The world swung back and forth…a wildly tilting ride that made him sick. The pain slid in and out of focus along with the rest of reality. The only constants were the cold, he was bone chillingly, mind achingly cold and the steady thumping of the bat. It seemed like he had hung here forever, but still the bat kept swinging. Neal couldn't see it any more, his vision spiraling in and out, but he knew it was still swinging because his body still jarred every few second with the impact he barely felt. Some part of his mind knew it was a bad sign that he didn't feel the agonizing pain of each new blow, but he didn't care, couldn't make himself care. He was just so grateful it was over… Over… did that mean he was done… dead…? He didn't think he was… not yet, but the world just seemed so far away…. So unimportant.
Vaguely he wondered how long Richards had been pummeling him, wondered how long the man could keep it up. His eyes focused on his tormentor. The dark hatred still burned in the man's eyes, his face still twisted in that horrible semblance of a smile, he was enjoying this. Johnny paused to wipe the sweat from his face. He chuckled at something one of the big men said, leaning on the bat. Neal tried to take advantage of the reprieve… to catch his breath, but he couldn't draw in any air, something was in his throat. The warm liquid blocked the path to his lungs, flowing down his inverted airway, he could taste it in his mouth, feel it running into his eyes and the world was darkening… fading…
"NO!" something his mind screamed. He didn't want to go… Nate… he had to make sure Nathen was safe… had to tell Peter… he might not be worth saving, but the little boy was innocent. Peter could still make a good man out of him even if his genes were against him, but he couldn't let Richards get him… Please… save my son…don't let him turn out like me…please.
The gurgling sound echoed in his mind as he forced a trickle of air into his chest… it wasn't enough…he could feel that… not nearly enough. He tried again, another dribble of oxygen. The liquid filled the tiny void in his throat, choking him... The darkness grew despite his struggle, blacking out the world. He tried to pull his eyes open, but he was drowning… Drowning hanging upside down in his underwear in a frigid, dirty subbasement… it was ridiculous… his lips twitched with one last smile at the thought…
Somewhere far away a phone was ringing…. A disembodied voice shouted
"They're coming. We need to go!" with a final violent jar that shot surprising pain through Neal's cheek… his head… oblivion opened her mouth and swallowed him.
)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(
Peter took a hesitant step down the stairs. The door creaked again and they were running down the shadowy stairs. The subbasement door swung open with a small screech ending in a loud clang as it struck the concrete wall. The hall that stretched to the right looked much like the basement above, flickering, buzzing fluorescent bulbs, dirty frayed carpet and dozens of metal doors…
To the left, a wall. Peter glanced that way before turning right. The sound of deep laughter echoed though the space from the left. Jones shot Peter a look, they turned as one to stare at the abrupt end of the hall. A flimsy shelf leaned haphazardly against the wall. The two men shoved it aside, revealing a jagged hole, cut through the foundation of the building, into the disused tunnel. The team stepped into the murky darkness, a few pale emergency lights cast weak shadows in the gloom. Across the shaft a matching gap could be seen…
"They're coming! We need to go!" echoed through the corridor. In an instant the agents were pushing their way into another basement. The room on the other side was vast, throwing the slap of shoes back at them… making the gun shot someone fired in their general direction resound endlessly as the men ran from the room, pursued by eight members of the team…
Peter didn't notice the five men retreating from the other side of the room, didn't register the danger of the shot. He didn't hear his team rush off in pursuit. Peter saw one thing…one agonizing image he knew would be seared into his memory for the rest of his life. The slim figure in the middle of the room, swinging slowly from the ceiling, fingers brushing the blood stained floor… pale… silent… still.
He started at a sprint, but his steps slowed as he approached his friend. He had a very bad feeling there was nothing he could do. He caught a glimpse of Neal's face as the swaying rope languidly turned the lifeless body, blood drained from his mouth and nose… running into his vacant blue eyes. There was no sound ….no gasping for air… no wheezing breath to echo in the still room. His chest didn't heave, didn't struggle to pull in oxygen… the silence… the stillness of his form froze Peter's heart in his chest.
"NO!" His mind screamed, but he couldn't force a sound between his lips. He just stared… helplessly… at his best friend's broken body.
Clad only in his underwear his arms hung oddly as though the joints in his shoulders were… gone… his chest looked strangely misshapen, his cheek and eye, black and swollen with a wicked bruise the reached his hairline, blood dripping from the jagged rip in his face. Hip muscles no longer supporting his weight relaxed and stretched, allowing broken joints to slip apart, his ankle obscured by the rope obviously shattered. His skin… translucent in the rare places it wasn't bruised, wore a dull colorless grey pallor, his lips a faded blue. Peter prayed the blow to the head came early, that he didn't feel the rain of agony evidenced on his body, but he had a sickening feeling it hadn't.
Suddenly Peter couldn't stand to see him hanging there, couldn't bear the thought of him there, exposed, while swarms of agents investigated…took pictures, collected evidence ignoring him… farther de-humanizing him… forgetting he was a man… a friend…
He heard Jones running back from the other side of the room, turned back from the pursuit… had it really only been a few seconds he stood here… it felt like an eternity…
"Peter…? You ok?"
"Cut him down." Peter choked, if he couldn't save his best friend he could at least give him some dignity.
"Boss?"
"I am not leaving him up there to be poked and prodded like a side of beef." He looked at the younger agent… "Cut. Him. DOWN!" his voice was quiet, but the urgency shouted in the shadowy room. Jones nodded, understanding his superior's desperation. He waited on moment while Peter positioned himself below their friend. Then reaching as high as he could and holding Neal's legs with one arm, he cut the rope…
Peter cradled the drooping, unresponsive body as the younger agent lowered the young man's legs gently to the filthy floor. He wanted to sob… to scream, but he simply sat there stroking the matted hair softly as gravity pulled those blue, blue eyes closed. When his right hand moved to grasp cool slack fingers his friends head slid from where it rested against Peter's shoulder, rolling loosely to fall over the crook of his elbow, turning his face away as though even in death he refused to look at the man who should have saved him.
A single gurgling gasp…