Sight(less), White Collar, G,
Oct. 18th, 2010 06:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronicasleepsTitle:Sight(less)
Prompt:Paint
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
veronicasleeps
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter/Elizabeth
Word count: 300
Warnings/Spoilers: Hurt!Neal (no mortal danger, though.)
Summary: Neal is hurt on the job. This is what happens after.
Notes: Feedback appreciated. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whitecollar100
+
It’s hard, walking around and not knowing whether he’ll ever see again, and it’s harder still, when the people around him, the people from the Marshal's office and the employees of the hospital, forget that he’s blind and not deaf.
“Look at him.” they whisper. “They’ll have to send him back to prison now, he’s useless like this.”
The first time he hears it, he feels as if for a second his heart stops beating.
+
After a week, Peter comes to get him, but instead of June’s place, he brings Neal to his own house and leads him inside carefully, a hand on the small of his back and soft words guiding him through the door and to the sofa.
Then Elizabeth is there, and she coaxes him into laughing a little, and there’s wine and conversation and it’s almost as if everything's going to be alright.
But inside, he’s still cold, and he can still hear their voices sneering behind his back.
“Useless,” they whisper, “back to prison.”
+
When he gets home the next day, it feels like he takes an hour on the stairway, and he’s exhausted when he’s finally in his apartment.
He stumbles through the room, not at all remembering what half the things are that he runs into, and he can feel the bruises already forming.
To the dull ache in his knees and legs, there is a similar one in his chest.
He kicks something over and swears, because the metallic clunk the object makes is fucking loud.
Then the snick-snick-snick of thick paint running out of its tin fills the room, useless, it whispers, and he steps right into the forming puddle.
Instead of avoiding it, he kneels down, pushes his hand into the slick mass and wishes he knew what color it has.
+
Prompt:Paint
Author:
veronicasleeps Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter/Elizabeth
Word count: 300
Warnings/Spoilers: Hurt!Neal (no mortal danger, though.)
Summary: Neal is hurt on the job. This is what happens after.
Notes: Feedback appreciated. Written for
whitecollar100 +
It’s hard, walking around and not knowing whether he’ll ever see again, and it’s harder still, when the people around him, the people from the Marshal's office and the employees of the hospital, forget that he’s blind and not deaf.
“Look at him.” they whisper. “They’ll have to send him back to prison now, he’s useless like this.”
The first time he hears it, he feels as if for a second his heart stops beating.
+
After a week, Peter comes to get him, but instead of June’s place, he brings Neal to his own house and leads him inside carefully, a hand on the small of his back and soft words guiding him through the door and to the sofa.
Then Elizabeth is there, and she coaxes him into laughing a little, and there’s wine and conversation and it’s almost as if everything's going to be alright.
But inside, he’s still cold, and he can still hear their voices sneering behind his back.
“Useless,” they whisper, “back to prison.”
+
When he gets home the next day, it feels like he takes an hour on the stairway, and he’s exhausted when he’s finally in his apartment.
He stumbles through the room, not at all remembering what half the things are that he runs into, and he can feel the bruises already forming.
To the dull ache in his knees and legs, there is a similar one in his chest.
He kicks something over and swears, because the metallic clunk the object makes is fucking loud.
Then the snick-snick-snick of thick paint running out of its tin fills the room, useless, it whispers, and he steps right into the forming puddle.
Instead of avoiding it, he kneels down, pushes his hand into the slick mass and wishes he knew what color it has.
+
no subject
Date: 2013-03-11 02:31 am (UTC)But this only the hurt.
Where's the comfort?