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“Peter?”
Peter sighs. This had to be the fifteenth time Neal has said his name since they’d snuck out of the clinic. It’s only been silent in the car for a good thirty seconds, as the drugged up con man in the passenger seat has been full of questions.
“Yes, Neal?”
“Can I take my seat belt off?”
“What?” Peter glances over to Neal, whose too-wide eyes are staring at him pleadingly. “No.”
“Why not?” Neal pouts.
“Because it’s to keep you safe.”
“Pleeeaase? It’s uncomfortable...”
“No, Neal,” Peter says firmly, despite the whine in Neal’s voice making him cringe. “It can’t be that uncomfortable, you wear seat belts all the time.”
“But it’s making it hurt more.”
This earns him another concerned glance from Peter. “Making what hurt more?”
God, if Neal is injured and he hasn’t noticed —
“I dunno,” Neal shrugs, frowning. He’s shifting around in his seat, pulling restlessly at the lap belt. “Oh. Uh-oh.”
Peter’s having a hard time keeping his eyes on the road now, diverting his alarmed attention rapidly back to Neal every chance he can. “Uh-oh, what? What’s wrong?”
“I need to pee.”
Peter pauses. “Um, okay. Is that all that’s wrong? You don’t feel hurt anywhere?”
Neal nods. He’s been fidgety the whole ride, but now there’s a definite uptick in his squirming.
“Okay. We’ll be home soon.”
“Can’t you pull over somewhere?”
“There’s not anywhere — we’re only like, five minutes away, tops. You’ll be fine.”
“”I have to go really bad, though, Peter,” Neal insists. Peter is surprised to hear how genuinely distressed he sounds. It keeps him from feeling totally exasperated, even if Neal does sound like a toddler right now.
“You can make it,” Peter reassures. “We’re really almost there.”
It’s hard to know how serious Neal is being. Peter can only hope that he’s exaggerating the issue, because even if he wanted to stop somewhere immediately, there truly wasn’t anywhere good to pull over.
This was such a mess. How he’d managed to get Neal out of the building unseen, he still isn’t sure. He’d stolen a surveillance tape. Stolen it. Highly illegal. Breaking laws for a lawbreaker. His fidgety, but now quiet, lawbreaker. As mad as Peter wants to be — and he is mad at Neal for being so impulsive and for putting himself in that kind of danger, he is — it’s overshadowed by disbelief. Truthfully, he’d expected to see someone chasing after them every time he’d turned a corner in the hallways, and even when he’d gotten them to the car. There was never anyone when he looked back, though.
He’s hoping whatever drugs coursing through Neal’s system will fade quickly. Maybe he’ll sleep it off without any serious effects. It terrifies Peter to think of what they could have injected him with, what they could have done to him —
“Peter, how much farther?”
Neal’s urgent voice brings him back to the present moment. Peter looks over at him again, though he’s been able to hear Neal squirming endlessly for the past few moments just fine.
He doesn’t exactly look like he’s exaggerating.
“Two minutes,” Peter answers. There’s only a tiny whimper in response. “Two minutes, I swear.”
“Hurry,” Neal mumbles, jiggling his leg up and down. He looks equal parts uncomfortable and anxious now.
“I’m trying.”
Peter speeds up ever so slightly. Within two minutes, as promised, he’s pulling up in front of his house and throwing the car into park.
“I’ll come and help you get out,” he says as he opens his door. Getting to the car, Neal had been about as coordinated as a baby giraffe, and that surely hasn’t changed over the course of what probably wasn’t actually that long of a car ride. Peter suppresses a groan as he realizes he’ll have to guide Neal up the stairs to the porch, and then the stairs in the house.
“Come on,” Peter says as he opens Neal’s door for him. Neal has managed to undo the seatbelt on his own, so Peter wraps an arm around him, tugging him up at the same time.
It’s not easy. Neal wavers on his feet, a lot of his weight being held up by Peter. It doesn’t help that Neal won’t stop fidgeting, either. He’s all but bouncing on his feet, bending his knees awkwardly.
They get two steps away from the car before Neal trips, and Peter has to hurriedly adjust his hold on him to prevent him from tumbling all the way to the ground.
“Careful, Neal! Walk with me, I’ve got you,” Peter urges.
“Peter.” Neal squirms, but allows himself to be pulled forward. They start the precarious job of walking up the steps. “Peter wait, wait—!”
“What?” Peter begrudgingly halts their ascent.
“I can’t...I can’t do it.”
“The stairs? Yes you can. I’m helping you, see?”
“No,” Neal says quietly, and he won’t meet Peter’s eye. “I mean— I don’t think I can…”
Horrifyingly, Neal bends over, one of his hands disappearing between his legs. Oh. Peter all at once understands.
“Dammit— hey, no, no, it’s okay,” Peter says, hearing Neal whimper, something he’s heard too much of today, and something he never wants to hear again. “Look at me.”
For as drugged out of his mind as Neal is, there must be some level of awareness within him, because his face is scarlet red with embarrassment.
“Just… try, okay? If you can’t, you can’t — but try, please.”
It’s maybe the bizarrest request Peter’s ever had to make, but Neal nods, his eyes looking suspiciously glassy. Peter helps straighten him up, guiding him up the stairs once again, doing his best to ignore the fact that Neal is… well, still holding onto himself.
To Neal’s credit, he makes it all the way up to the porch before freezing once more, letting out a small gasp. “No, no…”
Peter cringes at the panicked tone. “Neal?”
Silence. Peter doesn’t want to look, because it’s awkward, first of all, but Neal honestly looks like he’s about to cry, which probably means —
Yeah, okay. Okay. Peter hazards a glance downward, eyes instantly spotting the wetness blooming from Neal’s crotch, rapidly spreading down his legs.
Fuck. Oh, fuck, poor Neal…
“I’m sorry,” Neal whispers, voice shaking. “I’m so so s-sorry, Peter, I—“
“Shh, don’t. It’s okay. It’s okay, Neal, it isn’t your fault.” Peter knows that much to be true, anyway. A less drug-addled Neal wouldn’t have lost control so easily. He can’t fault him for what the drugs are doing to his body. He’s not totally himself.
It’s an awkward few moments, though, standing next to Neal, still supporting half his body weight as a small puddle gathers at Neal’s feet. Peter instinctively wants to pull away, but doesn’t. He probably wouldn’t, even if he could.
“I’m disgusting,” Neal mumbles suddenly. He sniffles, and Peter prays to anything that’s out there that he doesn’t truly end up with a crying CI on his shoulder. He might actually mind the piss less than the tears.
“You’re not disgusting,” Peter corrects. He feels very out of his element here, but he tries his best to sound calm. “Let’s just get you inside. You can get cleaned up, and then you can rest for a while.”
Prodding him gently, Peter gets Neal to start walking again. It’s only a few steps to the door. Peter reaches an arm out, but before he gets to the handle, the door opens — and Elizabeth is suddenly in the doorway, looking mildly bewildered, and then concerned.
Damn. He hadn’t had time to call ahead to warn her about the situation, and now there’s an added situation on top of the original fiasco.
“Peter, what — ?”
“Hi honey, sorry, I didn’t — there was no time to call — he was drugged,” Peter gets out, seeing the way Elizabeth is eyeing his hold on Neal. “I need to get him inside—”
Elizabeth steps wordlessly to the side, taking hold of Neal’s other arm. Thankfully, she seems to have prioritized assisting him over questioning him, at least for the moment.
Together, they get Neal over the threshold and into the house, closing the door behind them. Peter can see the moment she looks down and notices Neal’s… other problem.
“Hey, Neal,” Elizabeth says gently, trying to catch Neal’s eye. He’s avoided looking at her, but he finally turns his head in her direction.
“Hi Elizabeth,” Neal whispers, eyes wet, and face still several shades too red.
Elizabeth’s face melts into sympathy. She reaches out and touches his cheek. “Oh, sweetie — everything’s okay, alright?”
“But... I peed on your porch,” Neal confesses, and he looks so distraught that El has to bite her tongue to keep from showing any amusement. It’s not funny, not really, but she’s never seen Neal like this. It wasn’t what she expected to come out of his mouth. She’s highly concerned, but the porch? That’s the last thing she’s worried about at the moment.
“It’s okay,” she reassures, chancing a quick glance at Peter. She can’t ask for all the details just yet, but she’s dying to know what happened. “The porch is fine. Don’t even worry about it.”
“Can you get him upstairs?” Elizabeth asks, attention once again on Peter. She wishes they could simply set him up on the couch right away, but he needs to get cleaned up first, that’s obvious.
“I think so,” Peter nods. “Neal? Think you can handle the stairs?”
“Yep,” Neal insists. He’s more subdued than he was in the car, a consequence of the humiliation no doubt, but maybe their reassurances are helping, because he at least sounds less close to tears.
———
It’s no easy feat. Peter is panting by the time he manages to lug Neal into the bathroom upstairs. Once in there, he’s seriously concerned about leaving Neal alone, but he really doesn’t want to have to help him with this part. Neal, understandably, doesn’t want that either.
They end up deciding on letting him take a quick bath, which Peter fills for him ahead of time. Showering was out of the question immediately because of the fall risk. A bath feels dangerous too, in it’s own way, but Neal ever so kindly promises not to drown.
Peter’s nervous the whole time anyway.
In fact, after he takes a couple of minutes to give a rushed retelling of some of what happened to Elizabeth, he mostly hovers upstairs, making sure he can at least distantly hear signs of life from Neal.
Thankfully, Neal seems to manage alright, because he eventually reappears from the bathroom, now dressed in borrowed sweatpants and a t-shirt. There’s been some improvement in his coordination, but he still needs quite a bit of help getting down the stairs.
It’s not as difficult as going up them had been, though. Once downstairs, Peter guides Neal over to the couch, which Elizabeth has set up with blankets.
“How are you feeling, Neal?” Elizabeth asks, coming out of the kitchen as Peter is getting him to lie down.
“I dunno,” Neal blinks up at her, looking uncertain. “I’m tired.”
“I bet,” Elizabeth smiles softly. “Why don’t you try to get some rest?”
“I can sleep here?” Neal asks, almost as if confirming he has permission.
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth reassures.
Neal seems to accept this, relaxing a bit. He looks like he could probably pass out fairly easily, but he doesn’t shut his eyes just yet. “Peter?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” Neal says, looking up at him with utter sincerity. “You’re… nice. Thank you for saving me.”
Peter can’t help but to smile slightly at that. Between this and the trust comment Neal had made back at the clinic, he’s finding it harder and harder to regret stealing the surveillance tape. He sighs, draping one of the blankets over his friend.
“Get some sleep, Neal.”