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Peter liked to think he acted with a rational mindset, he could keep calm in situations others panicked and he could assess things without bias except- except there was no other way to interpret this except that his CI was under attack.
“Stop it, no -” Neal hissed through the door and Peter already had his gun in his hand, ready to barge in a moment's notice.
“Stay still, you little shit.” The gruff voice hissed and then a noise that could only be a slap. Peter could draw no other conclusion, Neal needed him now.
“Freeze, FBI!” Peter yelled as he barrelled through the door, gun raised and ready to defend Neal from his attacked except-
“Drop it.” There was a gun levelled straight back at him, and not a handgun. A shotgun barrel held right between his eyes. From this distance a single shot would kill from impact alone.
Behind the man sat Neal who had frozen, frowned and then rolled his eyes.
“It’s okay Slade, that’s Peter.”
The man, Slade, huffed and lowered his shotgun.
“Thought you said he wouldn’t be ‘round today.”
“He wasn’t meant to.” Neal shrugged and Slade deposited the shotgun back on the counter behind him, picking up a pair of dropped scissors.
“Wait- What- What’s going on?” Peter asked, confused, because the man wasn’t attacking Neal? And the name.. Slade ..? Why did it ring a bell-
“Uh? I’m getting my hair cut?” Neal asked, confused at Peter’s question as Slade hummed in agreement and went back to snipping behind Neal’s ear, his CI squirming in the chair.
“Quit wriggling!”
“I can’t help it, it tickles you bastard!” Neal bit back and slapped at Slade’s arm again when it tugged his head side wards. That’s what the noise had been.
“Stop hitting me!” Slade hissed back. “Or I shave all your hair off.”
“I fucking dare you.” Neal snipped and Peter’s frown deepened. Neal didn’t swear. "You'll miss it more than me."
Slade didn't argue. Ha, Neal 1, Slade 0.
Peter had no words, gun dropped by his side, eyes widened. What the fuck was his witnessing. It was only when he turned to take in the surroundings of the room, the familiar mask left on the side and the assortment of guns and knives out on display in easily reachable places did Peter’s brain reboot.
“Neal, why is Deathstroke the Terminator cutting your hair?” Peter asked, surprised how calm and flat his voice came out despite his internal panic. Did Neal know who this man was?
“Uh… because I asked him to?” Neal shrugged as Slade moved Neal’s head back into a sideways position.
“Stop moving your head brat.” He hissed out, otherwise ignoring Peter’s question or confirmation he knew who the man was.
“...And why did you ask a gun for hire, a man on the FBI Most Wanted list no less, to… cut your hair? Couldn’t you have gone to a barbers?” Peter asked hesitantly, finally able to put his gun away, arms moving when he tried, shock wearing away. He kept a close eye on Slade still because even if the only thing in his hands was a pair of scissors, Peter was still sure that was more than enough for the man to kill both of them in 10 seconds flat.
“Because they always cut it too short. Slade can appreciate my hair longer and doesn’t chop so much off.” Neal explained, head on a funny angle while Slade silently kept snipping, glancing back up at Peter every so often with a critical eye.
“Damn right.” Slade chuffed out in his low voice, trimming a little more behind Neal’s ear while the CI tried not to squirm or laugh at the feeling, biting his lip.
Huh, Peter never knew Neal was ticklish.
“What?” Because Peter was so lost, did he need to call this in? Oh god he had to tell someone Deathstroke was here, get Neal somewhere safe- okay he was panicking.
“Peter calm down, c’mon, look at me, we’re fine okay? Slade isn’t going to hurt me and he won’t hurt you, will you Slade?” Neal asked, getting up from the chair to grab Peter’s trembling hands.
“Guess not, ‘long as he doesn’t hurt you.” Slade shrugged, scissors placed on the counter beside the shotgun.
“Deathstroke-” Peter began, “I have to call him in, he’s-”
“Hey, c’mon now Peter, it’s fine, he’s not doing anything wrong, I just asked for him to cut my hair, nothing illegal or murder-y.”
“But-”
“It’s okay. I promise.”
And Neal’s reassuring, calm voice was nice, it felt like he had experience talking people down from panic, it was the voice emergency services had down to a T, the voice people used to reassure victims they were safe now, that they’d get the help they needed. Peter wondered how Neal had such a tone in his voice, so practised and surfacing with ease.
“I can come back later…” Slade offered with a shrug and Neal shot him a look that could only be fond? That… made no sense.
“And leave me looking like this?” Neal scoffed, hair half cut, the other half longer, curling slightly at the ends.
“Are you sure you’re safe?”
“Yeah, Slade won’t hurt me, and he won’t hurt you if you don’t try and attack him.”
“Or Neal.” Slade added.
“Or me.” Neal echoed.
“Okay… Okay. This- This is really not what I was expecting.” Peter breathed out, a little calmer but still in shock about the whole situation, because honestly what the frick? How was Neal so casual about hanging around with a mercenary as a non-violent CI ? “How do you even know Deathstroke?” Peter asked quietly, earning a dark chuckle from Slade.
“He’s my husband.” Slade rumbled out as Neal nodded.
“Yeah, that.” Neal agreed, finally dropping Peter’s hands. Peter’s mind went blank. What?
“Your…husband?” Peter asked, he needed to make sure he’d heard that correctly because what? No thoughts could be processed, Peter was 100% sure his brain had smashed into a brick wall and was now just a puddle of not-working-what?
“Yes. Married. Y’know?” Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You… married Deathstroke the Terminator… he… cuts your hair? I…”
“He roped me into it, the bastard ended up with a buzzcut once and he knows how much I enjoy tangling my fingers in-”
“Slade!” Neal interrupted, flushing red and Peter’s brain hadn’t just crashed, it had exploded.
“Sorry Birdie.” Slade smirked, he wasn’t sorry at all, not one bit.
“I-” Peter still couldn’t words, could someone reboot his brain please?
“You broke my Handler, Slade, goddamnit.” Neal hissed, shooting a glare over his shoulder at Slade who only replied in a smug look.
“Well, it’s his own fault for interrupting us on your day off, pretty bird.”
“Stop flirting with me damnit, this is serious-”
“I… think- I think I’m going to go. This entire thing is a fever dream-” Peter mumbled, blinking slowly as if to reassure himself none of this was real.
“Okay now he’s in shock, great. Thanks a bunch Slade.”
“Still not my fault.” The older man shrugged and picked up the scissors again. “If he’s going, sit down and let me finish your hair, you look ridiculous.”
“I’m… going.” Peter managed to say and turned on his heels to flee without another word.
“Bye Peter?” Neal shouted after him and then turned and shot Slade such a dirty glare.
“You little shit.” Neal hissed and Slade only rolled his eyes.
“I’ll be fine, he’s not going to say anything, not if he knows what’s good for him-”
“Don’t threaten my friend-” Neal interrupted.
“Now sit down and sit still, brat, so I can get this shit done with.”
“Whatever. Hurry up, we’re already behind schedule and if I don’t get at least an hour's worth of cuddles out of you before your next assignment I won’t be responsible for my actions.” Neal huffed, sitting back down in the chair.
“If you say so, Dick .”