"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."
Neal's eyes slipped shut. Dammit, this was bad.
Peter could hear voices from the hallway. Hurry up, hurry up, he pleaded mentally.
"Keep your eyes open. Stay here with me. Neal."
Neal wilted a bit, drooping forward, his head lulling forward. Reaching forward, Peter readjusted the young man and heaved Neal's upper body so that his partner's back was against his chest.
"Come on, Neal, come on. Neal, Neal, NEAL!"
Neal wasn't reacting. And what the hell was taking the paramedics so long?
"I've got you, I've got you," Peter whispered, his lips at Neal's ear.
"Come on, Neal, Come on, don't do this to me. Wake up, please God, wake up."
Paramedics seemingly materialized from nowhere and were at his side.
"Sir, are you hurt? Sir?"
"I'm fine, go to him, go to him, I'm fine!"
"Sir, I'm going to need you to let go of him. We need to help him. Sir, do you understand?"
"Peter, Peter, you need to let go of him."
Peter sluggishly looked up and saw Jones at his side as well. He nodded, ashamed, and relinquished his sweet burden, resting his head delicately on the cruel carpeted floor. Paramedics were around Neal like a swarm of bees, poking and prodding, rattling off numbers and things Peter couldn't even hope to understand.
Peter caught the eyes of one paramedic, her face aghast, the implications of what the battered young man before her had been through clear on her face: torture.
Peter's eyes implored, and what he saw in hers was less than comforting. She gave a quick nod of her head before returning to the fallen young man.
Jones was saying something to him now, and when he looked, he saw that Neal had been placed on a gurney, a neck brace round his neck. The kid was pale, so pale, and frighteningly still, mind for a slight tremor behind his eyelids… and then his body began to jerk and twist and writhe like a violent death-dance.
"He's seizing!" Somebody yelled.
Peter's head felt heavy, and he gulped. Jones was repeating something to him, hoisting him up up up and away from Neal so that he was standing.
"Peter?"
Peter flicked his gaze to Jones and whoa, whoa, Peter, you okay? Help, I need help over here!
Peter was falling falling falling down now.
"He's got a bullet wound to his right side," a voice informed.
"He's got a graze on his arm as well," another voice added.
Looks like Keller's aim had been better than Peter had realized, and now that the adrenaline of the battle was wearing off…
Peter's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and darkness overcame him.
-
I know this chapter was very short, but the next one will be up very soon and will have more substance.