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Peter was first through the door into the cell, after Neal had been missing for four days. Neal was there, alive. He was shirtless, chained to a wall. His wrists were burned, it looked like the cuffs had been welded shut while they were on him.
There were big noise canceling headphones over his ears, and he was blindfolded. His head was hanging, his body limp, legs out in front of him.
Peter ran to him, crouched beside him, tried to take the headphones off. Neal woke immediately, jerked away, yelping hoarsely.
"Neal, it's me!" Peter called, trying to be heard through the headphones but not scare Neal. Neal didn't seem to hear.
Peter tried again, louder. Neal flinched against the wall, whimpering, body tense and terrified.
Peter tried gripping Neal's hand, holding it between both of his own. Neal turned his head away, shaking. But then his hand relaxed slightly.
He croaked, "...Peter?"
Peter squeezed Neal's hand.
Neal finally let Peter pull the headphones off, still flinching away.
"Neal?" asked Peter, gently, "I'm right here."
Neal sobbed in relief, "Peter…how long…?"
"Four days."
Neal nodded, weakly, "felt like longer.."
Peter reached behind Neal's head and unfastened the blindfold. Neal gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, turning his head to hide his face in his arm as even the dim light in the cell hurt.
"It's okay" said Peter, quickly, "take your time."
Neal nodded into his arm, but every time he tried to stop shielding his closed eyes, he flinched and put his face back in his arm.
"Can you…put it back on," grunted Neal, squirming in discomfort, "the blindfold?"
Peter heard footsteps coming, and yelled out the door, "Diana, get the fire department!"
Neal jerked away, pressing his right ear to the wall and bringing his shoulder up to his left, curling as much around his head as he could.
"Sorry," whispered Peter.
Neal nodded a tiny bit, but kept shielding his eyes and ears.
Peter refused to put the dirty, sweaty blindfold back on. He took off his tie, and gently nudged Neal until the younger man let him tie the smooth fabric against his face.
Neal let his head hang again, tiredly, in relief. Peter cupped Neal's face in his hands, and kissed his forehead, whispering, "everything is gonna be okay now."
Peter had to put the headphones back on Neal when the fire department came to cut him free from the metal cuffs, the saw screaming next to his sensitized ears. Neal was still twisting away from the sound.
The moment one arm was free, it flopped down, Neal crying out in pain and surprise. Peter put his hand under the other arm, so that when that cuff was released Peter could lower it slowly, gingerly. Neal still whimpered, putting his head back.
The firefighters and medics tried to get a stretcher down to the cell, but it didn't fit through.
Peter gently lifted one of the cups of the headphones, and whispered to Neal, "hey, bud. Do you think you can walk?"
Neal made a face under the tie, "I'm not hurt. I was just locked up."
Burns, frozen shoulders, the inability to open his eyes in any light at all…not hurt, Peter's ass.
"Okay. Do you want me to take these off? The sawing is over."
Neal nodded. Peter removed the headphones.
Neal started trying to get up. He sat up off the wall, and got onto his knees. Peter quickly put an arm around Neal's back, supportively. Neal managed to stand, shakily, leaning against Peter's chest a little bit.
Peter started to escort Neal out. They got out of the cell, and down the hall. Neal seemed to be getting a little faint, but it was hard to tell since he also couldn't see where he was going.
They got back up into the convenience store that was over the entrance. There were police and agents and medics there in addition to the firefighters following them. Neal suddenly turned and pressed his ear against Peter's chest, raising his hand to try to cover his ear, but unable to get it quite high enough before he froze in pain.
Peter covered Neal's ear, holding Neal securely against himself. He looked around. There were earplugs hanging with the acetaminophen and male enhancement pills by the checkout. Peter grabbed them, looked at one of the people taking photos, and said as quietly as could still be heard, "I'm commandeering these."
Peter took Neal back into the shelves, and took his hands off Neal briefly to open the package.
"No," said Neal, quickly, breathlessly, leaning harder against Peter, grabbing Peter's shirt.
Peter paused. He put his hand against Neal's cheek, lightly rubbing his thumb against the silk over Neal's temple, "I've got ear plugs. I'm just unwrapping them."
Neal calmed down, but kept his body in contact with Peter's.
Peter gently put a silicone plug into Neal's ear. Neal relaxed, turned his head to let Peter get to the other ear. Then he buried his face in Peter's chest, needing a moment.
Peter rubbed his back, and said at a low volume and tone, so it rumbled through himself and Neal, "take your time. I've got you."
Neal nodded into Peter's shirt. He shivered a little, still bare from the waist up.
Jones jogged up to them. He softened his steps as he got close, holding a ratty t-shirt emblazoned with the words, "I survived fleet week and all I got was crabs."
Peter raised an eyebrow at him.
Jones shrugged, "trust me, it is actually funny. But also I had it in my gym bag and he needs a shirt."
Neal turned his head towards Jones, hearing conversation.
Jones came over, and took Neal's hand, gently pushing the shirt into it. Neal frowned, withdrawing, "who…"
Jones gently pulled Neal away from Peter, into a one armed hug, casual but careful around his shoulders. Neal relaxed, recognizing the familiar arm and gesture, "Jones."
Jones patted Neal's arm, and pushed the shirt further against Neal's bare chest. Neal put it on, painfully. After that Jones and Peter escorted him out of the store. Peter kept an arm around his back, Jones walked a little bit ahead of them and reached back to put a hand on Neal’s chest to get him to stop as they approached the steps down to street level.
Jones took Neal's hand, lightly, putting it on the downwards sloping railing. Neal understood, and carefully felt his way down to the sidewalk with his foot. Jones and Peter held onto him, making sure he would be okay even if he did fall.
When they got outside, Diana joined them, ”okay, the ambulance is there, my car is right here. Is he going with the medics, are we taking him to the hospital?"
Neal shrunk back against Peter and Jones at another voice.
"It's Diana," said Jones loudly.
Neal visibly relaxed. Peter took Neal's hand and drew letters into his palm, 'h-o-s-p-i-t-a-l?'
Neal made a face, "I told you, I'm not hurt. I want to sit in the dark listening to an audiobook on very low volume while I soak everything that's sore in my bathtub and eat a metric ton of pasta. Can someone please take me home so I can do that?"
Diana gripped Neal's hand, and squeezed once in affirmation. She gently tugged him forward. He shuffled to her car and she put him inside it, helping him find the seat and then doing the seatbelt because his shoulders wouldn't let him.
Peter and Jones got in the back seat. Diana pulled away from the curb. Neal leaned his head down and forward so he could adjust the tie, wincing as light shone on him from the sun and glare off cars and buildings.
Jones also took off his tie, and leaned forward to help Neal tie it on as well for more coverage.
Neal held onto the door, and the center console, as he rode around with no external input. Jones reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder. Peter reached diagonally to grip the hand that was holding on to the console. Neal relaxed, just a little bit.
They arrived at Neal's home. Jones, Peter and Neal got out, Diana left to handle the paperwork until Peter could come back.
Peter carefully steered Neal to the steps, and put Neal's hand on the rail. Neal started up the steps. He did get all the way to the top of the flight in front of the house. However, his chest was heaving, he was staggering, and he finally collapsed in Peter's arms in a dead faint the moment he was on level ground.
Peter caught him, and sat down with Neal across his lap and against his chest. Jones crouched in front of them, and took Neal's pulse where it was pounding in his neck.
"I think he just passed out."
Jones rubbed Neal's chest, as Peter continued to hold the blindfolded man. Neal moaned, turned his head away from Jones's input.
Then he gasped and sat up, trying to fight his way away from them. Peter and Jones held onto him anyway lest he faceplant on the stone steps. Neal ripped the ties off his face, then yelped, curling up in pain, confusion, and fear, covering his eyes with his hands. Jones finally snagged one of the earplugs, and said quietly to Neal, "Neal, it's okay. You're with Jones and Peter, you're almost home. You just passed out for a minute."
Neal covered his ear with his shoulder, as traffic honked nearby, but finally nodded, starting to calm down. Peter sorted out the ties, and put them back in place, making sure to use the widest parts possible and overlap them well.
Neal finally relaxed, still laying on his side on the stone, hand covering his ear. Jones gave him the ear plug back, he put it in. Peter met Jones's eyes. Jones nodded, and between the two of them they got Neal up, and helped him inside.
They tried to start up the interior steps, but Neal's shoulders were killing him with his arms over their backs, and he was too weak to go on his own.
Peter ended up just scooping him up in his arms. Neal held onto Peter anxiously, his face in Peter's chest.
Peter only made it up one flight of steps before he had to stop, panting, and carefully put Neal down. Jones ended up picking Neal up piggy back, and going up the next flight. They got to the top and Peter let them into Neal's apartment.
They went inside, "where do you want me to put you down?" Asked Jones, loudly enough Neal could hear through the earplugs.
"Bathroom," said Neal, quietly.
Jones carried him there, and Peter helped Neal sit on the closed toilet. Neal took his earplugs out, and sighed cautiously, very quietly.
"Thanks," Neal whispered, "can you turn the lights off and, no offense, leave me alone?"
Peter hesitated, and whispered in response, "you passed out. I'm worried about leaving you entirely alone here."
"Well you're not staying while I bathe, so…"
"What if we called Sara? I'm sure she wants to know you're okay, regardless," said Jones.
Neal relented a little, and managed a chuckle, "well, she has seen me naked before..."
Jones squeezed Neal's arm.
Sara watched Peter and Jones leave, both still pretty worried. She turned and went back to the bathroom, letting herself into the dim room as quietly as possible.
Neal was still sitting on the toilet, in an old t-shirt and very dirty slacks. He had two ties, she couldn't tell the colors, tied around his eyes. She went over to him, kissed him gently. He reciprocated.
"Hi," he whispered, "I think I have to put the ear plugs back in while the tub fills."
Sara got them from the bathroom counter, and handed them to him. He put them in, and slowly felt his way over to his tub, then over to the drain end. He turned the water on, but it was set to be a shower. Neal yelped as the cold water sprayed him and jumped away, but tripped over a mat, his body too stiff and abused to correct in time. Sara caught him, arm around his waist. She kissed his cheek, and squeezed him comfortingly.
She turned him around and took his shirt off, careful of his shoulders. He definitely smelled like he had been in a cell for days.
She took her own shirt off, and then her bra. He kept a hand on her, tracing where she went and what she did. He took off his pants, and so did she. He picked up his pants, and put them on top of a set of cedar storage drawers, so she did the same.
She went to the tub, turning it from the shower to the spigot. Neal followed her, one hand on her hip, the other on her ribs. She leaned down and closed the drain, Neal surprisingly did not take the opportunity to touch her butt, which she took as a sign he wasn't as okay as he was acting.
Sara checked the temperature, and adjusted it to be a little cooler. She turned around. Neal let his hands rest lightly on her upper arms. She noticed second degree burns on his wrists.
After four days of confinement, unable to see or hear, he was a little bit clingy. She made sure she didn't move faster than he could follow, as sore as he was.
She pulled him into the tub, the water around their ankles. She got him to sit down in the bottom and then sat on the side of the tub beside him. She took a washcloth and wet it in the hot water. She slid it across his chest, starting to clean the dirt and grime and sweat off his skin.
Suddenly a single, almost giggly sob bubbled up and out of him. He put his head back, biting his lower lip. She stopped, and turned the tub off, then called loudly, "what's wrong?"
He shook his head, moving his face towards her, "I'm naked, I can barely move, I can't see or hear. But you're here, so somehow I feel safe."
Sara cupped his face and kissed him gently on his chapped lips.