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“Hey, Neal? Did you send something to my printer?”
Neal looks up. “Is that where that went?” He grabs the papers and scans them. “Yup. These are mine.”
“Great,” Peter says. “While I’m over here, would you happen to have any more staples? My stapler just ran out.”
“You know there’s a whole room filled with supplies,” Neal retorts.
“I’m knees deep into paperwork and I don’t have time to go all the way over—”
“Ugh, fine.” Neal pulls his drawer open and rummages through the mess. “Aha! Staples.”
“Thanks,” Peter says. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“That’s what I do,” Neal replies.
Peter is about to head back to his office when a painful screech sounds throughout the office.
In the center of the room grows a giant light, getting larger and larger as it fills the space with its luminescence.
The screeching grows louder and everyone covers their ears to shield from its eardrum-shattering sound.
Finally, the blinding light disappears and a man falls from it onto the floor with a loud “oof!”
Everyone stares at the stranger with perplexed silence, all wary of what he might do.
The stranger wears a brown leather jacket with a black suit of body armor beneath it. At his fingertips are a red helmet and a duffel bag that has fallen in front of him.
Peter sneaks a glance at Neal whose face has blanched at the sight of the stranger.
“Neal,” Peter whispers. “Do you recognize him?”
Neal gulps. “Uh—”
“Ah, Louisa May Alcott, that hurt,” the stranger groans.
“Uh, boss?” Diana squeaks in horror. She points at the duffel bag which is now leaking blood on the floor.
Peter’s breath hitches, his hand hovering to his gun.
“Don’t shoot,” Neal hisses.
“Neal,” Peter starts. And suddenly it clicks. Red helmet. Brown leather jacket. Bloody duffel bag. “That’s the Red Hood!”
Neal covers his face with his hands. “Oh no.”
“FBI,” Peter says, pulling out his gun and pointing it at the killer. “Put your hands on your head slowly.”
Red Hood chuckles darkly. “That’s cute.” He jumps up and grabs two guns at nearly inhuman speeds, pointing them both at Peter’s chest.
And suddenly, it’s like the air in the office has been sucked out.
Because Red Hood? Behind the Red Hood?
Is Neal Caffrey.
Red Hood’s head sneaks a quick glance at Neal and then does a double take. “Jane Austen,” he curses.
“Must be serious if you’re dropping a Jane Austen,” Neal says, far too calm for the giant bomb of a revelation happening.
“Time travel or dimension travel?” Red Hood asks. “Or… some fucked up hallucination?”
“Not the latter,” Neal says. “I suspect time travel but this can easily be an alternate timeline.”
“Neal,” Peter whispers, shock evident in his voice. “So you’re saying you really were—”
Neal grimaces. “Yup.”
“Neal?” Red Hood questions. “That’s the name you went with?”
Neal rolls his eyes. “Says Todd Peters.”
“It’s subtle,” Red Hood argues.
“It’s barely an alias,” Neal shoots back. “Also, could you cool it with the guns please? I’m sure you’re riding off a green high right now but I’d rather you not get trigger happy around my friends.”
Red Hood snorts and holsters his guns. “Cute. You have friends.”
“You will too if you end up being me,” Neal says.
“No thanks,” Red Hood says flatly. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“You do realize I’m you, right? And that I know that’s bullshit?”
“I’m fine,” Red Hood repeats, teeth clenched.
“Honey, you just decapitated a man’s head off tonight. You’re not fine.”
Everyone in the office flinches at Neal’s words, knowing the implications of the statement.
“He deser—”
Neal waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was there too, you know.”
“Then why are you giving me shit about it?”
Neal shrugs. “Because it’s fun.”
Red Hood’s glares at Neal. “So what exactly is this? You’re a fed now? And I thought being a bat was bad enough.”
“Technically, I’m a criminal informant,” Neal corrects.
“That’s a thing?”
Neal nods. “It’s a good deal.”
“Why would they want a criminal on their team?” Red Hood asks. “I mean, the murder thing doesn’t seem like it’d be on the resume.”
Neal cringes. “I’m actually a nonviolent criminal.”
Red Hood’s head knocks back with laughter. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me right? Nonviolent? That’s the fun part! What did you do instead? Fuckin’, I don’t know, what’s the stupidest thing I can think? Did you print counterfeit money?”
“Alleged bond forgery actually,” Neal says.
Red Hood stops laughing and looks at Neal. “Seriously?”
Neal shrugs. “Allegedly.”
“Okay,” Red Hood says. “So you forge some bonds, whatever the fuck those are, and, what, you just left Gotham to fend for itself while you played dress up with the suits?”
“Gotham has the bats,” Neal says.
“Bullshit,” Red Hood says sharply. “You know the bats—”
“Actually, we’re pretty chill now,” Neal interrupts.
Red Hood stills. “What.”
“It was a whole thing. Really dramatic.”
Red Hood just stares. “Did B…”
“No,” Neal says, his voice apologetic. “Dick did.”
“Dick?!” Red Hood exclaims. “Golden boy offed the Joker?”
“Don’t want to give you too many spoilers, especially if we’re not from the same timeline. False hope isn’t fun.”
“Thanks,” Red Hood says blankly. “And as fun as this is, I have things to do, so if you could voodoo me back home, that’d be great.”
“You think I know how to do that?” Neal says with a small scoff.
“You weren’t the one who brought me here?”
“Why would I bring back my embarrassing teenage angst to my real person adult job?”
They both stare at each other.
“Well how should I fuckin’ know?” Red Hood finally says. He huffs in frustration. “Is this some stupid ‘learn the moral of mental stability and hope for the future’ bullshit? Because so far, not gettin’ anything.”
“I don’t think you can really have an appreciation for it while you’re still high on the green,” Neal says.
“You’re,” Red Hood pauses. “You don’t get the green anymore?”
“I do,” Neal admits. “But I’ve learned to control it. Not let it consume me.”
“Oh.” Red Hood takes in the words, brows scrunching deep in thought. “It… it gets better?”
“It does,” Neal says, a soft smile on his lips. “It really does.”
Red Hood, for a few precious moments, softens with awe. And then he shuts it down, his expression shuddering into a closed, guarded scowl. “I’m not giving up on the plan.”
“I know you won’t,” Neal says. “And you’ll find your own end to the plan, however it may be, even if it was different from me.” Neal smiles. “But I know whatever happens, you’ll find your way.” He chuckles. “And if you don’t find it yourself, then the bats will definitely shove some common sense down your throat without your consent.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Red Hood says.
“Oh, it’s not. You’ll fight them like hell. It’ll be a mess. But they won’t stop until they get you back.”
“Over my dead body,” Red Hood spits.
Neal smirks. “A little late for that, huh?”
Red Hood stops and then laughs. “Okay. That was a good one.”
“You get good at the death jokes after a while. The bats hate it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Red Hood says. “Any other words of wisdom?”
“I don’t think I do, actually,” Neal says. “You have to figure it out yourself. It’s better that way.”
The portal of bright light starts growing.
“Guess I did need a moral,” Red Hood mutters. “This hasn’t been fun and I hope I never see you again.” He puts on his helmet and grabs his duffel bag. He gives them a two finger salute. “Deuces.”
And with that, he’s gone.
The silence is deafening as everyone stares at Neal.
“So,” Neal says sheepishly. “Am I still on the FBI’s Most Wanted list?”