This chapter jumps around a lot. It's the same moment told from different perspectives, and then as the story progresses, some of the moments overlap. I hope it isn't horrible to follow. If anything is unclear, I apologize. Shoot me a note and I'll try and fix things up. Re: the upcoming hospital chapter- I'm not very good at writing hospital scenes, so I'm warning you in advance.

_


Neal lay on the floor where he was left… he was so cold.
He was so cold.
He was so cold.

Though come to think of it… was he even lying down? Neal was vaguely aware of a pressure on his wrists, and he was pretty sure his arms were pulled taut.

Still, oddly enough, he felt numb. He knew he should have been concerned with the lack of pain. His head was lulled forward, drooped against his chest, as he wilted forward.

Keller's angry eyes flashed beneath his closed eyelids.
Keller's fists.
Keller's angry words.
It had been a perfect storm of chaos. Keller hadn't even known he was there. Allistar was going to welcome him to the operation, was going to introduce his silent partner, Matthew Keller.

It was mere happenstance, it was a fluke, it was…
cold.

He could hear commotion around him, and then nothing at all, and then some words, and then nothing. Was he dreaming? He got the feeling that he was drifting in and out, in and out, in and out. Aware, not aware, aware, not aware.

Nothing made sense, everything was jumbled together, words were mush, endless mush, what was happening, and why was he so cold? It was becoming more and more difficult to form coherent thoughts. He thought maybe he was mumbling something, but he couldn't tell.

As he felt his grip on reality diminish, his mind replayed and replayed his own personal hell.

* * *

Keller was grinning, seeming to enjoy the anguish that Neal was in.

And oh, how Neal cried out in pain, and God, it was the worst sound Jones had ever heard in his life. He'd barely made it two steps toward Keller, two steps inside the room, when he felt a blow to his temple… and his vision greyed out for a second. Doubling over, and then falling to one knee, he found himself at Caffrey's eye level. Caffrey, who was handcuffed to a bolted bookshelf, his hands swollen and pink, his body completely limp and radiating tension at the same time… the picture of a man too weak to fight. He didn't like how Neal was looking. His eyes were distant, though still ablaze with pain.

"Bonds," Neal was gasping pleadingly, trying not to scream again.

Jones forced himself to turn around just in time for his gun to be knocked from his hands. The gun flittered across the floor, across the room. Wilson/Allistar had his own gun raised, a pistol. Jones deduced that the pistol was what he'd been struck with. As the two men grappled for control of the pistol, Keller drew his attention from Caffrey to the two of them. He looked almost excited, welcoming of the challenge.

As Jones and Allistar struggled for the weapon, a shot rang out. And then Peter was there.

* * *

Keller got down to his level, grinning at him. Neal looked up to meet his glare, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched.

Neal looked up briefly and locked eyes with Jones. He wanted to warn Jones because Allistar was right behind him, but his mind wasn't his own. He couldn't control his words, and it was as though his mouth was on autopilot. Bonds. Bonds. Bonds.

Why was Jones here? Where was Peter? Why was Keller here? With each new punch, things grew more and more confusing until Neal couldn't even discern why he was here, cuffed to a bookshelf, where here even was, and what in the hell was even going on. The world was pain. That was all Neal knew. Pain and bonds, bonds, bonds, bonds.

* * *

Opening the door, he was frozen in place. Jones was mid-grapple with Allistar, trying to tear a gun from his grasp. He was bloodied, a single gash above his right eyebrow, and his own service weapon was someone under a crate in the room. Because that's what this was, a storage room. Keller was by Neal and, oh God, Neal… He looked awful… didn't even look alive.. Was he saying something? What was Neal saying? His lips were moving, but Peter couldn't read them.

Meanwhile, Allistar had gain the advantage on Jones and had his pistol pointed directly at the agent's head.

Peter raised his service weapon at Allistar. God, it was all happening so fast.

"You shoot him, I shoot you. Is that what you want? Drop. Your. Weapon."

"No, I don't think he will, Agent Burke," Keller drawled. Peter stole a glimpse towards the sound of the voice. Keller was smiling like a maniac, like a mad man. He toyed with the gun in his hands, Jones's gun; he'd retrieved it from the ground.

"There's no way out," Peter spoke gravely. "How do you think you're going to get out of here?"

Peter dare not take his eyes off of Keller… Keller, who was now aiming the gun at Neal.

"Agent Burke, you're going to lower your weapon right now, or I won't hesitate to.. we.l….." He raised the gun and smashed it into Neal's chest, his finger never leaving the trigger, the barrel of the gun never not pointed at Neal.

"Bonds, bonds, bondsbondsbonds," he was whimpering, his voice barely a whisper, barely a breath.

"Kid's been saying that since he came in here. Can't get him to shut up about it.." Keller mused, smiling.

And Peter's heart broke in half.

He felt a chill; he knew that Keller wasn't bluffing. He hesitantly lowered his weapon.

Allistar smiled. "YOU—with me. Let's go." He beckoned for Jones to follow. Jones stole a glance at Peter before following.

"You try and follow me," he motioned to Peter, "I kill him. You understand?"

Keller was positively beaming. Never in his life had Peter felt such a visceral desire to hurt another human being, though Allistar's previous displays had brought him close.

Jones and Allistar exited the room, Jones acting as a human shield for the man.

"Burke. Put your gun on the floor."

Peter looked from Keller to Neal. Neal wasn't moving at all.

Reluctantly, he set his gun on the floor.

Before Keller had a chance to do or say anything else, in a magnificent sweep, Neal kicked his legs out, catching Keller off guard. Keller momentarily lost his balance as Neal gave another blind kick. Neal cried out from the action.

The gun that Keller had been holding clattered to the floor, giving Peter just enough time to reach for his gun. Keller scrambled for his fallen gun, successfully retrieving it, but Peter was already aimed at him, poised and ready to shoot.

Keller was cornered and he knew it… and so he fired three shots in a rapid succession, though not at Neal. At Peter.

Bang!
Bang!
Bang!

Peter felt a stinging in his left arm and Keller darted away. A detatched part of him recognized that he'd been hit, grazed by Keller's bullet.

Neal's breathing was wet and rough.

"Oh, God," Peter muttered. "Neal!" his voice rose in volume as he scrambled to his friend's aid, sliding on his knees next to the man.

Just then, he heard footsteps coming by the door that Allistar and Jones had exited, the same one that Keller had just fled through. Ignoring the throbbing in his arm, Peter raised his gun.

It was Jones; he looked a bit worse for the wear, but he was in one piece.

The two spoke rapidly, in a matter of seconds, conveying what needed to be said.

"Got Allistar secured ; NYPD was waiting for us downstairs."
"Keller?"
"Dammit, didn't see him, he must have- Peter, you're hit?"
"It's just a graze."

Jones nodded towards Neal. "Peter, is he.."
"He's alive; Christ, this is bad, this is bad."
Neal wasn't reacting to Peter's fumbling touch.

Jones slid to the ground on Neal's opposite side, the two of them working to get the handcuffs off of Neal. Undoing the cuffs and freeing him, Neal began to fall forward. Peter caught him and lowered him to the dirty ground, Jones's hands hovering the entire time. Jones stripped his jacket off to use as a pillow for Neal's head.

Neal's back suddenly arched as he gasped, a ragged a raw sound. Christ.

"Bonds," he whispered.

"Go get the paramedics!" Peter shouted. Jones nodded and ran down the stairs.

* * *

"Wake up, please wake up," Peter pleaded, his voice urgent.

Neal stirred slightly.

"Neal?"

Neal opened his eyes. God, the light hurt. It was so foggy, so hard to wade through it.

"What happened?" He had never in his life felt as weak as he felt at that moment. It was difficult to keep his eyes open.

"Christ, Neal. Just… Christ."

Neal placed a trembling hand to Peter's chest, feeling his heartbeat. Peter was here, he was real. This nightmare was almost over.

"Knew you'd come…"

Neal thought maybe he heard Peter sob. But why would Peter cry for him, worry for him? Neal worried for Peter often. For Elizabeth, too, for Mozzie, for June, sometimes Diana and Jones. It was nice to think that someone worried for him.

Neal felt hands on him. He could feel their weight, their calluses, but there was no pain with these hands. These hands represented sturdiness, something to ground him, hold him in place, help him remain as he needed to be.

He thought maybe he heard a voice, though he heard more of a humming of vibrations than anything else.

"Neal. Neal."

Neal's lashes fluttered a bit, and he opened his eyes. When had they slipped shut?

Peter huffed his relief.

"Neal, please. I know it's hard, Christ.. please, just stay awake. Stay with me. Please. Help is coming, five minutes. Talk to me, tell me about something."

Neal sucked in a breath. The knowledge that help was coming was all he needed to relax. Five minutes. He could last five more minutes

"Neal. Are you tracking?"

"Yeah… I'm okay," he reacted. Nothing else… like speaking was enough of a struggle. Like it was too difficult for him to think about words.

"Neal, I need you to talk to me."

Neal struggled speak, coughing a few times.

"Keller?" Neal drawled.

Peter forced a breath out.

"We lost track of him. Must've slipped... But I swear to God, Neal, I swear to God we're gonna find him. Diana's securing the area now. Allistar's cuffed, Jones is sitting on him by the van. NYPD is combing the block, and we're gonna get him. You did good, Neal. You did good."

Peter was suddenly overcome with emotion, raw emotion. And, if possible, he felt even more protective over Neal.

"Neal, your eyes. Open your eyes. That's it, that's it…" he encouraged.

Again, when had they closed? Neal sighed, his breath rattling in his chest a bit; why was it so difficult to breathe? Sleep attempted to claim him, and God, it was tempting… to close his eyes, to escape… but there was a part of him that was terrified that giving in to that desire, giving in to the sleep, would be permanent. But even as he thought that, he could feel himself letting go.

And so he forced a breath in and, God that hurt.
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. He gasped for air, coughing up something warm and wet.

Realizing what was going on, Peter helped the younger man sit, pulling him against his own chest for support. Neal grunted a bit and then visibly relaxed, his new position helping him to breathe. Or maybe it was the support, knowing that nobody else could hurt him, knowing that Peter was there. Neal was still coughing, gurgling, wheezing.

"Just breathe, just breathe. I've got you. I've got you. You're okay. I've got you," Peter repeated, like it was his mantra. "I've got you. I've got you," he whispered into the young man's ear. Peter's voice was thick, and it burned to swallow, was bitter to swallow. His eyes danced across Neal's broken body, surveying the damage. God, this was so bad. This was so bad.

"No, no-no-no-no, Neal, hey. Keep your eyes open, okay? Stay with me. Keep them open. Don't you dare go to sleep. Neal."

Again, Neal forced his eyes open. He could hear voices from the hall. Help is here, he told himself. Just stay awake and you'll be ok.

"Keep your eyes open. Stay here with me. Neal."

He tried, he really did. He could hear Peter shouting his name… and then there was nothing at all.