything, *anything* to distill the nervous tension inside him. He hadn't felt this out of control since prison when he'd been sent to the hole for a week for stealing a guard's candy bar.
The little bird stared right back up at him, its gaze unwavering. It was the color of freshly spilt blood before it began to dry and brown, the kind that spouted like a fountain from the nose when you were punched in the face. But it was also beautiful, with wide spread wings that reminded Neal of his old self, so free, ready to take flight.
Take flight. That was exactly what he should have done when Moz had first shown him the U-boat treasure. If he'd gotten in that plane, his whole life would be different. Elizabeth would never have been kidnapped, Peter would never have turned on him, the Marshals would never have taken him, Billings would never have touched him. As if the music box hadn't led to vile enough things, it was like that fucking treasure was cursed. Even now it was why he was here.
Of course, the real question was whether being here was really a bad thing. The red bird wasn't one of his little friends, wasn't to be trusted, not like Finny Flamingo or Lincoln Lion. It didn't even have a name. It was a total unknown tossing out promises. Neal knew that, in all likelihood, it was nothing but nothing but a liar, but he was so desperate…
All he had to do was give Little Red Bird's master his share of the treasure and the man in the suit would return Neal's clipped wings. No one would ever hurt him again.
Promises, promises.
Neal didn't care about the stupid treasure, not anymore. He'd been living like a dog for the past nine months. Just having a full meal was like finding a U-boat packed with amazing artwork. But if he gave them the treasure, he gave them Peter, too.
Red Bird Man had thrown it out there like a pink diamond waiting to be grabbed, his plans for Peter, like he expected it to sweeten the pot and seal the deal with Neal, but deep down inside it had made him quiver. Could he really take part in something that would almost surely lead to Peter's death? Even if he put aside all the people it would hurt, the idea was terrifying.
'It's what he deserves,' came a whisper in his head and Neal reached in his pocket, pulling out his collection of tiny napkin animals, all flattened down to fit in his pocket. His fingers moved nimbly as he brought them back to life, one by one.
'He did this to you,' the voice said again, and Neal plucked Simon Serpent from the group, staring him down. He was a tricky little snake, always looking for a chance to strike.
"I can't…" Neal shook his head, tears rising in his eyes. "I don't care. I… I can't do this, not to Peter."
'He raped you,' Simon hissed in his mind. 'Humiliated you. *Destroyed* you. Let him have a taste of his own medicine.'
'It was your own fault,' Oscar the owl cut in, always the arrogant know it all. 'If you hadn't lied and cheated at every turn, none of this would have happened. Whatever went down was all on you. You're a thief and a liar and a whore. You only got what you deserved, and if you listen to that foul little cardinal down there, you're just proving to the world what you are. An immoral, disgusting piece of trash.'
Neal sniffed, rubbing a hand across his face. "I'm sorry… I am. What else can I do?"
'You still love him,' Sheila Swan sang out. 'Silly, silly, silly love. But he doesn't love you. If you stay with him he'll tear you apart…'
'Who cares? It's better than Billings." Brenda the bear was ever logical. At least with Peter, you can pretend it doesn't hurt. You can imagine he still cares.'
'Maybe he does still care. You never were good at judging him, sweetie. Maybe deep down, underneath it all, he really does care. He always did mix hurting with helping.'
Neal picked up Finny, shaking his head. "When did you start sounding like Elizabeth?"
Unsurprisingly he didn't answer, you know, since he was paper and all.
Neal let his head fall back against the concrete with a thump, exhaustion washing over him. If his little chorus of paper pets couldn't help, then he didn't know what to do. Better to get some sleep and see if things were clearer when he was rested, and possibly a little less insane. Then he'd see what Little Red Bird had to say.