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It started as a regular day. Absolutely nothing remarkable or notable about it. It wasn't too hot out, there was no wind, hell, it wasn't even a full moon. But something nefarious was in the air, the age-old curse of being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Peter keys into the vibrational change only moments after Neal does. He follows the FBI agent's gaze towards the front door of the convenience store.
Peter's hand reaches for his gun, five shots are fired, a body drops, and then it's all over.
Neal is pretty sure one of those bullets missed him, but the sharp pull in his gut tells him they aren't out of the woods yet. The next moments pass in slow motion. He watches on in horror as Peter's hand flies to his throat.
“Peter?” His voice sounds underwater, even to his own ears.
Peter’s knees buckle, and then he collapses onto the yellow-white tile.
Neal’s body is moving on autopilot, tearing off his tie and wrapping it around Peter’s throat as a makeshift tourniquet. He tightens it as much as he can without restricting his air flow and then covers the wound with his hand.
“It's okay Peter, it's going to be okay,” he swears, but there's honestly no way he can guarantee that. Peter was just shot point-blank in broad ass daylight.
“Ambulance is on their way,” the shaken clerk finally mutters. Poor kid couldn’t have been older than 20.
“Did they say how far out?”
“3 minutes.”
“Okay, Peter, look at me, I need you to stay with me.” Neal’s shaking. He’s never been so fucking scared in his entire life. He cant lose Peter. He fucking cant!! What would he do? What would El do?
Peter’s eyes are starting to close and Neal’s free hand slaps the side of his face. “No, don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare Peter!”
“Neal-”
“Don’t try and talk, just stay awake, okay? Help is almost here.”
“Neal, if I don’t- don’t make it-”
“Peter, I’m being so serious right now.”
“Don’t leave El alone. Keep, eachother, safe.”
“Peter-” Neal croaks, agony shredding his vocal cords.
“Sir?”
A paramedic broke their conversation, and Neal got out of the way as fast as he could.
They yanked the tie off Peter and tossed it to the floor before lifting him and moving him out of the building faster than Neal could process. His eyes are still on the puddle of Peter’s blood on the floor.
Someone's got to call Elizabeth. He wishes it wasn't him.
He grabs the blood-stained tie and stuffs it in his pocket, following out the way the EMTs came.
“Neal! What a surprise!”
“H-Hey Elizabeth,”
“Uh oh," she chuckles, unassuming, "I know that tone. What’s wrong?”
Neal's mouth turns to sandpaper.
“Peter’s- Peter’s hurt.”
“...What?”
“We were at-
“What did you do?”
Neal's body flashes hot in defensive anger. But unfortunately, she has the right to assume. How many times has Neal and his criminal pastime put Peter’s life at risk in the last 5 years? Countless.
“There was an attempted robbery at the-”
“Don’t bullshit me Neal! I knew it! I fucking knew he never should have taken a chance with you and now look what happened to him!
“Elizabeth-”
“No. Shut up! Where are they taking him?”
“Um.”
“Which hospital Neal!”
“S-St. Mercy.”
“Don’t come to the hospital.”
Elizabeth hangs up in a fury and Neal can only look at his phone hollowly.
In the blink of an eye, everything is taken from him. Again. 5 years. A close friendship with El, a chance at a new life with Peter. Reconnection with Mozz. Gone.
All he has left of Peter, them, what felt like a real chance at happiness, is the blood stains on his tie.