Genre: Angst/Tragedy

Rating: STRONG T

Characters: Neal, Peter, Neal's doctor/ EMT Dixie Isles, no Violet or Isla yet, we will get to them later.

Parings: None

Warnings: Mentions of torture. Oodles of blood. BS doctor stuff. Real happy stuff. You have been warned, I do watch House… haha

Inspiration tunes: Hmm, Livin La Vida Loco! Because that practically describes my life right now :)))

Disclaimer: My writing could never compare to the works of the marvelous Jeff Eastin.

Question for Readers: Hmm, so Victor Moreau or however you spell it, was obviously NOT a coincidence. What do you think it means?

WARNING #2: THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE ON THE PART OF NEAL IN THIS CHAPTER!

HUGE THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!

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Pain pulsed in waves, encircling his thin and fragile body and torturing it. He arched his back and tried to cry out, only to have the sound lost inside his throat. His body squirmed as it looked for means of quieting this agony.

He couldn't see a thing, for his eyes weren't working properly. They were shut tight like lids on a coffin. All he could see was darkness, endlessly stretching out before him behind his eyes. He could hear voices, chittering eerily somewhere behind him. This frightened him, and he tried to move, only to have himself fall flat on his back. He withered in pain. He tried screaming again, and again no sound was omitted.

His body felt as though it had been coated with gasoline and then ignited with a match, engulfing him in a fiery mass of misery. It was like every cell in his body had been shot full of searing acid. Why can't anyone help me? He shouted internally. He curled up into a tiny ball on the stone cold pavement. Can't you see what's happening to me?

A faint beeping noise sounded in the distance but Neal hadn't paid any attention to it. He couldn't for the pain had turned his mind into mush. Nothing functioned as it should. Every passing moment seemed like a fight for survival. Every minute was another victory.

His blue eyes rolled quickly around in their sockets behind closed lids, desperately trying to find a way towards the light, and out of the sucking blackness.

Come on, damn-it! Let me out of here! He screamed to no one in particular.

"You can't handle this. You are weak." Someone called back to him. The phrase echoed, playing over and over again like a broken record. It scolded him for his suffering.

You don't understand how hard I am fighting. He cried, his voice sounding hoarse. He tried to pick his head up to locate the noise, yet didn't have the energy to do so.

"You'll never make it." It called with an evil, taunting laugh.

Stop it! He groaned, another wave of pain overtook him. He thrashed about, trying to ease it.

The voice chuckled again. "Maybe you should just die, because there is no point in living in agony."

Neal tried not to think about how right the voice was. Death seemed far less painful then the torture he was suffering currently.

I should just die here. He thought to himself in defeat. No point in living in agony. He repeated what he had heard.

So, here he lay, waiting patiently for the Grim Reaper to come collect him.

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She had been summoned to the room of her ill criminal patient. She sprinted up the white corridor towards her destination, nearly taking out a nurse and her bed pan. She yelled a quick apology over her shoulder as she heard it clang to the floor. He red pony tail swished behind her as she moved.

She rounded the corner, and dashed into the room.

"What do we got?" She asked breathlessly as she took a pair of latex from the bin near the bed. She snapped them on, their familiar smell wafting up towards her nostrils. She grabbed a cap and tossed it onto her head, not even bothering to put her hair up into it. Her pink scrubs were covered in blood from her previous patient.

She walked towards the bed, as the doctor updated her. "Patient experienced a rapid increase in blood pressure as well as heart rate."

"Neal." She corrected automatically. "His name is Neal Caffrey, not patient."

The doctor stared at her for a moment before continuing. She could see the look of sympathy in his eyes. "So Neal, flailed a little bit around the bed, so the nurses had to strap him down, hence the restraints. We upped his morphine dosages to see if that would calm him. Unfortunately, it didn't go through, which we suspect again is due to the wound in the stomach. This means that surgery should happen stat." The doctor, a handsome and well muscled blonde haired and blue eyed guy who's name she had yet to learn, spoke quickly from behind his blue mask. It came out a little muffled, yet still understandable.

She shook her head, "We need him calm before surgery can take place. Too much stress on the heart could throw him into cardiac."

The other doctor's head bobbled in agreement. "Since nothing can get through, we need someone to manually do it." A hushed silence fell over the room as everyone turned to look at Dixie, who squirmed in her scrubs uncomfortably.

The machine forced everyone's attention elsewhere as it screeched irritatingly.

"What's happening?" She called, rushing over. Her eyes scanned his vital quickly, looking for warning signs of trouble.

"Blood pressure and BP's dropping." He answered for her. He quickly went to work preparing a defibrillator for a just in case situation. He held them to the side, poised and ready for action, clear goo dripping from them.

"Someone get Peter Burke in here." She called, eyes never leaving Neal. "We don't have a great window of time to get this done." She heard the familiar squeak as someone raced down the hallway.

She walked over towards her patient. She began to do gentle compressions on his bare chest. "Come on Neal, stay here. Help is on the way."

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DUH DUH DUHHHH! Dramatic right? So leave me a review, and tell me how you liked it.