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The team storms the building, Diana and some probies taking the left hallway and Jones and his group of probies taking the right. Peter opts for the center halfway, which leads to a giant storage room. The wall reach up to the ceiling, and the shelves holding various boxes are almost as high.
Peter scans the room. He creeps down the side of the shelves, peeking into each aisle before moving on to the next. After checking all of them and coming up with nothing, Peter walks back to the doorway.
“Boss,” Diana says, coming around the corner. “We found this.”
Peter’s eyes lock on to the shiny red paint of the helmet. His heart stops when he realizes that he recognizes it. “Red Hood.”
Red Hood is on the FBI’s most wanted list for a multitude of crimes, but the biggest one is murder. Red Hood shot, stabbed and poisoned his way through dozens of people in Gotham before going underground. It looks like he decided to pay a visit to New York.
Jones emerges from the other hallway. His eyes widen when he sees what it is that Diana is holding. “Whoa.”
Peter scowls. If there’s a homicidal man that’s able to run circles around the police on the loose, Peter needs to find him. Now.
“Okay,” Peter says, trying and probably failing to hide how stressed he is. “No one goes alone. Diana and Jones, take your groups and sweep the warehouse. I’ll take Richardson and Miller. Go.”
“But we just--”
“We’re searching for him this time. This isn’t some common criminal. Now go .”
A good agent would never make his subordinates do something that they themselves wouldn’t do, so Peter turns around and searches the room again, this time closer. He checks every shelf and makes sure to look behind every crate. He checks the rafters and the vents.
Nearly twenty minutes pass with no news. No one is injured or turns up dead, so Peter relaxes a bit. If the Red Hood was here, he’s most likely gone now.
Peter holsters his gun and makes his way back to the entrance of the building. Richardson and Miller make their way back to the van, leaving Peter alone by the door. Peter leans against the brick wall, content to watch the wind rustle the leaves and the gentle waves of the East River. It’s all quite calming, and he feels his stress levels plummet.
“Hey, Peter.”
Peter nearly shoots him. Instantly, his heart tries to beat a hole through his chest. He jumps to the side, away from Neal and into Jones.
“Easy, Peter. What happened?”
Peter ignores him in favor of scolding Neal. “Neal! Don’t sneak up on me like that! Where did you come from?”
Jones and Diana watch the interaction as the probies push by them, completely uninterested.
“The roof.”
Peter frowns. “The roof? What were you doing on the roof?”
Neal shrugs. “Leaving the warehouse.” He says it like it’s nothing.
There’s something off about him, but Peter can’t put his finger on it. His suit is a little wrinkled, and his hair isn’t as perfectly styled as usual, but he looks unharmed.
Meanwhile, Peter is seconds from exploding. “What were you doing in the warehouse?”
“Searching for Jamison,” Neal says, with that same nonchalance in his voice.
Peter sighs. Neal’s lack of concern is more than a little frustrating. “You were supposed to be at home. Why did you follow us?”
“I didn’t. I was here first.”
Peter resists the urge to rip his hair out. He glances at Jones and Diana, who look equally frustrated. “So you knew we were coming here, and you decided to risk your life by running headlong into a dangerous situation you weren’t prepared for?”
“I am prepared. Better prepared than you are, actually.”
He isn’t trying to boast. To him, that’s the simple truth. Peter just can’t understand why he thinks that.
Neal is an informant. He has no training, and he doesn’t carry a gun. He even asked Peter for martial arts training once, which implies that he doesn’t know how to fight. What did Neal think he was going to accomplish?
“Neal,” Diana says, a strange tone in her voice as she steps past Peter. She leans closer to Neal, inspecting his eyes. “Are you on drugs?”
“If that was what was in the box, then probably.”
“What box?” Peter asks.
“The one that exploded in my face.”
Peter groans. Diana shakes her head and grabs his arm. “We need to get him to the hospital.”
Jones nods and ducks inside to grab the helmet. When he returns, Neal stiffens. “Uh oh.”
Jones stops. He looks around, scanning his surroundings for whatever it is that Neal deems a problem. When he finds nothing, he frowns. “What?”
Peter notices that Neal’s eyes carefully avoid the helmet. Is he afraid of the Red Hood?
“That’s not mine,” Neal says.
Peter, Jones, and Diana exchange glances. “We didn’t say it was,” Peter says.
Neal’s pupils are blown wide as he looks at Peter with an urgent look on his face. “You should put it back, that way the owner—which is not me, by the way—can come get it.”
Peter is truly baffled. Whatever drugs Neal has in his system seems to make it impossible for him to lie. Which would mean…
No.
“Neal,” Peter says, keeping his voice carefully even. After years of dealing with Neal Caffery, he sure he’s mastered it. “Are you saying that you’re not Red Hood?”
Neal grins. He looks far too happy about Peter seemingly going along with the lie, which tells Peter everything he needs to know. “Yes. That is what I’m saying.”
Wonderful. At what point during the three years that Peter was chasing him did Neal find time to become a murderous vigilante? It must’ve been towards the beginning, when there was less stolen artwork and forged bonds for a few months. Peter barely got any sleep during that time. He spent most nights trying to catch a hint of a trail.
It must have been after Neal toppled a criminal empire that he decided to move to more peaceful crimes.
Now that he knows that Red Hood and his criminal informant are one and the same, he feels a little differently about the Red Hood. He knows that Neal would never do the things Red Hood had been accused of, at least not without a good reason.
Regardless, he’d deal with it later. Whether there are consequences or not, Peter just wants a few minutes of peace.
“Just… just get him to the car. I’ll take him to the ER.” Peter rubs a hand over his face. It’s only eleven in the morning, and he wants to go to bed.
When Neal is halfway to the car, he turns back to Peter with a too-wide grin. “I also didn’t kidnap the Joker!”
“Stop admitting to crimes, Neal.”