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Peter raised his hand to knock on Neal’s door, but paused as he heard multiple voices inside. He strained to hear what was going on, but he couldn’t make out any of the words.
He hesitated. Peter had only wanted to check in on Neal after their frankly concerning run in with one of the most notorious crime lords on the Eastern Seaboard. But if Neal had company… well, Peter had been trying to be better about “boundaries”. It would be pretty rude to barge in, and Neal would probably assume Peter didn’t trust him, which he definitely did (at least mostly).
Peter’s thoughts were suddenly cut off by a yell from inside the apartment, and Peter stopped deliberating. He fumbled for his key and let himself in in a hurry.
He had been expecting the worst, and yet nothing could have prepared Peter for the utterly baffling display he was met with upon crossing the threshold.
In the middle of the room, on what was normally Neal’s dining table, lay a prone man. From the waist down he appeared to be wearing some kind of dark tactical gear. His torso was bare, and absolutely wrecked with scars (old and new), as well as bruises, cuts, and one nasty looking slice that stretched the length of his side that looked very fresh. He also had an honest-to-God IV hooked up to his arm, as though he was in an actual medical centre and not a former conman’s apartment.
Above the man stood Neal, but it wasn’t quite the Neal that Peter was used to seeing. He wasn’t dishevelled per say, at least not by normal standards, but he certainly wasn’t the perfectly composed man Peter had come to know either. Not only was he wearing regular, very casual clothes, but his hands were clothes, and he held a needle as though he was about to sew something―or someone― up.
“Neal, what’s going on?” Peter stuttered out.
Neal looked at him, his signature smile there for a moment before disappearing. He seemed to contemplate something for half a second before shaking his head.
“Fuck it,” he sighed. “This is really not a good time Peter. I can’t deal with you right now.” Neal’s tone was firm and just slightly dismissive in a way that it had never been before. He took a breath and then looked down at his patient. “Brace yourself, Jay.”
Peter really didn’t know what to do, so he just stood in the doorway frozen, and watched as Neal expertly stitched up a badly injured man with the same amount of effort he used when appraising a mediocre forgery― which is to say, not much effort at all.
This man was Neal, but also very obviously not. Logically, Peter knew that medical skills could have been something he’d picked up in his (alleged) thief days, yet something told him that wasn’t the case. His gut told him that this was a glimpse at the real Neal Caffrey. Or, rather, at the man behind Neal Caffrey. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
In a frankly astonishingly short amount of time, Neal was done, and the patient was beginning to sit up. Peter was suddenly struck by the fact that he’d been so focused on Neal’s strange behaviour that he had almost forgotten to think about the mystery man.
“Goddammit Jay,” Neal scolded as he helped bandage up the man, “I can’t believe you weren’t going to let me stitch you up. This was a nasty one.”
“Oh calm down dickhead,” the man bit back, though it seemed to lack any real heat. “Like you haven’t stitched yourself up after worse.”
“Sure, but the key difference is that you didn’t have to! Besides, I know you don’t have a safehouse nearby, so what exactly was the plan? Trail blood across the city until you inevitably pass out?”
The man on the table glared at Neal as he started to stand.
“You’d better not be leaving. We both know you’ll just tear out the beautiful stitches I just worked so hard on.”
The man scoffed.
Neal’s expression softened. “Please Jay, just stay the night. I won’t even force you to talk to me or anything.”
“Fine, asshole,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “But I’m taking the bed, what with my ‘nasty injury’ and all.”
With that he rose and confidently (if somewhat carefully) made his way over to Neal’s room.
Neal just rolled his eyes and gestured for Peter to follow him into the kitchen. As he moved, he picked up a bundle of bloody clothes and tucked them into a closet beside a red motorcycle helmet.
“Neal…” Peter was at a loss for words.
“I know Peter, you just―just give me a second,” Neal said as he moved to discard his gloves and carefully wash his hands.
Neal ran his clean hands through his hair, and when he made eye contact with Peter, Peter couldn’t help but wonder who he was about to meet.
“You weren’t supposed to see any of that,” Neal began, his words carefully chosen, yet duly firm. “But you did, and I don’t like lying to you any more than I have to.”
He paused. Took a breath.
“So that was my brother,” Neal offered, and Peter just about malfunctioned right then and there. “He was on a mission, semi-undercover, and this apartment is technically the closed safe house.”
“Safe house?” Peter questioned, unable to process anything else.
“JLA sanctioned, high emergency level. This wasn’t quite that bad, but I tend to value my family’s well-being over procedure.”
That…was a lot to unpack. But Peter had had enough standing around gaping and letting everything wash over him for one night. And despite Neal’s constant teasing, Peter was a highly trained FBI agent, and a good one at that. So he absolutely caught that Neal had just name dropped the goddamn Justice League in the most nonchalant way possible. And given the armour that his brother had been wearing…
“Who is your brother, exactly?”
Neal’s lip twitched a little, not quite into his usual smile, but something faintly amused.
“Close, Peter, but the question you should be asking is who I am,” Neal smirked for a moment, then grew serious once again. “I know you always thought that Neal Caffrey might be an alias. You were right. He was never supposed to be more than a way to acquire dangerous artifacts easily. But then there were extenuating circumstances, and the JLA needed someone inside the FBI. I’ve been undercover as Neal Caffrey, working to determine whether the FBI has been infiltrated by an enemy force.”
Peter’s brain was going a mile a minute trying to keep up with this conversation. He hadn’t been expecting this for all of his suspicions about Neal. And Peter wasn’t dumb, but he really didn’t want to think about what it meant that Neal worked for the JLA, that his brother was clearly also connected to them.
“I can’t really tell you more than that,” Neal continued apologetically,” But I do think of you as a friend. And my mission isn't supposed to be over yet, so I don’t have to leave if you’ll still have me. I―I know this might be a lot.”
“Of course, Neal,” Peter confirmed. Neal winced almost imperceptibly at the name, but Peter figured that that was a question for another day. “Of course you can stay. I won’t blow your cover. It’s probably the least I can do considering I just blundered my way into interrupting an operation that I’m sure is above my clearance.” And wasn’t that a weird thought, of Neal having clearance that was, quite literally, miles above Peter’s own.
“Thanks, Peter,” Neal said, tension visibly leaving his body despite Peter not having recognized that he was tense to begin with. “We can talk more later, if you need, but tonight has been a lot. I should probably go check on Jay, and trust me, you do not want to hang around for that argument.”
Neal smiled, and it wasn’t a certified Caffrey Smile, but it felt realer.
“Yeah, sounds good. I―I’ll see you in the morning?”
“See you then.”
So Peter left, with less answers than he would have liked, and certainly more off-balance than he’d ever been before. But Neal would be Neal, and if his clearance was off-planet high then Peter would do his best to follow his lead.
It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he suddenly remembered the gear that Neal had tucked away. The red and black gear, placed carefully beside a red helmet that Peter had assumed was for a motorcycle. A motorcycle that Neal did not own. And a helmet that was a little too familiar.
Just what exactly had Neal dragged him into?