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“Don’t encourage them, what do you think you’re doing, Neal?” Peter hissed from where he was restrained to a chair, hands tied behind him and legs bound together at the ankles.
“I’m just saying, it’s a terribly poor Kidnapping attempt. I mean, c’mon, rope? Who uses rope? Invest in some nice cuffs man, I could just burn these away with a lighter.” Neal complained, watching with delight as the ‘main man’ so to speak, turned red with unmasked fury.
“Shut up! Jesus. I have never met anyone as talkative as you during a literal kidnapping. Aren’t you scared?” The man snapped, waving about a balisong as if it was a sword or something. Neal snorted. Were they meant to be scared by a little blade? Peter hissed at them, quiet and illegible, a plea at Neal to halt teasing their kidnappers.
“Nah. Tiny blade like that? What you gonna do? Give me a shave? Please do, I’m a little overdue and I’m not a big fan of looking like an old man.” Neal laughed, a deep chuckle and Peter’s eyes were so wide at both Neal’s confidence and sheer lack of self preservation.
They were going to get themselves killed before backup arrived to save them. The man didn’t look remotely pleased with Neal's words and pulled a handgun from his back waistline, levelling it to Neal’s head in one fluid motion, blade long forgotten. Peter sucked in a sharp breath at the sight, at being helpless to help Neal who didn’t look remotely fazed to be staring down a barrel. It didn’t match up, Neal was meant to be non-violent, a harmless art forger, and yet something felt different, like perhaps Neal was dangerous after all, that perhaps those stark muscles he tried to hide behind suits weren’t just from a good gym routine but from something else, something darker.
“Beg me not to.” The man ordered, with the barrel pressing into Neal’s forehead. Neal laughed, not hysterical but like they actually found it humorous, not a trace of fear in the action, it wasn’t an act of pretending to be brave, Neal just apparently didn’t care.
“Do it. I dare you. Pull it.” Neal snarled and the man held the gun level for only a second or two more before his hand trembled and then, not a few seconds later, he wretched it back and dropped the gun to the ground with a clatter like it had burned him. Neal rolled their eyes and raised a hand to rub at their forehead.
“Fucking pussy, man, don’t kidnap people if you can’t follow through on your threats. C’mon Peter, let's go.” Neal stood up and Peter and the man gapped, mouths open comically at the sight.
“H-How did you-” Because Neal had been tied up, Peter had watched the man restrain Neal after he’d been knocked unconscious and somehow, while having their life threatened they'd escaped the ropes and yet not attempted to swat the gun away, or?
“W-What the fuck-” The man scrambled for the gun he’d dropped but Neal reached it first, picking it up and levelling it at the man in question. Peter let out a yell of protest.
“Neal don’t you dare.” He ordered because Neal wasn’t acting remotely like themself and any other time Peter wouldn’t have thought the con artists would have it in them to shoot someone, but now? Now Peter could almost see Neal pulling the trigger.
“P-Please dude, I was just- just doing as I was paid.” The man held up his hands, voice trembling, tears in his eyes and that, that was an accurate response to a gun pointed at you.
“You held a gun to my head. Only fair I do the same.” Neal smirked and ignored Peter’s protests and shouts to stop and drop the gun and free him. Neal stepped closer as the man tried to stumble backwards, tripping over his feet and falling onto his ass. He was fully sobbing now, ugly hitching sounds falling from him as he babbled and pleaded and...
“Gross.” Neal scoffed and made quick work of flicking on the safety, pulling out the mag and dropping the disarmed gun beside the man’s head. The stench of urine flooded the place and Neal turned, disgusted, as the man continued to sob, curl in on himself, jeans damp from where he’d pissed himself.
When Neal turned back to Peter it was like looking at a different human.
Back was the artist, the con man, the criminal.
“Let’s get you free, Peter.” Neal smiled, all smooth grins and less intimidating frame, hunched on themselves to appear smaller. Their fingers fumbled with the knots a good handful of times, showing apparently no skill for freeing themselves from bonds even though they’d exhibited ease with the situation earlier.
“Sorry. Are you okay?” Neal asked as Peter rubbed at chafed wrists. “I’m not good with knots.” Neal admitted bashfully and Peter could only stare in confusion. This was Neal. He could tell and yet... The human who aimed a gun at their kidnapper, who disarmed a handgun with practised ease and slipped their bonds too quickly, who’d stared death in the face, literally, without a trace of fear, to the point of edging his attacker on? That hadn’t been Neal, it was someone darker, scarier and Peter was afraid. He was afraid to find out what Neal was hiding below cheeky smiles and pressed suits.
“Neal…” Peter started, because how could he ask all the questions he had?
“Yeah?” Neal asked, without much concern, as they sidestepped the sobbing man. Peter paused to cuff the man's hands behind his back but considering he didn’t remotely fight and only continued to sob and beg, it wasn’t difficult. When he was done, he found Neal waiting, leaning against the doorway to the warehouse, a lit cigarette between their lips. Neal didn’t smoke. Not beyond the occasional ruse to smuggle information in.
The moment was broken though, by several FBI bursting in, guns raised. Neal’s face morphed into terror, cigarette discreetly dropped, as their face paled and their eyes were frantic as they raised their hands.
“T-Thank God.” They wobbled their bottom lip and radiated terror and relief and Peter didn’t understand. Neal was pretending to be scared shitless.
“P-Peter saved us.” They whined out, pitifully, to one of the nearest agents who’d gone to check them over. Peter blinked and found himself nodding to Neal’s lie because nobody was going to believe him after this Oscar Worthy performance.
And when Diana gave Neal a tentative hug, Peter shuddered at the feral smirk Neal shot him over her shoulder.
Peter was genuinely scared. He’d stared into the heart of an abyss and now, the demon lurking beneath the surface was after him…
Neal only smirked, teeth on display, darkness dancing in their shadow as the last traces of cigarette smoke circling above him until it vanished from the air.
Neal couldn't be human.
