Chapter Text
The first thing he becomes aware of is the thick air that surrounds him. A mixture of smoke and dust. It penetrates his nostrils and makes his head spin. What the hell happened?
Slowly, Peter opens his eyes and just stares straight ahead for a second, assessing the situation. He appears to be lying on his back, looking at what is left of a wall next to him. And something is lying on top of him. He slowly turns his head and groans. The way his ribs hurt, he certainly bruised his torso big time.
He can see that there is debris and wood piled on his chest. It doesn't seem to be too heavy but he is still too dazed to move it. I was falling...and Neal... „Neal!“ It was meant to come out a lot louder than it did, his voice strained. Where could he be?
Peter remembers walking into the abandoned warehouse with Neal earlier. They were on a case where they were supposed to meet an informant. „Peter, this doesn't feel right.“ Neal had argued. Normally, Peter knew that Neal's gut feeling was almost always on point. But they were too deep into the case to back out now. „Let's go through with it, Neal. The source was reliable, you know he had helped us more than once on this.“
„If it just wouldn't feel like a trap, I'd agree.“
They had reached the warehouse and got to the meeting-point on the first floor. A vast space with pillars and large windows and a beautiful parquet floor. A former dance school maybe? It certainly would be a safehouse to Mozzie's liking , Peter mused.
There was a desk on the other side with a single file lying on top of it. But no informant in sight. Odd.
„Alright, we are here, let's check it out. Maybe our mystery man will show up.“ Neal said.
They cautiously approached the desk and looked at each other, then at the file. Peter carefully opened it. There was only one page inside with one word written on it.
BOOM!
Peter remembers being thrown by the blast; debris, dust and wood splinters following his way up and then down. The whole building was screaming, vibrating and eliciting a low groan as walls crumbled and shook. The noise was deafening. He briefly hit the floor with his back, but it instantly gave and he fell, stones and wood following in his wake.
If anything were to happen to him, was his last thought before he hit the concrete floor below with a dull thud.
Peter coughs and tries to turn his head further to look up to where he fell through. What he sees makes him gasp and break out in a sweat instantly.
There is a hole in the middle of the ceiling and he can clearly see a part of Neal, who seems to be lying halfway on his back. His left arm and a shock of dark, wavy hair is dangling from the opening towards him.
The ceiling is rather low, hence the lack of any serious injuries, Peter thinks as he shoves the stones and wood off of his chest and pushes himself into a sitting position. „Neal!“ This time, his voice is booming with concern. No reply. No! Peter scrambles to his feet, briefly swaying in place as pain hits him, radiating from his midsection and head. He composes himself quickly, fear and panic spurring his adrenaline. He takes two steps and reaches upwards, uttering a low moan as he strains his ribs, but he manages to reach high enough that his fingertips are brushing Neal's.
Neal's hand feels limp and cold and when Peter withdraws his own, he looks at his fingertips. They are slick with blood. Neal, damn it!