This story will only be three chapters long and about 6,000 words long. It's a story I've been slowly working on for some time now and I finally got the ending right.

The knife tore a jagged path through Neal's stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, a polar-opposite to the cold rain pouring heavily down on them. Neal gasped in shock and pain as he looked into the cold eyes of a man that wasn't known to resort to violence. Their intel was definitely wrong.

Right when Neal thought it couldn't hurt any worse, Carlos leaned in close and whispered, "Snitch," right in his ear, then twisted the blade, pulled it out harshly and he felt a kind of agony he didn't think was possible. Neal let out a choked gasp and watched as the man ran away, disappearing into the rainstorm raging around them.

Neal put a hand over the wound and fell to his knees, hitting the cracked cement with bruising force. He could only control the rest of his descent, so he purposely leaned backwards so he didn't land on his face. His head bounced off the cold, wet ground, sending more pain through him, though it paled in comparison to the fire in his stomach.

He could feel the blood that was supposed to be inside of him flow freely between his fingers and pool onto the cement around him. It was a strange feeling, one that he didn't want to feel again, if he made it out of this mess alive.

The buzzing in his ears got quieter - how long had that been there? - and he could hear Peter yelling at him, but he couldn't make out the words between the buzzing, the thrumming of rain hitting the ground and the metal roof of a nearby warehouse and his own gasping breath. Neal looked around to see if he could spot his scowl, but the cracked and overgrown parking lot was empty, save for a lone conman that was bleeding to death in the rain.

Right, it was the two-way earpiece he was hearing, a nice upgrade from the one-way watch that he usually wore. "Neal, answer me, dammit!" he could finally hear Peter say.

What was the come-and-save-my-ass-word again? "Fancy," Neal mumbled between breaths. "Fancy." Neal had thought it was a weird activation word, but Peter had told him that he could come up with the activation words when he became an FBI agent. That wasn't really fair as he no longer had that choice - people with criminal records couldn't go to Quantico. It had something to do with not wanting criminals being the ones to take down other criminals. Though, Neal mused, he was doing just that with the FBI, with Peter.

Neal heard Peter curse and focused back on what he was saying. "Neal, what happened? Where's Carlos?" he asked and it sounded like he was trying his best to stay calm. But that didn't seem right - Peter was always calm, unless Neal had done something stupid. Neal didn't remember doing something stupid recently though, so why would Peter be upset? A question for another time, Neal supposed.

"Stabbed," he mumbled. "Carlos stabbed me." The agony that was inside of him became even worse when he said anything, so it was all he could tell Peter. Water got into his eyes as he stared blearily up at the gray sky, the clouds so thick and dark that it didn't even seem like daytime anymore. But he didn't look away since it seemed like it would take too much effort.

Neal could hear Peter cursing again and giving out orders as his eyes closed by their own accord, serendipitously stopping the ran from getting into them. Peter would probably be mad at him for sleeping on the job, but he was just resting, waiting for Peter to come and fix everything, just like he always did.

"I'll be there in just a minute, okay?" Peter said, but Neal really didn't think he had the energy to respond. "Neal, talk to me, please," he said when Neal didn't answer. He sounded upset. Neal must have really done something stupid.

"Hurts," Neal said, because what else was there to say? He could feel the coldness of the wet ground seeping into his skin and deep into his bones as if he was becoming part of it. Maybe he was.

Neal opened his eyes, ignoring the rain that wanted to blind him, when he heard footsteps and suddenly Peter, wet and worried looking, was kneeling next to him. He got there much faster than Neal had thought was possible being as the van was parked three blocks away. But he didn't waste time thinking about that because Peter was here now and he would fix it, or at least try. Neal wasn't sure he could this time, though.

"I'm here, Neal. You're okay," Peter said as he hovered over Neal, blissfully blocking the cold rain from hitting his face. But that didn't seem accurate. He was dying and that didn't seem to be anywhere close to okay. Then again, Peter did say it, so it must be true. Peter was a good man and he didn't lie like Neal did.

"I'm okay," Neal said. He didn't know if it was a question or a statement, even though he was the one that said it.

"Yeah, buddy. You're going to be fine. Helps coming," Peter said, then mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Sorry,' and the pain that Neal had been trying so hard to keep at bay came back with a vengeance. He cried out and arched his back while pushing fruitlessly at the ground with his expensive Italian leather shoes to try to just get some leverage on the pain, but nothing stopped the waves from pulling him down.

He could hear a voice above the water that was crushing him down. It was the man that was always there for him, his life preserver that would keep him afloat during the raging storm inside of his belly. Peter. "Neal, stay with me," he said urgently.

Neal reached out blindly for some sort of anchor so he could stay with Peter, because he didn't want to go, he didn't want to be sucked under the waves, never to be seen again. He felt something grip him - no, someone - the one that always brought him back from oblivion, no matter how far he fell.

"I got you. I got you," Peter said, and Neal believed him, because Peter - a good, honest man - wouldn't lie about something like that.

There were other voices now, and other sounds. He could just make out Diana's voice, but not what she was saying. Neal's gaze searched her out until he could see that she was standing near his feet, also quite wet, looking strangely concerned. Mozzie had always been way better at reading lips, but Neal still tried to read hers anyway - she could've been talking about something important, after all. "We got Carlos. Jones is sitting on him," Diana's lips said, then something else that Neal didn't quite catch.

Neal knew what Diana said was just a figure of speech, but the image her words brought up made him laugh. But damn, that hurt. Peter looked at him like he had just lost his mind. That was a little funny too for some reason, but Neal resisted laughing again being as it really, really hurt last time.

He could hear sirens in the distance now and his finely-honed flight instinct kicked in. Sirens meant you messed up and it was time to run or get caught. The latter wasn't an option. He tried to sit up, to run away before the sirens got here, but a strong hand gently but forcefully pushed him back down. He didn't want to go to jail, not again. The hand must not have understood that. "No, don' wan't to go," he said, but his words were slurring for some reason.

"You're not going anywhere," Peter said determinedly. Peter wouldn't let them take him away. Neal didn't want the waves or the sirens to take him away, but he'd let the hand take him away. The hand would take him someplace safe and warm. It would take him home. He wanted to go home. It was so cold on the ground of this abandoned parking lot on the edge of the city with the rain soaking him through-and-through, but the hand on his abdomen and in his own hand was warm. Maybe wherever the hands were was home.

"Neal, open your eyes," Peter ordered and Neal obeyed because Peter sounded really upset and Neal didn't like when Peter was upset. He hadn't remembered closing them, but obviously he did because he had to open them.

Peter gave Neal a very fake smile and Neal wondered if he was dying. He knew his chances were slim, if the amount of blood pooling around him was any indication, so it seemed likely. Maybe Peter would know.

"Am I dying?" Neal asked, causing Peter to look up sharply, his eyes wide with something that looked like fear, but Neal wasn't sure as the look never really came across the man's face often.

"No, you're not dying," he said determinedly. "I'm not going to let that happen, you hear me?"

Of course Neal could hear him, he was right next to him, even if the rain was a constant cacophony of noise around them. That seemed obvious to Neal, but Peter seemed to be waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I hear you."

"Good," he said, then looked over his shoulder like he was waiting for something. Maybe he was waiting for something, or someone. Was it the man that stabbed him? Wait, Jones was sitting on him. Neal laughed painfully again when he thought of Jones sitting on Carlos. Hughes, maybe? Peter seemed to want them to come so it didn't seem like it would be either of them.

Elizabeth? Peter would want her to come, but she wouldn't be coming here, to this cold, forgotten parking lot. Wait, Peter said help was coming. But who would Peter consider help and what would they be helping with? Maybe he should ask.

"Who's coming?" Neal asked, his voice as weak as he felt.

"Help, help is coming," Peter said, which didn't really clear anything up. Neal didn't know what kind of help was coming, but if they were coming to help, which made sense given their name, then Neal wanted them to come, too.

All of this thinking was making Neal tired, so he closed his eyes again. He could feel himself drifting, and the pain and coldness was going away, so he continued to let himself go, to the sweet, painless oblivion that was calling his name like a siren song.

"Neal, you can't sleep now," Peter said, but it almost sounded like he was pleading. Neal hated to hear Peter sound that desperate, so he opened his eyes again. The pain and bone-deep chill that couldn't fully be blamed on the rain came with him and he almost wished that he didn't listen to Peter. But then Peter would have been even more upset, and that wasn't something that Neal wanted, ever.

Neal looked at his friends face, but something didn't look quite right. Why did it look like there were tears in Peter's eyes? It couldn't have been the rain since Peter was looking down at him and the rain hadn't gotten into his eyes like it did Neal's. Neal had never seen Peter cry before. Neal guessed it would be a sad sight. He was too strong of a man to ever even imagine to see crying.

But why would Peter have tears in his eyes? Peter had been answering the rest of Neal's questions pretty well so far, so Neal figured that Peter would answer this one, too.

"Why are you...crying?" Neal asked. It was a lot of effort to get that many words out, but Neal thought it was worth it to know why Peter was so sad.

"I'm not crying, bud," Peter said, but his voice sounded choked up. Peter didn't usually lie, so maybe Neal was imagining things. He wouldn't be surprised - not too many things were making sense to him at the moment.

The sirens were really close now, so maybe help was close. If the arrival of help made Peter happy, then Neal wanted help to come.

There were noises to their right, so Neal looked to see two people, who were also getting soaked from the never-ending rain, coming towards them. They were rolling something along with them, and it took Neal several seconds to figure out that it was a stretcher. Why did they have a stretcher?

They looked like help, but Neal couldn't be sure. Peter would know - he seemed to know everything right now. "Help?" Neal asked Peter, hoping that he didn't have to elaborate what he was asking because just keeping his eyes open was taking up most of his energy.

"Yes, help," Peter said, nodding and making the water dripping from his hair go everywhere. He looked happy to see them, so Neal was happy to see them, too.

They finally made it across the large parking lot, the wheels of the stretcher getting stuck in the large cracks in the cement a few times. They started talking to Peter, but Neal couldn't really make out what they were saying. Peter seemed to be the only one he could hear clearly. Maybe it was selective hearing, but he didn't know he was doing it. Neal supposed he knew now.

One of the helpers pulled Peter away and took his place. The fire inside of him came back with a vengeance and he cried out, the pain almost too much for him to bare. But what had most of Neal's attention was that Peter had let go of his hand and Neal suddenly felt like he was adrift in the sea without his anchor to keep him grounded. If he didn't have his anchor, then the waves would take him away. He wasn't ready to die. Peter didn't know how much he cared about him, how much he appreciated all of the things he had done for him.

"No, no! Peter! Peter!" he called out, desperate for Peter to come back. His voice was nothing more than a whisper and Peter probably couldn't even hear him over the rain. He struggled against the hands that were now all over him, his own weak, bloody hand reaching out blindly for an anchor once again. These hands weren't warm or safe, they were cold and calculating. They didn't care if he was adrift without a lighthouse to tell him which way was shore, which way was home. Neal needed his lighthouse back. "Peter!"

Like a beacon on a stormy night, Peter came to him right when he thought he would be lost at sea forever. Peter took Neal's hand and held on, anchoring him. Neal held on with all of the strength he had left, which wasn't much.

"I got you, Neal. I got you," Peter said. Peter's face was too blurry to tell if he had let those tears fall, but Neal didn't think he would have wanted to know if they had. If Neal saw Peter crying, he didn't think he would have the strength to stop tears from going down his own face.

The cold and calculating hands were doing things that made the pain hit him in powerful waves, but Neal just focused on one hand, the one that wouldn't let the waves take him to the dark depths of the ocean were not even the sun could reach.

Peter kept repeating things over and over, but Neal couldn't hear him anymore. That was okay because Neal knew that he was there, that he wouldn't let the waves or sirens or cold and calculating hands take him away.

With that comforting knowledge, he let everything drift away.

The next chapter will be Peter's POV and the one after that will be the conclusion. The next he next chapter will be posted tomorrow, so be ready!

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