#that hug between neal and peter

[megalokiodinsonlove]

How do you think the reunion will happen and how do you want it to happen?

I can picture Peter crying and screaming in rage to Neal for what he did but also all smiley to him after. I want Neal crying with relief and for being alone and feeling guilty for so long, he's very good at keeping a mask on but in the ep he says goodbye to James we could see him break a little. Just give a lot of hugs and tears.

But knowing them, they can easily give us a quick hug and a joke between them.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

I want a White Collar AU with Roy as the handler and Jamie as the con man turned handcuffed consultant because the “subtle” BDSM dynamics are just ungh. Roy is hell of a lot grumpier than Peter, and of course Jamie has none of Neal’s suave slickness but he’s still manages to – to Roy’s great consternation and confusion – pull off so much clever stuff. (“I’m a natural, me,” Jamie explains blithely. “Yeah, a natural idiot,” Roy mutters, but he can’t really argue with the results they inexplicably keep getting.)

Keeley is Elle, because obviously. (Maybe she and Roy are separated because Roy’s issues? He wants to protect her from hos his own darkness, and also all the bad guys wanting revenge for Roy putting them away. She’s pissed off about it, but still cares about him a great deal so they’re trying for “amicable” – and she can see what a surprisingly good influence young pup Jamie seems to be on him. Or maybe they are NOT separated and she keeps inviting Jamie to dinner with her and Roy and Roy’s like “Keeley, he’s a felon and I only put up with having to boss him around because he can help me catch even worse guys, he’s not someone we want to chat with over cheese and fucking wine”, yet somehow they still end up chatting over cheese and fucking wine.) Eventually there’s a threesome as there would have been in the actual show if the world weren’t out to disappoint me personally.

The ugly, ugly boy conversation still happens.

James Tartt being an out-and-out career criminal. His scorn having spurred Jamie to do more and more shit, until he thinks fucks this, and offers Roy his services. James suddenly showing up, on the run, and Jamie having to deal with that, torn between the old loyalty to and fear of his dad, and his tentative friendship with and respect for Roy. It all comes crashing down much as it did at Wembley, Jamie throwing a punch and Roy hugging him while he cries.

Handcuffs.

I think it would be neat, yeah?

[crimsonbreeze]

I need to talk about Kate Moreau

Because I have never seen any character be given such importance only to end up being so under utilized. The lack of explanation to the mystery that was Kate just left me feeling cheated. I wanted to know this character. I needed to know this character. Even just a little bit. I got..well, next to nothing.

(Spoilers for the whole series ahead so new viewers read at your own risk.)

Kate is the driving force for all of Neal's actions for the entirety of the first two season and yet throughout all of this, she remains nothing more than a plot device. There isn't any one scene in the show where we ever get to see anything from Kate's perspective. We only ever see Kate from other people's POV or we hear other people talk about her, see how they feel about her and how she influenced some aspects of their lives but never see how other people influenced her or how she felt about them. Maybe this was just me but I just kept on waiting for a scene or an episode where her actions would be explained and we would get to see exactly why did everything she did. I kept feeling like it was coming but it just never happened. All we ever got was a quick minute of Adler confirming that Kate really had been on Neal's side all along but the plan went somewhat sideways and so he killed her. It just didn't have the impact that it should have and it was made so much worse by the fact that Neal seems to kind of just gets over it after he gets this answer and then is just entirely focused on the treasure in the next season. The lack of insight into Kate leaves the storyline feeling incomplete despite having spanned two entire seasons.

There's just so much wasted potential. I particularly would have loved to see the dynamic between Kate and Peter had she lived. Kate and Peter were sort of pulling Neal in two different directions and it would have been so interesting to see them interact some more. Peter clearly didn't trust her but it also heavily seemed like he just didn't like her. Same goes for everyone else too, honestly. So did they just dislike/distrust Kate as a person or was it just because they didn't like how much Neal loved her? Pretty much everyone was telling Neal that Kate was playing him by the end of the season to the point where he truly begins to doubt her. I needed the aftermath of that and I never got it. I wanted to see Neal be angry at himself for doubting her when all she wanted was to run away with him. I also really wanted some kind of confrontation between Neal and Peter where Neal's guilt kicks into overdrive and he lashed out at Peter and blamed him for making Neal question Kate and for Peter never giving her a chance (because seriously Peter vilifies her from the get go). Even as a plot device she's under utilized.

The scene in season 5 when Neal is running to Rebecca triggered something for me (cause that hug they had was the hug I had been waiting for between Neal and Kate that I never got) I couldn't stop thinking about it especially after learning that Rebecca had all that intel on Neal's old girlfriends. For some reason, I can't help thinking the person she she was emulating the most was Kate. I don't know why but the feeling wouldn't go away cause even though we knew pretty much nothing about her, it was what I had been imaging Kate to be like the whole time. So I wound up going back and rewatching all of the scenes that Kate is in or mentioned cause I needed to get to know this character and I thought rewatching the scenes and focusing on her would help. But no.

Kate has no personality. We never get to understand her motivations or emotions before she's just very suddenly killed. Which I could accept if we got even a little bit more insight into her character but even though they spent an entire season with Neal trying to figure out who killed her and why, her death still doesn't feel like it got the attention that it should have because we never get to see Neal grieve. I wanted to see him missing her, thinking about her, maybe wanting to talk about her but struggling with it. I wanted more flashbacks even if it was just him seeing her face for a split second or remembering her laugh. Literally anything that would have given us some sense of what she was like as a person.

At first, I kind of blamed it on bad acting by Alexandra Daddario but after watching the scenes a few more times, I think it has more to do with just bad writing and I think she actually did a pretty good job in the flashback episode. The bones of the story are so good but it's just not enough so it leaves the entire storyline feeling hollow. I feel like they just couldn't decide if they actually wanted Kate to be good or bad so they just told the actress to be mysterious which lead to her not really being able to show a lot of emotion. We see a lot more emotion at least in the flashback episode from Kate and get a small sense of what she might be like but again, it's ALL from Neal's pov. Same thing when she has that meeting with Peter. it's all from Peter's perspective and we see it as him retelling what happened in that meeting to Neal and Kate is skewed by his perception of her ( i looked into her eyes and I didn't see concern for you). The only time I remember see kate's feelings or reactions to something is for a few seconds in 1x06 when she's on the phone with Neal where she smiles when she says hi to him and then the five seconds of focus we get on her when Neal tells her he's not telling her where he hid all the things he stole.

Kate feels like a puzzle where we've been given a lot of the pieces but I can't get them to fit together. We never see her emotions or hear about her feelings but we get snippets of the kind of person she is. The easy and obvious stuff is that she's beautiful and into art. On a less obvious scale, it's implied that she's very smart. Based on the flashback, she spent somewhere between 1-2 years just avoiding Neal and hiding from him and Mozzie while working (most likely solo?) as a con artist and a fence. How was she managing that? She wasn't a conwoman before Adler took off with her life saving so obviously, she picked up on things quick for her to be able to pull off hiding from Neal for as long as she did. She knew immediately when Neal tried to con her and she called him out on it. Was she working a legit job and fencing on the side? How was she affording to be moving around from place to place every week? What was her living situation like? Did she have family other than her dead father (we never got to see what clue she had left there for Neal, only the flower from Alex instead)? How did she feel about the fact that she was the reason Neal eventually got caught the first time? Did she feel guilty? Did she blame herself for him being in jail? How did she feel when she found out he broke out with only 3 months left on his sentence just for her? How did she feel about him working with the FBI? How did she feel about Peter? He used her as bait to catch Neal and then years later basically threatened her to keep away from him. Did she think he was using Neal or did she believe him when he told her he was Neal's friend?

She seems to be scared for Neal's safety but she was bold enough to make a deal with Fowler and later go above him to make a deal with Adler to let them both go once he got the music box and to point a gun at Peter (even though they make it pretty obvious she didn't have it in her to actually pull the trigger, you can kinda see her hand shaking as she points the gun and Peter doesn't even flinch cause he knows she won't do it which is the only unbiased thing about kate we get from that scene). What was going through her head during all this? Was she scared? Was she angry? Desperate and just throwing a hail Mary? Why was she in contact with Adler when even Fowler wasn't? Did he contact her when he learned Fowler had roped her into his mission to get the music box? Was Adler upset about Kate getting involved? She seems to stay calm under pressure, she's funny and charming and friendly from what we get from the flash back episode that gives her a certain gentleness that contradicts what most characters kept saying about her to Neal in the first season. The later seasons paint her more and more as a victim and an all around good person. Her leaving the painting for Neal in season 3 when she could have taken it, Neal using the word innocence to describe her in season 5, Keller telling Neal that Kate was dead the moment Neal laid eyes on her making it seem once again that despite his love for her, Neal was the worst thing that ever happened to Kate...

Again, so much wasted potential. I feel like we could have had such a great, nuanced female character in Kate and we were robbed of that cause the writers decided they wanted to move on from the Kate storyline without ever actually giving us her side of the story. Don't get me wrong, I loved the mystery and the intrigue it created but the mystery needed to be at least somewhat unraveled at the end and what we got just wasn't enough.

Anyways... this disappointment has lead to me creating an entire personality and backstory for Kate in my head based off the very little we do see of her. I think she had the potential to be an amazing character and also, I just wanted to see more of the couple. My obsessive rewatching of those scenes led me to me fall in love with the Neal/Kate ship in all it's tragic glory. Causes the one thing the show did make very clear to me was that these two loved each other more than anyone and I think they were perfect for each other. I still would have loved to get to know Kate a little bit more but I also get the sense that maybe the writers couldn't figure out a backstory for ther that made her so special for Neal. Seriously what is it that could make Neal Caffrey fall that hard? I can make do with my head canons but it just sucks seeing the groundwork and realizing how great the character and the ship could have been.

[bluebellsinburbank]

✊🏽 Protecting

Even now, after everything, Peter didn't use words so much. Peter was subtle. Too subtle sometimes even for Neal to notice. But he did, because Peter might not talk about the way he felt, but he showed it.

It was in the way Peter acted - not around Neal exactly, but around the people around Neal. A shift from easy to alert, from acting like it was just the two of them, to acting as if it were the two of them against the whole world.

The first times Peter had done it, Neal didn't pay much attention. He was far too preoccupied. Neal remembered it now though; the way Peter had immediately stepped in front of Neal, reached his arm out, curled his fingers around Neal's wrist. Never in ways that restrained him or excluded him, rather ways that warmed him even if he didn't know why at the time.

Peter had made himself Neal's shield.

Wherever they went, whether proving he wasn't dead or - eventually - back on cases with the team, Peter put himself between Neal and the world. Between Neal and Diana's incandescent grief-stricken fury, Jones's quieter but no less intense grief.

Peter never stopped them from coming closer - not the few Neal considered family - but he made it clear who's side he was on. He let them yell and cry and even send Neal away until they were ready to acknowledge what he'd done, but he'd never once let Neal think that he was alone.

In retrospect, it was so painfully obvious; a truth Neal should never have forgotten.

Peter stood in front of him, shoulders tense and gun drawn; the only thing between Neal and a criminal who really didn't appreciate Neal waltzing in and announcing all the reasons his supposed lost masterpiece was really an awful forgery.

The criminal wasn't even all that dangerous, just a little skittish and quick on the draw. Their team would be there in moments. But Peter hadn't even hesitated, throwing Neal behind him, standing tall and shielding Neal from view.

And Neal understood. He stayed exactly where Peter had put him, one hand curled into the back of Peter's jacket.

It didn't matter that Jones and Diana were already there, already securing the criminal and reading him his rights. Peter needed to do this. And Neal needed it too.

Peter had been protecting him all this time. Protecting him from the worst of the fallout from his betrayal of them all, protecting him from random criminals, protecting him from the crushing weight of his own guilt ridden loneliness.

Perhaps part of it was Peter making up for the one time he couldn't protect Neal - the time Peter still couldn't forgive himself for, lie though it was. But the truth of it was this was who Peter was. Peter was a father; a protector through and through. And, from the minute he had decided Neal was worthy of his love, that had become his self-appointed place. Standing between Neal and any-and-everything that might hurt him.

Because Peter loved Neal like he was his own, and he showed it every day by protecting him.

He'd done it before Neal had faked his death and he'd undoubtedly still be doing it when Neal was old and grey and hiding from other residents in the care home because they knew Neal had stolen their pudding.

And so, Neal stayed put, waiting until Peter had decided it was safe. Then, he pulled Peter into a hug, smiling into his shoulder. "Thank you."

For protecting me, for loving me.

Peter's held him tight, maybe not knowing exactly what Neal was thanking him for but inherently understanding just the same. "Always."

[gean-grey-blog]

I was only a bit of format editing away from posting part 1 of a new White Collar fic. Since AO3 is down I figured I would finish the editing and post it here. I know I need my fic fix 😂

Fevers and Family

Rated G

Neal contracts scarlet fever

Peter looked at his watch, sighed, and checked his phone. Neal should have been down here by now, but he was nowhere to be seen. Peter gave up and knocked on the door. June answered, in a purple sweater and black pencil skirt. There were people milling around on her first floor. 

“Sorry to intrude, Neal isn’t answering.”

June beamed at him, “You aren’t intruding. Come in, Peter. Let’s go see what Mr. Caffrey is up to.”

She walked up the steps with him, telling him about her champagne brunch book club and clearly indicating she would be happy for Elizabeth to join. 

They stopped at Neal’s door, it was hanging a few inches open. June and Peter looked at each other, wary and concerned. Peter gently moved himself between June and the rest of the apartment, and entered. It was immediately clear, however, that there was no threat. 

There was a cocoon of blankets on the couch with Neal’s face sticking out, eyes closed, pale overall and flushed in the cheeks. His table was littered with tissues and empty delivery food containers. 

Peter looked at June, “how about you enjoy your party, and I take care of the patient.”

She laughed, and patted his arm, “let me know if he needs anything, even just company.”

Peter nodded, “I will. Thank you for looking out for him.”

Peter approached the couch, and sat on the arm. He reached down, and gently wiggled his hand into Neal’s blankets enough to rub the younger man’s shoulder, “hey bud.”

Neal snaked a hand out the gap around his face to rub the crust out of his eyes. He looked up blearily at Peter, cleared his throat, and croaked almost inaudibly, “Peter?”

Peter nodded, and squeezed Neal’s shoulder under the pile of blankets, “No wonder you didn’t answer my text. You’re a little under the weather, eh?”

Neal nodded, and coughed. He sat up, and reached out for a cup on the table, but it was empty except for a trickle of water. Peter took it and went to the kitchen, filling it from the sink. He returned to Neal, and sat beside the younger man. 

Neal drank from the glass, carefully, pain on his fevered face. 

“Sore throat?”

Neal nodded again. He finished most of the cup, put it down, and thumped against Peter, exhausted. 

“Can I run to the store and get you some cough drops and medicine? Anything else you need?”

Neal swallowed hard, and whispered, his voice very hoarse, “something cold?”

Peter nodded, “sure. Ice cream, popsicles?”

Neal shrugged, noncommittal. Or possibly it just hurt him too much to answer. 

Peter brushed the backs of his fingers against Neal’s warm cheek and forehead, “hang in there, cowboy.”

Neal smiled tiredly, and pushed out a hardly understandable, “trying.”

Peter gave Neal a loose hug around the shoulders, and then got up and headed to the store. 

T

Peter let himself in after shopping for his invalid convict. He turned to face the couch, and his heart squeezed. Neal was lying there, pale, hair in his face, suppressing wave after wave of coughing with his hand pressed hard over his mouth. 

Peter came and knelt beside the couch, rubbing Neal's chest. There were tears in Neal's eyes by the time his body stopped trying to bring up a lung. 

Peter stroked Neal's forehead with his palm and thumb. Neal closed his eyes, miserable and in pain. Peter got some things out of his shopping bag. Neal had thrown off the covers, he had sweated through the undershirt and gym shorts he was wearing. 

"Here, Neal."

Neal opened his eyes. Peter offered him a fruit juice popsicle. Neal blinked at him in a haze of fatigue, then sat up and took it. Peter sat down beside him on the couch, wrapped his arm around Neal's damp back. The younger man radiated heat and smelled like sweat.

Neal slowly bit a piece of the popsicle, and held it in his mouth, letting the cold trickle into his sore throat. He shivered suddenly, then turned to pull the blankets back around himself, holding the frozen juice away.

“Can I take you to the doctor, Neal?” asked Peter, taking the popsicle and putting it in the empty water glass.

Neal shook his head, vehemently.

“How about a warm shower?” tried Peter, offering Neal a cough drop. 

Neal turned to look at him, fingers a little shaky as he unwrapped the drop, and popped it in his mouth.  

“The steam will help your throat, and help clear your lungs out. It’ll warm you up, too," Peter explained.

Neal finally nodded. He got up, unsteadily. Peter jumped to his feet as well, and put his hands on Neal’s back and arm as Neal shuffled to the bathroom. Neal leaned against the doorway, gazing at Peter. 

“Got–” Neal tried to say something, but his voice caught in a croak and he didn’t try again, his face pinched with pain. 

Peter offered Neal his phone. Neal took it and typed, giving a bit of a grin, ‘got it from here. I’ll yell if I need anything.’

Peter laughed. Neal handed the phone back and went into the bathroom. Peter went to get the rest of his purchases set up for Neal.

Twenty minutes later he realized he had never heard the shower turn on. He went to the bathroom door and knocked. There was no answer. Still no shower, either.

He frowned and cautiously opened the door a crack, "throw something if you don't want me to come in."

Nothing was thrown his way, so he opened the door a little further.

Neal was immediately visible, wearing just his boxers and anklet. He was on the floor, seated with his legs folded and his upper body wedged between the toilet and the wall. His arm was across the hinge of the closed lid, his face rested on his folded shirt. His shorts were on the floor in front of his knees, not yet folded. 

Peter entered the bathroom, and knelt beside his friend. Gently, he pulled Neal's shoulders, until he was free of the crevice he had slumped into. Peter held him around the back, Neal's head coming to rest on Peter's shoulder.

"Neal, hey, morning sunshine."

Peter went to rub Neal's chest, and found a bright red rash across it, into his armpits. Maybe from sweat?

Peter shook Neal instead, "hey bud, can you wake up for me?"

Neal's eyelids finally fluttered open, though they closed again just as fast. 

Peter gave him another gentle shake. Neal was so warm in Peter's arms.

Neal opened his eyes and blinked up at Peter in confusion. He lifted his head and looked around. He closed his eyes again, but this time from embarrassment.

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're awake. Can I bring you some acetaminophen, get that fever down some maybe? I'm getting kinda worried here."

Neal nodded, and sat up apart from Peter's support with an effort.

Peter left to get medicine, water, sweatpants, and a robe. When he came back in, Neal had curled up on the bath mat, clutching a larger towel over himself as a blanket, and shivering.

Neal pushed himself up, moving without any strength. Peter held the robe open, Neal shakily put his right arm through it. He stopped, panting, leaning forward. Peter physically put Neal the rest of the way into the robe, holding him up and moving his arm and pulling on the fabric.

Peter gave up on the pants for the time being, as Neal had to rest against Peter's chest, coughing, trying to recover. Finally Neal sat up again, shivering.

Peter rubbed his arm supportively while Neal took the meds and drank a few painful swallows of water. Neal started to try and get up. 

Peter hurried to his feet and helped Neal stand. Neal was so shaky and dizzy that it was all he could do to stay upright, leaning against Peter, his hands clinging to Peter's sleeve and the back of his shirt. 

Gently, Peter moved Neal towards the door, but Neal's knees seemed likely to just give way. Neal started coughing, gasping between harsh barks, until his body decided enough was enough and he collapsed in Peter's arms. Peter lowered him as carefully as possible to the floor.

Neal curled up, tears in his face, as he coughed and coughed. Peter held him tightly, petting his hair, until the coughing fit subsided. 

When it ended Neal was left crying, dead white, and too weak to move. 

He gazed up at Peter, his fevered eyes bloodshot from the force of the coughing, unfocused from fatigue. He mouthed something, but no sound came out. 

"What?" Asked Peter. 

Neal sluggishly put his hands together and pressed both of them to his ear, indicating sleep. Then he patted the bath mat.

"No, you're not sleeping on the bathroom floor," said Peter. 

He gathered Neal up, and got to his feet with a big effort. Neal clung to him in surprise. Peter carried Neal to the living room, arms under Neal's knees and back. 

He set the younger man down and sat beside him. Neal turned onto his stomach and laid over Peter's lap, shivering and clingy. Peter pulled the blankets over him. Neal curled up, closed his eyes. Peter just sat and rubbed Neal's back. 

Neal didn't sleep immediately. Discomfort and pain kept him awake, staring forward at the rest of the living room, shivering, his hands moving, twisting, pulling in the fabric of Peter's pant leg. 

"It really hurts, huh? Can I make you some tea?"

Neal nodded, but he didn't let go of Peter's leg. 

"I gotta get up to do that," said Peter gently.

Neal regretfully relinquished his grip. Peter eased off the couch and went to the kitchen. 

When he returned with a cup of green tea with a little lemon, he found Neal crying again in pain and exhaustion, leaning against the arm of the couch. Neal's hands gripped the fabric of the robe over his chest, made into tense fists around handfuls of fabric. 

Peter sat beside him, gently put the tea into Neal's hands, and rubbed Neal's back. Neal laid his head on Peter's shoulder fairly suddenly, as though it was too heavy to hold up. He did lift it again to sip the tea, though pain crossed his face when he swallowed. 

"Neal, how long have you been this sick?" Asked Peter, gently. He had been at a conference the previous week, and Neal had left early on Friday. The amount of takeout containers on the table seemed to indicate Neal had been ill for a while. 

Neal shrugged a little, set down the tea, held up five fingers, hesitated, then held up two more, and wagged his hand to indicate that he hadn't been as sick for those two. He seemed to think about trying to communicate more, but didn't. Peter squeezed him around the shoulders. 

Neal picked up the tea, and sipped it, miserably. He got about half of it down, then put it on the table. He let his head rest on Peter's shoulder, closing his eyes. Peter held him, as he fell deeply asleep.

T

Maybe an hour later there was a knock at the door. Neal woke up, groggy, confused, and concerned. 

Peter patted his friend's knee, "I'll get it. It's probably June."

Peter went to the door and opened it. It was indeed June. She came in, with a little basket of medicines and teas and a jar of honey in her hands. 

She saw Neal on the couch, looking like death, and made a beeline for him. She sat down beside him and put the basket on the table, delicately shoving an empty container off the table with it to make room. 

“I had company so I couldn’t stay at first, but they’ve headed home. Neal, honey, you look terrible.”

He tried to reply, but he only croaked, and started to cough. June patted his back and reached for the basket. 

She pulled out a jar of something that smelled strongly of menthol, and took a two finger swipe of it, gently rubbing it into Neal’s chest. She frowned, and pulled on Neal’s arm to get him to lay back against the couch. She tugged his robe open a little more over his chest, looking at the red rash. She ran her fingertips across the raised, bumpy surface again. 

She looked at Peter, “has he seen a doctor yet?”

Peter shook his head, “he didn’t want to go.”

“He needs to. It could be a strep infection and that can be really serious. It feels just like Samantha’s did before she got so sick, when her kidneys…the doctor said later it shows up bright red on lighter skin, which is probably why they missed it so long on Samantha."

Neal looked down at his chest, and then back to June, worry on his face. June gently brushed her fingers against his blazing temple, “you let Peter take you to urgent care, alright?"

Neal finally nodded, not having it in him to argue with June. June patted his shoulder and got to her feet, "I'm going to get Henri, my driver, to take you."

Peter looked at her, about to object that he could drive Neal just fine, but he saw the look on her face. Peter decided Neal was correct not to argue with her. 

Peter turned his attention to getting Neal ready to go. He got up, "I'm going to get you a sweatshirt."

Neal just laid on the sofa, looking between them, his arms crossed, chin on his chest. 

Peter went to get the sweatshirt, and gathered a few of Neal's things–his laptop and charger, the couple books next to his bed…

Peter returned to the living room. June was gone, presumably contacting her driver. Neal was still lying on the couch. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell quickly, shallowly. His cheekbones were flushed pink. Sweat stood out in beads on his forehead. 

Peter put the stuff down, and picked up Neal's foot just below the anklet. He had found mukluks, soft and warm and grippy on the bottom. Neal woke up a little and looked at what Peter was doing. He made a face, and rasped something inaudible.

"What?"

Neal mouthed, shaking his head, "not mine."

"Whose are they?"

Neal coughed, and managed to rasp, "Sara's."

"Well I doubt she'll mind under the circumstances."

Peter pulled Neal to sit upright against himself. Neal coughed, his head heavy against Peter's shoulder. 

Peter gently manhandled Neal out of the robe. Bare chested, Neal shivered uncontrollably. Peter got him into the sweatshirt as quickly as possible, while Neal started hacking up a lung. It was a dry, painful cough. 

Neal finally stopped coughing, tears in his eyes from the pain and force. He continued to lean against Peter's chest. Peter held him up, rubbing his back as he tried to catch his breath, taking shaky gasps. Finally he was able to sit up himself again.

Peter got Neal a winter hat. 

Neal seemed resigned at that point, slumping against the back of the couch and watching Peter approach with it and put it on him.

"Okay, I'm gonna get a bag for this stuff. Anything else you want?"

Neal looked at the small pile, and shook his head. Peter got Neal's little gym bag, pulled out the extra workout clothes, left the deodorant, shoes, and extra socks. 

Eventually Neal was as ready as he was going to get. Peter offered Neal his hand. Neal took it, hesitantly. He sat forward, and positioned his feet. 

He did not make it up, his butt didn't even leave the couch. He ducked his head and tried again. That time he made it halfway, but started to fall back.

Peter grabbed him around the chest, under his armpits. He lifted the younger man, held him up as Neal's legs shook under him. 

Neal clung to Peter, his hands desperate on Peter's upper arms. His face was dead white except for flushed cheeks. He swayed, and leaned against Peter, his face smushed in Peter's chest. 

He passed out rather suddenly, though Peter had been expecting it. Peter caught him, and pulled Neal over his shoulders. The hat fell off, Peter let it stay on the floor rather than try to set Neal down and pick him back up.

Neal came to about halfway down the second flight of steps. He started wiggling, Peter abruptly stopped at the landing, bracing himself against the wall. 

Peter had not regularly carried other adult humans down flights of steps since he was at Quantico. That had been many years ago and this was a lot of steps. 

"Please stay still, this is hard enough," said Peter, in half a panic about dropping his friend. 

Neal stilled. Peter was able to continue. Finally he got to the bottom floor. Suddenly June and Henri  were there, helping get Neal off him and laying down on a sofa. 

Neal gazed up at Peter, a little more pink in his face as shame colored his expression. 

"It's okay," said Peter, on his knees beside the sofa, panting for breath, "we made it, that's all I care about. Just give me a moment."

Neal shook his head, "don't need…"

He struggled to sit up, and pushed himself precariously upright. The blush faded immediately. He grabbed the arm of the couch with both hands to stay upright. 

Peter rushed to his feet, his legs still a bit jellyish. Neal shuffled to the door, the other three following closely. 

He made it out into the vestibule before he had to stop, clutching the doorframe, swaying dramatically. Peter put his arms around Neal's upper chest, hugging him gently from behind, "please be careful."

Neal passed out again in Peter's arms, his head falling forward, his hand falling away from the doorframe. 

Peter sat down, Neal lying back against his chest and shoulder. June's driver carefully stepped into the vestibule over Peter's shoulder, "here, I can help. You get the shoulders, I'll get the legs."

Peter nodded. He and Henri positioned Neal's overheated, limp, shivering body, and lifted him between them. June followed them down, then unlocked and opened the car door. 

They got Neal lying across the back seat, Peter got in on the side by his head.

June leaned down, while Henri got into the driver's seat, "call me as soon as you know anything. You're going to the hospital, not urgent care."

Her tone left no room for argument, and she looked straight at Henri when she said it, clear that Peter had no say in the matter. 

Peter and Henri both nodded, and said in unison, "yes, June."

She shut the door. 

Peter put his seatbelt on, pulled on Neal until he was holding as much of his friend in his lap and arms as fit. 

"Thank you, for before," he said to Henri, "I don't know if I could have gotten him the rest of the way. And thank you for driving."

Henri shrugged, "he's been really good for Mrs. Ellington. Besides, I've been a driver for twenty years, that's hardly the first passed out man I've helped carry to a car. At least he doesn't smell like a bar."

Peter chuckled. He stroked Neal's forehead, cheeks, chest.

As they waited at a red light, Neal stirred a little. Peter looked down at him, "Neal?"

Neal blinked his eyes open and looked around the car, miserable as he realized what had happened. He turned his head towards Peter and closed his eyes again, resting while they drove.

It was initially cold in the back seat, Henri had apologized since he didn't have enough notice to warm it up. That seemed obvious and unavoidable to Peter, but Henri was right that it would have been better for Neal if it was warmer. He was shivering hard, pressing himself against Peter for warmth. 

"It's okay, Neal. It's gonna be okay. Just stay with me, cowboy."

Between Henri and Peter they did get Neal into the entryway of the emergency department on his feet, but he was immediately scooped off them by an intake nurse with a wheelchair. 

Peter thanked Henri again, and Henri headed back to the car. 

Neal hunched forward in the chair, shivering. Peter had to give Neal's medical information since Neal's voice was non-existent. Neal seemed surprised by how much of it Peter knew. 

At the mention of the rash the nurse asked to see it. Neal gripped the edge of the sweatshirt with his hands, and tried to lift it, but he could barely get his arms up. He started to sway in the wheelchair. 

Peter quickly pushed Neal to lean back, Neal lowered his arms, panting. Peter lifted the sweatshirt. Neal shivered violently with the increase in cold hospital air reaching his skin.

The nurse frowned and nodded, "yeah, looks like scarlet fever."

Peter stared at her, "isn't that like…polio?"

She shook her head, "it's just strep that's gone too far. It can be serious, cause heart or kidney damage, arthritis…"

Neal looked up at Peter, worry in his eyes. 

"The good news is we have antibiotics now," the nurse said, "we'll run a rapid strep test, check your bloodwork, and if everything comes back as expected you'll go home tonight."

Neal relaxed a little. Peter squeezed his shoulder. 

T

They eventually took Neal back, Peter following close behind. Neal crawled onto the hospital bed and laid there, panting, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Peter stood beside it, smoothing Neal’s sweaty hair. Neal turned over, facing Peter. He was flushed, shivering. He started coughing, holding his hand to his mouth to try and stop it. Peter put his hand on Neal's shoulder, squeezed, and then rubbed Neal's stomach, where his muscles worked so hard. 

The coughing fit finally ended, with tears in Neal’s eyes. Neal suddenly struggled to sit up, fighting to get the sweatshirt off. Peter pulled it off him, helping him get his arms up. Neal laid back on the bed, fanned himself, panting, sweating. 

A nurse came in. She took Neal's vitals again, took some of his blood, swabbed his throat, and gave him meds and started setting up an IV with a bag of fluids. She also left a big cup of ice chips. Neal suddenly shivered again. He gestured anxiously at Peter for the sweatshirt, Peter picked it up.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have you change into a gown, actually," said the nurse, "I can get you some blankets, though."

Neal, robbed of his silver tongue, watched her get a robe out of a cupboard nearby and put it onto the bed. She left and came back with a stack of two blankets.

The nurse stepped out. Neal laid there, freezing, eyeing the neatly folded garment beyond his reach. Peter picked it up and shook it out. Neal sat up, with an effort. Peter helped him get the gown on, holding him up with a hand between his shoulder blades, seated beside him on the bed.

Neal laid back, struggling to catch his breath, coughing a little, shivering. Peter covered him with the blankets. Then suddenly Neal shook his head, sitting up, pushing the blankets off. He started coughing, and coughing. 

Peter held him up, as the younger man clutched at the hospital robe in pain. Neal finally managed to stop. He was left gasping, limp against Peter's side, pulse racing in his neck.

Peter wrapped his arms around the younger man, holding him close. Neal's hand twisted in Peter's shirt. The nurse came back in, and put the IV in Neal's arm now that he was changed. Neal watched her dully, his face mushed against Peter's chest. 

T

Neal slept, fitfully, for about six hours. Peter stayed beside him on the bed, holding him close. Eventually Neal woke himself up coughing.

Peter rubbed his back, got him the cup of water that had been ice chips. Neal coughed and coughed, and finally stopped, head heavy on Peter's shoulder, body completely expended. 

Peter gently held the cup of water to his friend's lips. Neal sipped from it, a tiny bit, then closed his eyes. He passed back out in Peter's arms.

T

Neal woke again several hours later. He raised his head, looking around with a spacy expression. 

"Peter…" Neal croaked, stopping to wince at the pain speaking caused, "I–"

Neal started coughing, eyes squeezed shut, one hand pulling increasingly hard on Peter's shirt, the other fisted at his belly, as his muscles burned with overuse. 

Peter pressed his face to the top of Neal's head, murmuring into his hair, "hang in there. Hang in there, bud."

Neal's hand on Peter's shirt suddenly loosened, he pushed weakly away, his other hand going to his mouth as he continued to cough. Peter let go. Neal reached for the bag on the bedside table, Peter grabbed it for him. Neal hung his face over the bag, as he coughed and coughed, the force making him throw up a little bit into his mouth and spit it out repeatedly.

Finally, finally, the round of coughing ended. Neal collapsed against Peter, trembling all over, tears on his face, eyes and cheeks red, the rest of him completely white. Peter gently gathered Neal back into his arms, rubbing Neal's chest, his lips pressed to Neal's temple.

"Peter…" Neal repeated in a rough whisper, even though it clearly hurt badly to speak, "I think something…"

His voice cut off, he swallowed, grimacing and turning his head to the side as he did. Peter picked up the cup of ice chips and handed it to him. Neal let some slide into his mouth, rested his head back against Peter's shoulder. 

Peter handed Neal his notepad and a pen. Neal scrawled shakily, with nowhere near his normal penmanship as he shivered from eating the ice, 'I think something is wrong.'

"What? What's wrong?" Asked Peter

Neal shook his head, distressed. He was starting to get antsy, even while he was so tired and sick he could barely sit up.

"Something…" Neal's voice cut off again, he didn't immediately switch to pen and paper. His eyes darted around the room, a weird look on his face. He started breathing faster, then coughing. 

Peter put his hand to Neal's forehead. Neal flinched away at first, but then relaxed and leaned his head against Peter's hand. His skin was blazing hot, his fever was spiking. 

Peter started to ease away from Neal to get the nurse, but Neal immediately freaked out, grabbing Peter's shirt and arm, croaking painfully, "no!"

Peter stopped. He cupped Neal's face in his hands, looked into Neal's fevered, confused blue eyes. 

"I'm right here. I was just going to tell them your fever is going up. I can use the call button instead. It's okay."

Neal, shivering violently, nodded slightly. It wasn't clear he was entirely with Peter, but he seemed to relax. Peter pressed the call button. 

Neal suddenly started trying to get off the bed, so weak he could barely crawl to the edge. 

"Neal, what are you doing?" Asked Peter. 

Neal didn't answer, he was trying to drag himself, coughing hard. Peter hurriedly got up, and he was just in time to grab Neal's arm, keeping his torso up and his head from getting hit, as the younger man fell off the side onto the floor. 

"Neal!" cried Peter, letting go of Neal's arm, to kneel beside him on the floor. 

Neal again didn't answer him. He crawled, panting, coughing, shaking all over and tried to hide between the mechanical parts of the hospital bed, and the wall. 

Peter gripped Neal's hand. Neal pulled it away, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. 

"Neal, do you recognize me?"

Neal slowly nodded. 

"Do you trust me?"

Neal blinked at him, then eventually nodded again.

"Can you come out of there?" 

Neal shook his head. 

Peter sighed. Instead, he squeezed himself in beside Neal, and gathered his friend back into his arms. Neal clung to him. 

A nurse came in. Peter explained, while Neal pressed himself even further back, away from the nurse. 

Eventually she and Peter managed to convince Neal to take more meds. Neal could barely swallow the pills, and tears appeared in his eyes as he tried. 

Peter just sat there on the cold hospital floor, and held the younger man, murmuring comforting things into Neal's sweaty hair. Neal fell asleep there, his breathing labored, and pain staying on his face. 

T

Neal stirred in Peter's arms. Peter raised his head, and asked, "Neal?"

Neal opened his eyes. He looked around, confused as to why they were jammed into the corner on the floor. 

"Your fever got too high for a bit," said Peter, "do you remember?"

Neal shrugged a little, and gestured tiredly at the rest of the room. Peter and Neal stiffly extracted themselves. Peter stood, and offered Neal his hands. 

Neal took them, and shakily got to his feet. He stood there, unsteady, holding on to Peter's hands. He looked Peter in the face, and mouthed, "sorry about that."

Peter shrugged, "no need to apologize."

Neal seemed a little better, stronger. He was able to stand, and was much more with it. The antibiotics, fever reducers, fluids, and rest had begun to help. 

"Thanks," rasped Neal. 

Peter nodded, and pulled his friend into a tight hug. He patted Neal's back, firmly, "I'm so glad you're okay."

Neal nodded, turning his head, letting his face rest in the crook of Peter's neck. 

[melandrops]

Haha so glad you are doing this it sounds so fun!!

Trick or Treat!!! 🎃 👻

Peter/Neal —White Collar

i hope you don't mind but this ended up being peter/neal/elizabeth hehe because i love the three of them together. i just finished season four episode six so i had this little drabble in the back of my mind. hope you like it and happy halloween!!

Elizabeth sank into Peter’s hold, smiling wide and beautiful. Peter looked equally as charming bending to catch her lips. Neal leaned against the side of the wall, unable to stop a sweet pang in his chest at the sight.

“Aw, how charming,” he said, relishing in the way they both jerked, as though they were two teenagers caught making out in the halls. Peter’s grip tightened around Elizabeth for a half second before his face melted into a grin in recognition. “You know this is a crime scene, right? Can’t just go barging in whenever you want.”

Peter rolled his eyes and moved down to grip Elizabeth’s hand. She followed Peter as he made his way over to Neal, her legs slightly shaky. Neal reached out a hand as they approached, catching her slim hand in his own as she tread on solid ground.

“What are you doing here, Neal?” Peter asked, his face still bright from the ice. It’s achingly handsome, and Neal had always been a sucker for the arts. He let a roguish grin play upon his lips and didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes darted down to catch them.

“Just here to see the sights. I brought my skates, thought I might catch you two lovebirds in the act.”

Elizabeth’s nose scrunched at him as she smiled, her hand still clasped in Neal’s. “You two should go out and skate for a bit.”

“You don’t want to join us?” Neal asked, looking away from Peter to Elizabeth.

She batted her free hand airily. “My legs are getting tired from all that. I think I’ll take a break. You two go on ahead.”

With that, she tromped away to sit on a bench, tugging out a bottle of water and uncapping it. Neal returned his attention to Peter, who seemed half caught between Elizabeth and Neal.

“Shall we?” He asked, proffering a hand. Peter looked at it the way he tended to look at so many things Neal offered. First with trepidation, as if Neal was going to rescind it with a mocking laugh. And then with surety, taking Neal’s hand and twining their fingers together.

“Don’t tell Elizabeth this,” Peter mumbled, turning around to face Neal as they glide in circles around the rink, “But it’s nice to skate with someone who knows what they’re doing. And Elizabeth won’t be jealous if I’m skating with you.”

“She get jealous of Katya?” Neal wondered.

“A bit. But I think it’s normal to be a bit insecure every now and then,” Peter said with a stilted shrug, “Right?”

Neal grinned. “I tell ya, I was almost jealous of Katya for a moment there when she hugged you goodbye. I’ve seen couples at the airport with less enthusiasm.”

Peter huffed. At that, Neal lifted his hand, prompting Peter into a spin. Peter spinned clumsily, but Neal was there to catch him when he stumbled, unable to resist dipping him slightly. In the middle distance, he could hear Elizabeth wolf whistling. It made the two of them smile.

“You want to kiss me?” Peter asked from his position, held securely in Neal’s arms. “Just to really seal the deal.”

“Well, if you’re asking for it,” Neal replied, bending down to capture Peter’s lips. He let his eyes fall gently shut and could feel Peter’s hands around his shoulders and in his hair. Kissing Peter is something he could never really grow tired of. The soft sigh Peter let out between their lips, and the sturdy feeling of his body encompassing him.

“Don’t have too much fun!” Elizabeth shouted, startling both of them. Peter knocked his forehead gently against Neal’s, and they could feel each other’s soft breaths upon their lips if they focussed hard enough.

“Shall we get back to your lovely wife?” Neal asked, righting Peter.

“She may want a tutorial from you,” Peter pointed out, leading the way back to the bench Elizabeth sat at.

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

“Of course not.”

Neal leaned over the benches, making glittering eye contact with Elizabeth. God, she was so beautiful, even in the dim light. She was glowing, maybe even more than Peter was. God help Neal if he ever had to choose between the two of them. He couldn’t do it.

“Ready for round two, Mrs. Burke?”

Elizabeth beamed, and stood up on shaky feet. “You know I am.”

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

What Happens at Comic-Con. . . .

by Honyasbookshelf

"'Remind me again why I'm here,' Peter groused, feeling extremely out of his comfort zone as he weaved between a guy in green wearing fake elf ears and a group of teens with gray skin and candy-corn horns.

'Because I bribed you with tickets to take Elizabeth to see Hamilton?' Neal responded with a grin. Great. His CI found his discomfiture amusing. Perfect."

Neal drags Peter to Comic-Con. Peter's confused. Again. It's a whole thing.

Words: 1355, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 18 of Neal Grayson

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne, DCU Ensemble (Implied)

Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Batfamily Members & Peter Burke, Batfamily Members & Neal Caffrey

Additional Tags: Neal Caffrey is Dick Grayson's Clone, POV Peter Burke, Comic-Con, Confused Peter Burke, Supportive Neal Caffrey, Good Sibling Neal Caffrey, Author Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Artist Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne is Robin, Nerdy References, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Octopus Hugs, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, This is ridiculous, I have No Excuse, Cosplay, Humor, does this count as crack?, probably, The Waynes Are Not Good For Peter Burke's Blood Pressure, Good Friend Peter Burke

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/47159491

[middnightlight]

Without Words | Neal Caffrey x Reader

AN: I know that technically what I wrote is nothing like the summary, but we’re going to ignore that 😗 and Neal is a little OC but we’re rolling with it

It was no secret that Neal was a flirt and he took great pleasure in being known for it. There wasn’t a girl in town that didn’t fall for his charms. He would walk up to her, say some pretty lines, and *boom* the girl was on her knees before she even knew what hit her. It would work every time without fail.

Well, almost every time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a great day. The office had finally gotten an espresso machine, which meant that he could have his favorite coffee at his desk instead of that horrible black coffee that Peter always liked.

A case had been solved and the bad guy was arrested, and to top it off, a lost painting had been recovered and it was gorgeous.

Then the girl walked in and it all went to crap.

See, the girl was a beauty. The hair, the clothes, hell her smile. Her smile was the best thing Neal had seen in his life, and apparently, the only thing he was able to focus on (thankfully, Neal was sitting down or else he would’ve fallen straight to the floor).

She walked in and walked towards his desk. “Hi, I’m looking for someone and I was wondering if you could help me?” she asked him, but Neal just stared. “Um, excuse me? Hello?” she waved her hand in front of his face, still thinking about her smile. She mentally groaned. The only thing I wanted to do was find Peter and tell him the good news and I get stuck with a stupid agent.

Peter suddenly walked in and saw her. “Oh! (y/n), you’re here!” She turned around to see Peter walking toward her. “Peter!” She ran towards him and hugged him.

“Woah, (y/n) try not to tackle me to the floor now! What brings you around? I thought you were working in Philidelphia.”

(y/n) nervously laughed. “Well, I was and I’m still working, but I got transferred.”

“Oh, where to?”

“New York.”

This caused Neal to snap out of his daydream. “You’re gonna be working in New York?”

y/n scoffed. “Oh look, he finally snapped out of his daydream.”

Peter quietly laughed. “Ignore him. It would make life a lot easier for you,” he said while Neal pouted at the quip.

“I think that’s gonna be a problem, Peter.” She smiled again and Neal was sure that his heart skipped a beat.

He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

She gestured to herself, saying “I’m gonna be working here,” and then to Peter, “ in your unit.”

Peter smiled. “I should’ve known that transfer was you. Well, welcome to the team, and here’s your first assignment: don’t date Neal. His love life hasn’t exactly been…simple,” he added jokingly.

“That certainly won’t be a problem, Peter.” She looked at Neal and he looked like his puppy just died. “At least for me it won’t be a problem. Don’t know about Pretty Boy over here.”

She glanced between Peter and Neal. “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye Peter! Bye Pretty Boy!” she said and exited the office.

“She called me pretty,” Neal said dreamily.

Peter raised his eyebrow. “Seriously Caffrey?”

[hb-writes]

Threat Assessment

Summary: Alice is grounded and Neal is a terrible influence, but since they can’t seem to get enough of each other, Peter thinks he has found the perfect solution to the problem. 

Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke & Alice Burke (OC)

Content Warning: Nothing content-wise, I think. I just really cannot be bothered to finish proofing these anymore, so there’s that.

Request (by anon): Alice & Neal for 'let me do the talking' please? Congrats on your milestone! It's been a pleasure to follow this blog's journey !

Here’s the AO3 link if you prefer to read over there.

White Collar (Alice Burke) Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Neal couldn't understand it, but Alice Burke simply did not seem to know when to show a bit of caution…to harbor a bit of the healthy fear…the kind that keeps you living and breathing and tempers your response. She didn't know when to keep her mouth shut or when to…well, the girl just didn't seem to know when or how to let someone else do the talking. 

Sure, Peter had made sure his only niece had a healthy understanding of the dangers of the world because that was just the type of person Peter was. He'd instilled in Alice a decent ability to assess risk and mitigate it, but maybe her sensors were off. 

Alice fought as Neal tried to push her behind his back. He was only trying to protect her, to put himself between her and the danger. It had become a habit of Neal's, protecting her…from the dangers of the world…from her aunt and uncle…from herself more often than anything else.

Even when the girl continued to fight him on it. 

Alice scrambled now, efficiently removing herself from Neal's grip to keep herself settled in front of him, achieved through nothing more than a casual twisting of her limbs and body. Neal would've thought the maneuver was quite graceful under any other circumstance, but not when she was thwarting his efforts.

"Stop it, Neal. He's coming." Alice slapped Neal's hand and tried to twist once more out of his renewed grip, ignoring his pleading. 

"Hi, Uncle—" Alice started, her voice raised above the noise of the crowd.

Neal clapped a hand over Alice's mouth, tugging her back against his chest. "Let me do the talking for once, alright Ace?"

Now would've been a great time for Alice to at least consider that course of action. Peter was quickly closing the distance between them with a look on his face like he was ready to wring a couple of necks—their necks. And regardless of Alice's plans for her own anatomy, Neal quite liked his neck. He intended to keep it—and the rest of his body—intact.

Which would require delicacy. Diplomacy. Charm. They were both not where they were meant to be. Alice was meant to be home, and well…while Neal was technically within his radius, just dancing along the very edge of it, he was not meant to be with Alice. Neal was not meant to be indulging the girl's whims or encouraging bad behavior or…he should have sent her home the moment she popped up beside him, but they were far beyond that now. And Peter would find them both at fault. 

Neal tried to keep his face neutral as Peter's face reddened, though a smirk pulled at his lips. Neal's mind was already cataloging a handful of ways to get him and Alice out of this relatively unscathed. He knew he could talk Peter down—get their sentences, so to speak, lessened, but it all hinged on Alice going along with things. 

"What are the two of you—"

Alice stepped forward in Neal's distraction, removing his hand from her face. "Uncle Pete? I know you're upset, but before you yell can I just have a hug?"

Peter's brow furrowed, a confused look lingering on his face for a moment as the tension continued to roll off of him in waves. 

Alice remained in place. "Please?" 

Peter's face softened and he took a breath, opening his arms to his niece. Alice readily fit herself against Peter's chest and his arms wrapped around her, the neck-wringing look nearly gone out of him completely. Peter sighed, closing his eyes for a beat as he held her close. 

Peter had been relatively certain his niece was safe. He had known she was with Neal, but there was still a sense of relief that came over him at seeing the proof and holding her in his arms. 

Peter savored that feeling for a moment before pulling out of the hug. 

"Al, what the hell were you thinking?" Peter's hands went to Alice's shoulders. He met her eyes for a moment, searching there for some sort of answer before shifting his attention to Neal. "And more importantly, what were you thinking? Were you even thinking?" 

Alice pushed up onto the tips of her toes, attempting to edge her way up far enough to break the eye contact between Neal and her uncle. "Don't be mad at him. It was my idea. Neal—"

"Neal is supposed to be the adult here," Peter answered, meeting her eye for a moment. "He should have called me and sent you home."  Peter shifted his gaze back to Neal. "You're not supposed to be aiding and abetting a teenage fugitive."

"Come on, Peter. A teenage fugitive?" Neal raised an eyebrow. "I think we're blowing things out of proportion just a bit, huh?"

"Just a bit," Alice answered, rolling her eyes. "We were only—"

"No. Don't even try it," Peter answered, shaking his head. "You're supposed to be at home. You're grounded. We talked about this."

Alice heaved a sigh. She didn’t really have much room to argue that fact. They had discussed the art exhibition extensively and explicitly. The fact that it was the last day the exhibit would be open and the fact that she had made plans with Neal weeks ago both meant very little to Peter. He had been quite clear in his stance that Alice had to learn that her choices had consequences. Sometimes those consequences included missing out on the last day of a time-limited art exhibition and an afternoon with Neal. 

Maybe Peter was naive, but he thought Alice would listen. He thought she’d be upset about it. He thought she might be short with him for a bit, but in the end, she would learn something. A life lesson. 

He hadn’t expected Alice to sneak out and meet Neal anyway. She should’ve known better. And Neal should’ve known better to encourage such behavior. 

“Peter, think of it this way. Most kids are running off to cause real trouble. Yours is running off to art galleries,” Neal offered. “Your teenage fugitive is highly cultured.”

Alice shot Neal a small smile over her shoulder. Conspirational. Maybe it was Peter who should’ve known better. Maybe he should’ve set his expectations a little lower. Maybe he really should’ve kept those two apart.

“You—” Peter tried to move around Alice to get to Neal, but Alice kept herself firmly between them. Peter pointed a finger at him instead.  “—you are a bad influence.” 

It was possibly true that Neal hadn’t been the best influence on the girl. Alice Burke certainly hadn’t been the type to sneak out before Neal Caffrey entered their life. Before Neal, Alice hadn’t been the type to lean heavily on technicalities or to manipulate her uncle with cheerful hugs when he was already red in the face with frustration. Those were new tricks, but she’d leaned into some of Neal’s good traits too, things Peter wasn’t too interested in remembering right now. He preferred to focus on the problem at hand—jailbreak. 

It was a long jump from leaving the house when grounded to a prison escape, but Peter couldn’t help but see the connections forming in his mind.

“Uncle Peter, please. It was me, not—”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Peter laughed. “You’re in trouble, too…And you can spend all next week thinking about it under house arrest.”

Neal couldn’t help but laugh at Alice’s reaction, her mouth falling open with genuine shock at Peter’s words. “But…but, next week’s spring break. You said today was the last—” 

“Today was the last day, but then you snuck out to see your little partner in crime, so since the two of you want to spend so much time together, you can do it from the couch for a week. Both of you. After this, I don’t know that I can leave either of you alone for a whole week.”

Neal held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. Hold on there, Peter,” Neal cautioned. He had plans for the week when his handler planned to be out of the city. Sure, he and Alice had planned for a lunch out together, and they had their regular chess practice on the calendar, but he had other things to do, things he couldn’t accomplish from the Burke’s couch or with a teenager in tow. 

Peter shook his head. “Don’t bother arguing, Neal. It’s already decided. The two of you can’t be trusted—”

“So you’re having Neal, a known criminal mastermind, babysit me?” Alice interrupted, her hand crashing against Neal’s chest. “Because he’s so trustworthy? You’re trusting my welfare to Neal?”

“Oh, so now he’s a known criminal mastermind?” Peter asked, shaking his head. Alice had been quick to defend him just before, minimizing his role in the whole thing. Peter was almost impressed with how quickly the tides could turn. “From where I’m sitting you both could do with some trust earning, so you can babysit each other. Make sure you’re both behaving. And Jones and Diana will be checking in, so when I say that you should be home all week, I need you both to be there. And I’ll know if you’re not.”

The truth was, Alice Burke had little planned for her spring break aside from sleeping late and watching too much tv, but she intended to do it in peace. Peter and El had only ever left her home alone for a night and she was looking forward to having the place to herself, and she couldn’t help but argue the point.

“You’re not being serious! You and Aunt El said—” Alice groaned. “I don’t need a babysitter!” 

“You do,” Peter said. “It doesn’t matter what we said before. If I can’t trust you to do as I said about this, how can I—”  

Neal stepped forward and this time Alice let him. “Peter, I think—”

“And the same for you. It’s clear you both need supervision,” Peter answered. “Now, let’s go.” 

Peter stepped away from the pair, quite certain they’d follow. He didn’t concern himself with turning around to confirm it. 

Neal gave Peter a few steps headstart before slipping his arm around Alice’s shoulders. “C’mon, roomie.” Neal tugged her along in Peter’s wake. 

“I told you you should have let me do the talking.” 

Alice rolled her eyes, but she let Neal bask in the glory of his statement for a moment before shoving an elbow into his stomach, laughing to herself as he released a beleaguered huff and doubled over. Alice pulled the fedora from Neal’s head and settled it on her own before he could right himself. 

“Careful, Neal,” Alice said, rearranging the placement of his hat. “Don’t forget you are stuck with me all week. I can be a very annoying roommate when I put my mind to it.” 

 “Is that a challenge I hear, Ace?” 

Alice shrugged and Neal tightened the arm around her shoulders, securing her in a gentle headlock as he pulled the hat from her head. 

“You know that works both ways, right?” Neal answered. “I bet I can annoy—” 

Peter cleared his throat as they finally reached the spot where he was waiting beside the parked car. Peter had that neck wringing look about him again and Neal relaxed his grip, holding his hands up after releasing Alice. 

“Let’s go, you two,” Peter said, swinging open the back door with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear with the other. “Yeah, hun. We’re on our way now.”

Alice wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation again once she got home, or listening to a lecture all the way back to Brooklyn. For once, she wasn’t eager to fight Neal for the coveted front seat. She headed straight for the door her uncle held open, but Neal stepped in front of her.

“I’ll let you have shotgun this time, Ace.” 

Neal slid easily into the back seat. leaving Alice to take the front passenger. Alice pushed the back door shut without retort, moving around the car to take her place while Peter finished his phone call. 

“I won’t forget this,” she said. 

“Another challenge?” Neal asked, smirking. “Bring it on, kid.” 

Alice turned toward the front as Peter slid into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a threat. She’d get her payback. And now she’d have a whole week to accomplish it. 

Alice didn’t have any siblings, but she’d had a wonderful mother who had been the most annoying little sister Peter could have ever imagined. Alice still remembered her antics from when she was little. Her mother and uncle were full-fledged adults, but they’d still gotten under each other’s skin as a form of sport. And Alice had been there to see it all, to learn from the master. Neal had no idea what game he was playing. 

Alice smiled to herself as Peter pulled the car from the parking spot. A week of joint house arrest was meant to be a sort of punishment for Neal and Alice. It was meant to bring peace of mind for Peter while he and El took a well-deserved vacation, but Alice saw it as an opportunity to have a little fun with her…friend…pseudo-brother…babysitter…friendly neighborhood criminal mastermind…whatever Neal was to her.

Alice planned to be an annoying pain in the ass to him for the next week, something which wasn’t just a threat…it was a promise. 

White Collar (Alice Burke) Masterlist

[cas-kingdom]

Bad Blood

A/N: Set towards the end of season 3. 

Title: Bad Blood

Summary: After Peter discovers Neal stole the ship’s treasure, you’re worried he’ll be mad at you for keeping the secret.

Words: 2310

The problem with loving your brother so much you couldn’t possibly do something to put him in jail, despite your personal opinions, is that it puts you in an awkward position.

You had never had that problem. From the age of three, you’d gone everywhere with Neal. You’d grown up among thieves and criminals, and that’d been all you’d known. Until Neal was caught, and you’d lived a more subdued life for four years, learning things and picking up what it meant to have a normal life. You’d grown your own opinions, stemming from the simplest of things, and slowly come to realise that there was a life outside your brother’s antics.

Maybe that was why Neal hadn’t told you about the treasure. Perhaps he’d thought you might tell Peter. He should have known, though, that you’d never do that. So, more plausibly, maybe he’d simply wanted to keep you safe. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to put you in that kind of position – stuck between him and Peter. He’d been doing that a lot in the year and a bit he’d been out of jail; keeping secrets, only letting you in on what he thought you needed to know. It was a swerve in your relationship, and it was constantly hitting obstacles.

Peter had taken you aside a while after the fire and asked you if Neal had stolen the treasure. You could still remember the flurry of emotions that had hit you then.

“I need to know,” Peter said. His voice was gentle. He was leaning on his forearms, staring at you from his place behind his desk. His eyebrows were raised, and you would have squirmed uncomfortably if you knew what he was talking about.

You sputtered for a moment, glancing down at the floor, before shaking your head and looking back up at him. “Neal?” you asked. “You- you think Neal stole the treasure?” Peter lifted his chin and leaned back against his seat. “I thought it was all lost in the fire.”

Peter sighed. “We did, too,” he said. “But… we found something that leads us to think otherwise.”

Your frown deepened. You turned your head, just about seeing Neal immersed in conversation with Jones. He glanced up for a moment, your eyes meeting, and he gave you a questioning look. You bit the inside of your cheek and turned back around to look at Peter, who was watching you intently.

“I don’t know, Peter,” you said honestly.

Peter nodded. “If you did…” He tilted his head a little. “Would you tell me?”

It wasn’t an interrogative look that he was giving you. He loved you. Every moment he was with you was spent treating you as his own. But that love included protecting you, even from your brother, and he wanted – needed – to be sure that you weren’t withholding anything from him that could put you behind bars, because he knew he’d rather be behind them himself than let you go.

You bit your lip, absently fidgeting with your fingers. You glanced up and shrugged.

Peter nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said. He couldn’t say he hadn’t expected that response. He drew in a deep breath and stood up, rounding the desk. He leant down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “As long as you’re safe, kid. That’s all I ask. Don’t get yourself caught in something I can’t get you out of. And… try get that in your brother’s head, too. You know where I am if you need me.”

Really, it should’ve been obvious to you that Neal had stolen it. You hadn’t wanted it to be – it was for that reason you’d never told Neal that Peter had even asked you about it – but you knew the man better than you knew anyone and anything. If the opportunity was presented, he would grab it up.

You’d cried after overhearing Neal and Mozzie discussing the treasure. They’d been quiet, whispering among themselves, and Neal should have known really that you wouldn’t have been asleep. He’d heard you sob, your pillow over your head, and got up from his chair so fast he’d knocked it over. Eyes wide, heart pumping, mind whirring, he’d slid into the bed beside you. You’d pushed him away, but he’d stayed, he always stayed, and he’d slept with you until morning, your back to him, his hand on your shoulder. You hadn’t talked about it the next day, and you’d been blunt with him since. You figured he’d worried you would tell.

“You have the treasure!”

You could hear Peter’s words. You’d been sat at the table when he’d come in, telling them Elizabeth had been taken, and you’d decided then and there that if Neal didn’t tell him, you would. Thankfully, you hadn’t had to, but the look Peter had given you after that had seared into your brain, and you hadn’t been yourself since. So, the moment Neal had been cleared – officially, anyway – you’d ached to speak to the agent.

“Peter, can we talk?”

It was a Sunday, and you, Mozzie and Neal were at Peter and Elizabeth’s for lunch. There was a sense of normality around Sunday lunch at the Burkes’. A familiarity that you had been terrified you’d lost for a moment back then.

Elizabeth and Neal were sitting outside, the both of them laughing about something or other, and Mozzie was sleeping on the deck chair he’d brought from June’s – nobody was sure why and nobody had bothered to ask. He was Mozzie, after all. You had been putting the plates away, Satchmo your shadow, and Peter had followed close behind, that smile on his face which told you he was happy. You didn’t really want that smile to disappear, and you knew he probably didn’t have anything to talk to you about, you were just being paranoid, but it would make you feel better, and you were too selfish to let that pass.

Peter glanced over his shoulder as you leaned against the kitchen counter. He nodded. “Sure,” he said, shutting the dishwasher. He turned around and crossed his arms, a look of slight intrigue crossing his face. “What is it?”

You swallowed, rolling your shoulders a little. You saw Satchmo nudge your hand with his wet nose and felt all the better for it. “I don’t…” you started, before feeling the lump in your throat stop your words. Peter, ever the concerned stand-in parent, moved forward immediately, his eyebrows furrowing together, those frown lines creasing his forehead. He stopped beside you, not wanting to invade your privacy yet needing to be there for you all the same, despite his not knowing what it was you wished to say.

He was a patient man, and so he merely stood beside you for a moment, waiting for you to speak up again. The open door was letting in the fresh breeze, the sound of Elizabeth and Neal’s laughter wafting in through it. It was the perfect day.

“I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us,” you said eventually, in a voice softer than Peter ever believed he’d heard.

He took a little while to mull your words over, staring fixedly at a spot on the floor. He shook his head as though preparing his words. “There isn’t any,” he said after a small moment, tilting his head to look down at you. When you didn’t reply, your hand on top of Satchmo’s head, he darkened his frown. “Hey,” he said, almost as softly as you. He pushed himself from the counter to move partly in front of you, taking your hands into his and waiting for you to meet his gaze. “What makes you think that?”

You swallowed again, foolishly feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. “I knew about the treasure.”

Peter made a face of realisation immediately. He squeezed your hands. “You knew about it after I asked about it,” he reassured you, shaking you a little, “you’re fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Well, I should’ve told you anyway,” you said, sniffling. “I should’ve told you the moment I found out. That’s withholding evidence… or something.”

Peter huffed a short laugh, releasing your hands only to pull you against his chest in a strong hug. “Your mind’s been working on this one for a while, huh?” he said gently, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You rested against him, eyes staring blankly ahead, lips trembling as you tried to hold the tears back. You felt Peter rest his chin on the top of your head. “I’m telling you, kid,” he said, “there’s nothing bad between us. You didn’t know about the treasure when I asked, and you said you didn’t know whether or not you’d tell me if the odd chance you found out later came up. I accepted that. That’s all that matters.” He turned his head a little, looking into the garden. As he’d expected really, Neal was craning his neck, eyes concerned even from this far away. He rose a dark brow, a silent question passing between them, and Peter nodded his head once, causing the younger man to reluctantly turn back to his conversation with Elizabeth.

Peter imagined it was difficult for both you and Neal to have someone like him in your lives. It’d always been you for a long, long while, and allowing someone in, opening up to that person like you had, was something he felt almost honoured for. Holding you in his arms like this, feeling your hands grip his shirt and your head all but bury in his chest, simply because you were worried he was upset with you, made him feel something indescribable. It was a good feeling, though. The feeling he felt when Neal did as he was told without argument, and called him his friend, and just came into work that morning because he’d decided it wasn’t the day to cut his anklet and run.

Things had changed for the Caffreys. He hadn’t known you at all before a year and a bit ago, but even he could tell that. You were letting people in. Trusting people besides yourselves and each other.

He pat you on the back and pulled away from you a little, gently putting a finger under your chin. “I don’t blame you for wanting to keep Neal safe,” he assured you. “I know it was difficult enough to keep it a secret after you found out.”

You nodded, sniffling a little. Of course it’d been difficult. It’d been the reason you’d cried yourself to sleep that night. You hadn’t wanted the task of having to make a decision, and you were only grateful – and relieved, more than anything – that you hadn’t had to.

“I think...” You glanced down for a second, glassy eyes meeting the soft brown ones of Satchmo. “I think I would’ve told you eventually.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he was surprised at that revelation. He lifted his chin a little, dropping his finger from yours. "Really?"

"Somebody would have found out in the end,” you told him. “Better it be you. You’re the only person who cares about Neal enough to fight for him.”

Peter regarded you carefully, watching as you shuffled your feet and chewed anxiously at the inside of your cheek. He hadn’t really thought about it in that way before, but now you’d mentioned it, he could see it.

It was true, what you’d said. Mozzie and Neal’s treasure-hiding hadn’t been the smartest. There’d been enough leads to have found it eventually, and definitely enough to drive whoever was following those leads to them. Those people would not have been so lenient. They wouldn’t have understood Neal’s (partly) turned over leaf. They wouldn’t have understood his kindness, and his compassion, and his general humanity. And they definitely wouldn’t have understood his need to stay in front of the bars if only to keep Y/N happy.

Peter understood it all and more. If you had told him about the treasure before he – and Keller – had found out about it himself, he doubtlessly, with a small amount of consideration and hesitation, would have decided on some way or another to give Neal the lowest possible amount of punishment he could receive for a crime such as this. He wouldn’t have thrown the guy in jail and left you without your brother for another few years of your life, and New York without Neal.

He loved you both too much to do that to either of you, or to him.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, a little distant in his tone. He looked back out at the garden, Neal’s grin threatening to split his face as he laughed along with Elizabeth. Though Peter could still see his aching need to get up and ask what he and you were talking about. That was Neal Caffrey. The first responder to all his little sister’s life choices. All except some, Peter decided, and he didn’t half mind that.

He turned back to you and gave you a smile, letting it widen as you responded with your own, half genuine one. “You’re a good girl, sweetheart,” he said quietly, “and you help me keep that man within his limitations better than anyone. Make sure you talk to him. I’m getting a little tired seeing those puppy dog eyes every day.” Your chest heaved with a breath of amusement at that, and he counted it as a victory as he pulled you towards him once more. “The only way there could be any bad blood between us is if you killed Satchmo. Or Elizabeth. Or me. Now, go out and ask the beauty, the criminal, and the winter sunbather if they want cheesecake or profiteroles for dessert.”

[stan-of-many]

I love how White Collar canonizes things that most shows would make the audience imply. Particularly the relationship between Neal and Peter.

It feels like literal fanfic at times and I adore it.

The found family vibes are strong from the very beginning but the show doesn’t just give us vibes, it literally canonizes the father-son relationship.

4x15 “Peter has been more of a father to me than you ever were.”

4x16 “family doesn’t just show up at your doorstep 30 years later. They’re the ones that have been there when you need them.”

6x02 “you’ve been playing Caffrey’s dad for years!”

6x02 “Mom? Dad?”

And guys those are just a few of the explicit parts, covering all the glances, hugs, protective moments, and everything else would take a post far longer than I can write.

I love White Collar.

[jordanstrophe]

Going Once, Going Twice, part 3

CW: Whump, Auction Whump, Pet Whump, Trafficking, Slavery, Restraints, Cages, Manhandling, Gag, Trauma, A Pet being “chipped” through the wrist

((Overall, Peter just kinda having a rough night. Fluff will strike eventually.))

Masterlist

The room was distant, his body felt numb. He couldn’t feel the tears staining his face, or his feet being drug across the floor. He could only feel the hands wrapped around him, pulling him along, but even they felt unreal. 

In an instant, it felt like someone slammed his body against a wall. His vision jostled and his body ached. He opened his eyes, and realized he was laying on his side, he had been tossed in a large metal bar cage. He was too shaken and dizzy to try and sit up to look around. He was just tired. Tired, and hungry, and cold... And apparently, sold.

“Oh have mercy...” Winola crumpled into a seat backstage. She buried her face within her trembling hands. When she opened her eyes, there was a glass of water hovering in her vision. 

“Thanks Neal...” She muttered, taking the glass from his hand. “So... He did it.” Neal shrugged.

“Yeah, He did it. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to ask that of him, but the Baron...” She shuttered.

“Ma’am, pardon me, but you shouldn’t have gotten involved in that.” Neal tsked.

“Quiet now, I know what I’m doing. And besides, Rob owed me a favor.” 

“Winola!” Robert rasped, trying not to raise his voice, speed-walking past the workers backstage, who all had eyes on him. The man who had fought the Baron, and won.

“Ah! And there’s our lucky winner now. Congratulations, sir.” She smiled. 

“Is an explanation free? or do I have to pay millions for that as well.” Robert sassed.

“Oh hush you, now come on over.” She waved, pulling him over into her room. Neal guarded the door from the outside, as Winola slowly draped herself in a old rocking chair with a groan. Robert leaned his shoulder against a wall with his arms crossed expectantly.

“We both know what the Baron is known for. Buys a pet, they mysteriously “run away”, never to be seen again. He gets taken in for allegations of Pet abuse, pays his way out, everyone forgets, repeat.” She muttered.

“I’m aware. Everyone is aware, and as sick as it is, there’s really nothing we can do about it.” Robert sighed.

“Yes there is. We just did. You saved that boy's life.” She pointed.

“But now what? I own a human being, what am I supposed to do with him?"

“Take him home. Feed him, care for him, love him.” She shrugged. “Okay, I’m being half serious here. I needed someone with the money who could outbid the Baron. If you really don’t want him that badly, I’ll look for some nice owner who can take him off your hands, just give me a week.” 

“So I spent five million to rent a boy for a week? Do you realize how insane this is?” Robert argued.

 “Don’t raise your voice at an old woman, young man. I didn’t ask you to bid five million, you didn’t have to bid anything. Besides, you have money, because you literally don’t spend any of it. I’ll get you paid back as much as I can, but I wasn’t expecting you to drop five million.” She waved. Robert took a deep breath, with his fingertips rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. I’ll care for him for a week, but please try and find someone who will take good care of him, this week.” Robert begged.

“Good, do be patient with him, he’s going to be very frightened. But if anything happens, or you need help, bring him in. I wouldn’t mind seeing him again, he’s a sweetie.” She smiled.

“Hey, I’m frightened too, where’s my hug-” “-Oh shut it.” She snapped, chuckling at him. 

“You bonded with him. Didn’t you?” Robert sighed. She quickly struggled to her feet, shooing him out the door “Go on now and collect your prize.” She waved, shutting the door in his face while chuckling. “Give those two a week and he’s going to bond with him too.” She giggled to herself.

<><>Later<><>

A loud clattering sound woke him. His vision was flipped from laying on the floor, but the could make out a man opening his cage, and was standing at it’s entrance. Reality struck, as arm wrapped around his chest and pulled him to his feet. All he could do was whimper as he placed in a hard metal chair. He gasped as it felt like dozens of hands grabbed him at every side, strapping his arms, legs, chest and waist down. One of his arms was specifically strapped out further, twisted upwards. He panicked, but before he could even cry out, his jaw was wrenched open as a wooden bar was shoved between his teeth. 

“Don’t move.” A voice growled. His sight was blurry with tears, but he could see someone looming over him, with something cold pressing hard into his wrist.

 “W--Wai-AAAAA!” He screamed, his arm shooting with sharp pain. It felt like someone had just impaled his wrists with a sharp spike. He bit down on the wooden bit hard, desperately trying to rip his wrists away, biting back the rest of his cries. His wrist was then gently wrapped with a white bandage and he was given a rough pat on the cheek. His breath shuttered, as he sobbed, his cries muffled.

“Sir! He’s all ready for you.” The man set down the chipping gun, waving Robert over who was just now showing up. Robert shot a glance at the young man who now apparently belonged to him, restrained, sobbing, twitching, hyperventilating. His wrist slightly bleeding through a fresh new bandage.  

‘’He’s just been chipped, and I see here he’s been fully paid for. Must have really wanted this one, huh?” The man chuckled. “If you need any help getting him to your car, we have a transport team that can take him, if you have a cage or a trunk set up in the vehicle.” The man said.

“I-I.. That won’t be necessary. I think I’ll handle him on my own, thank you.” Robert shuttered.

“Oh! Well that’s new... In that case, do you have a muzzle and restraints? Perhaps you would like him sedated?” The man asked, quite casually.

“What? No! None of those, I’ll walk him, if that’s fine.” Robert argued.

The man broke down laughing hysterically, Robert would have felt flattered if he had said something funny, which he hadn’t. 

“You uh... You didn’t come very prepared, did ya?” The man laughed, wiping away a tear. “Pets who have just been sold are always shaken up, so they tend to be stubborn, sometimes even aggressive. I highly suggest at least a muzzle and straps, sir.” The man huffed.

As convenient as that would be, Robert liked to think he was a decent man. He didn’t want to manhandle a traumatized boy, he just looked so scared... He just needed some time and space, and he would come around when he was ready... Goodness what was he doing. He was already planning strategies on how to handle him when he got home. It was only going to be a week at most.

“I’ve got it, really.” He said, as Peter was unstrapped from the chair, wooden bit pulled from his teeth, but the cuffs stayed, with a firm hand holding him down. “In that case, keep the cuffs. You paid enough already. Besides, something tells me you might need them.” The man chuckled.

 Robert bent down in front of Peter and put a gentle hand on his knee. “Hi there.” He smiled. Peter was gasping for air, trembling, holding his wrist tightly with his bound hand. It was around three AM, he was exhausted, slightly nodding off, but still in shock. “I’m just going to pick you up okay?” Robert asked. 

Peter looked up at him, was this the man who owned him now? He couldn’t see him in the darkness of the crowd, but he recognized his voice. The same voice shouting millions in his name. He yelped when he was picked up in the man’s arms, the pain in his wrists, fear and adrenaline combined kicked his defensive instincts hard, and before he could even stop himself, he bit the man’s shoulder.

Hard.

“Sir! This is why we use the muzzle!’’ The man yelled, running over to help.

“No!” Robert yelled, not giving the man a chance to touch him. “It’s-It’s fine... He’s not hurting me, he just has a latch on my coat...’’ Robert grunted.

Peter’s could feel the vibrations in the man’s neck as he spoke. He wanted so badly to just let go and crumble at the man’s feet, apologize and beg for mercy. But he couldn’t move. The shock kept him frozen, being carried bridal style, bound wrists gripping the man’s coat collar, teeth biting into his shoulder and mouth full of material.

“It’s alright...” Robert whispered to him, readjusting his grip around his trembling figure. He carried him through the parking lot, it was pitch black out, with only the streetlights luminating the vehicles around. He could make out distant scenes of other buyers loading their new Pets, some being thrown in a trunk, while some vehicles had entire cages in the pickup. The air was frozen, he could feel the man shaking uncontrollably in his grasp. He could only pull him in close to his chest, hopping that provided some warmth. 

He opened the back of his pickup truck and climbed in. He laid the man down in the backseat, who still had a death grip on his coat shoulder.  He placed a hand on his tear-soaked cheek. 

“I’m letting you go now, so can you let go for me too?” He soothed, the man’s eyes looked up at him pitifully, almost apologetically. Robert sighed as he unbuttoned his coat, and shuffled it off his shoulders. The man came off him along with his coat, as he laid him down and tucked the rest of his coat around him. He climbed into the driver's seat and glanced back. He still had his jaw locked onto the coat, but his eyes were half closed. 

“It’s okay. Just try and get some sleep, everything’s alright.” Robert soothed, turning up the heat in the car, as he was also shivering. He hoped the man would be tired enough he wouldn’t cause too much trouble for the first night. 

(press X to doubt)

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @moose-teeth @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @yet-another-heathen @sillypizzazineoperator @freefallingup13 @alien-octopus

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ *:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

[peppermintquartz]

minific, Playroom!verse / White Collar crossover

Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Tyler Breeze, Finn Balor

*

"For the record, I do not like how you're making me spend this holiday," Peter Burke repeats as they get into the car - a Ford, how plebeian - and Neal does what he does, which is smile prettily, nod, and say, "I know, Peter."

It's Hollywood they're headed to, all porcelain veneers and big parties and backstabbings and beautiful people, and if not for the bright sun that threatens his complexion, Neal would have liked to move here.

Well, a younger, more reckless Neal.

(It's not been the same for Neal since Peter's caught him for the final time, the two of them reconnecting in Florence, both of them finding each other where Galileo's preserved middle finger pointed right at the heavens. Then they had nights of accusations and arguments and pleas, followed by angry sex, followed by makeup sex, followed by 'come home with me' sex, followed by 'we love you and want you here' sex.

It was a lot of sex, to make up for the years Peter couldn't have Neal, not while Neal was his CI, and somehow between the fucking and the promises that Peter will not try to resurrect the dead Neal Caffrey and instead be satisfied with Geoffrey Neil Anderson, professional art restorer who sometimes travels for work but is based in Brooklyn, they have found an equilibrium together with Elizabeth.)

The address they have is in a very nice part of town, but not in the flashier districts. Mansion after mansion, but nothing too ostentatious as to be gaudy. It is clear that everyone in this neighborhood has old money. The security at the gate scrutinizes Peter's credentials and even calls to check, which earns him Peter's grudging admiration, and Neal hands over his name card. The actual address is for a mid-century modern, its black roof and pale cream walls almost plain and modest, if not for the huge estate it is situated in, and at the door are two men, one blond and one dark-haired, of about the same height. The blond man is in a white shirt and tight pale blue jeans, while the brunet is wearing an all-black suit with a black shirt.

Neal lights up in recognition. "Oh, my god, it's him!"

"I didn't think seeing Tyler Breeze would get that out of you."

"No, Finn!" Once the car stops, Neal hops out and practically runs up to the dark-haired man and hugs him. "Finn! Oh, sir, I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Likewise," says the man named Finn, and from his accent Peter knows he is Irish. What bugs him more is the sir that fell so easily from Neal's tongue. Then Peter's eyes widen when Finn tips Neal's chin and kisses him, hot and passionate, right out here where everyone can see-

"Mm, sorry, sir, but, uh, I'm spoken for these days," Neal murmurs as he pushes away - not quickly enough, if Peter's glare is anything to go by - and Finn just smiles that beatific smile of his.

Smiles like an angel, fucks like a demon. Neal's mind drags some very pleasant memories of Tokyo and Bullet Club from the depths, and he locks eyes with Tyler Breeze, who has a mischievous smirk on his lips. Princess. I haven't seen you in ages.

"Hello, Geoffrey," Tyler says with a wink, despite remembering Neal as Nicholas back in the day, and shakes hands. "It's been, what, ten years?"

"Eight, at least," says Neal, "and please, call me Neil." The names sound the same, but when Neal says it, he thinks about the different spelling.

Peter fumes politely. "Well, it's nice how everyone but me seems to know everyone else but me."

Neal laughs, quiet and fond, and goes to take his lover's hand. "Peter, this is of course Tyler Breeze, whom you know, and this is Finn. Finn, Tyler, this is Peter Burke. He heads the White Collar unit at the FBI."

Neal leaves out Finn's last name. Peter definitely has noticed, but it's okay; Neal knows that Finn erases all his digital footprints on a regular basis.

Finn's smile doesn't alter in its wattage as he shakes Peter's hand. "Nice to meet the man who's tamed Neal." The way he says the name indicates that he knows it's Neal, not Neil, and that he knows a Caffrey, and Peter suddenly knows in his gut that Finn is a criminal of some sort. Not a con man, not the sort to hurt any of them, but now Peter is itching to dig for the truth.

"Oh, that sounds naughty," Tyler says, teasing, and then jerks his head at the door. "Come on in. What would you like to drink?"

"Vodka, Ketel One," says Neal.

Peter says, "Water. I'm driving later."

"What? Of course you're not. I have six guest suites and Finn is only using one of them, so you two are staying here." Tyler sounds affronted.

"But Neal already made reserva-" Peter's protest dies out when he sees Neal's apologetic grimace. "You planned this. You had me take a holiday all the way across the country to be stuck here."

Neal holds up his hands. "El said you needed a proper break of at least two weeks after that gruelling La Monte case, and I can't keep you from your work if we just drove upstate, and I know you'd be pissed off if I had you fly to a different country, so getting you here and into Tyler's mansion is what I can do."

Peter restrains his temper. "That's it. We are flying home right now-"

"You can't leave if you don't have your keys," Finn remarks, and holds up a set of very familiar keys.

"Or your wallet," Neal chimes in. Peter squeezes his eyes shut. Neal must have lifted his wallet when he wasn't focused earlier, damn that charming bastard.

"Neal," Peter says, a growl in his voice.

"Ooh, now I see why you were tamed by him." Tyler bites his lower lip and flutters his lashes at Finn. "I oughta learn how to pick pockets. Roman would totally do that growly voice at me."

"Or you could just go to your Daddy Joe and beg for it," Finn replies, but his gaze is on Peter, who suddenly feels very exposed under the scrutiny of jewel-blue eyes. The Irishman takes the wallet from Neal and passes both wallet and keys to Tyler. "Lock these in your safe immediately, gorgeous."

Peter wants to grab the wallet back; his badge is in there and he can't risk someone copying it. But Neal was the one who insisted that they come here (although his initial claim was to meet a client for some restoration work on a portrait) and he deliberately stole the wallet and his badge and handed them over, and if Neal trusts them...

Tyler practically skips away with his prizes. Finn walks around Peter and Neal, head cocked, like he's studying something. Peter squirms inwardly, wanting to turn and watch him, but is also reluctant to show that he's unnerved.

"I can see the appeal," Finn finally says to Neal, though he is still looking at Peter. "You've found a good one."

"He found me," Neal demurs.

"I caught you," Peter corrects, almost on automatic, because he can't look away from Finn, or from his indecently red lips.

Said lips curl into a languid smile, and now it is a smile that is the downfall of saints and angels. "Mm. Catching is easy. Owning, now, owning is difficult." He pauses. "Would you like to own him, Peter?"

Neal's breathing picks up. Peter's gaze flicks over to him, concerned, but Neal only licks his lips, as if mesmerized.

Finn walks up to Neal and runs a finger along his shaven jaw. "Have you submitted to him?"

"Not yet," Neal admits.

"Do you want to?" Finn's voice drops lower. Peter has to strain to hear what he said.

"Not until... not until he learns how to handle me," Neal whispers. His eyes dart over to Peter. "How to control me."

Finn looks at the older man again, his eyes as startlingly blue as Neal's. Another slow smile. Finn then murmurs, "I can teach him. But I want you to show him what it is to submit." Then his voice hardens. "Neal."

Neal goes to his knees instantly.

It takes a second for Peter to realize that what Finn said was a command and not a name, and then his eyes take in the scene properly and his mind processes what just happened, and his breath catches.

Neal falling to my knees at one word. Neal never running again because I can stop him, with one word. It's a heady promise of power. Neal, finally listening to me and obeying me.

Finn has a very eloquent smile. It's arrogant now, amused. "If you'd known about me, back in the day," he tells Peter, "I could have handed him to you in chains within three hours. And he'd have thanked me for the honor."

Something hot and hungry unfurls in Peter's gut. He smiles back, like a shark. "What would be the fun in that?"

"Oh, so much." Finn winks. "This is going to be a very educational two weeks."

[ohmightydevviepuu]

writer’s month prompts

prompt twenty-four:  true love’s kiss canon divergent 3x11, ‘going home’

for @shireness-says, @profdanglaisstuff, @optomisticgirl and the “3B no-curse renaissance”.  

What happened was this.

There was a curse. Massive, billowing plumes of goddamn purple smoke--Emma had seen pictures, but the storybook had not done them justice. They were ominous, they were terrifying, they were heading straight for them, spilling out from the Wishing Well right down Main Street and pushing up against the town line.

They only had a few minutes left and Emma felt every second ticking by--this was not supposed to happen. Maybe she’d been hanging out too much with her kid, The Heart of the Truest Believer and all of that, but she wanted to believe and they’d gotten him back from fucking Peter Pan, hadn’t they? They’d flown on a pirate ship with a magical shadow and put a magical freaking barrier around his heart so that a demon couldn’t steal it. They’d figured out the evil plan, they’d done all of the things.

All of the things.

And still, this was how it was going to end: another curse. Everyone separated. No happy endings.

Emma was feeling that, all of it, as the seconds ticked by and the smoke got closer and she could hear the screams in town, Grumpy chief among them--“It’s coming, it’s coming,” like they didn’t already know that. Like they couldn’t see it.

Her parents were watching her and it was just--it was so stupid, all of this best chance bullshit, but now she had to make a choice about her kid, the choice she never got to make last time, to keep him safe because she could and that made it not much of a choice at all. But she was going to miss her parents, and it would be worse now than it had been, now that she knew she’d had parents, parents that wanted her and loved her even if she hadn’t quite relaxed enough to let herself believe it. Henry was in their arms, one last hug from his grandparents, from Regina, and Emma stood by the door of the Beetle and watched them. One last goodbye to Neal and there was a sliver of her that she wasn’t proud of that looked at him and thought, just a little bit, good riddance.

She’d been right in the Echo Cave. It would be easier to have him and all of it behind her forever. Closure she’d never gotten and now it was coming with a bigger price than she’d ever imagined.

She didn’t look at Hook. At Killian.

She couldn’t.

He was looking at her, though, eyes drilling straight into her skull, windows into his goddamn soul as she saw everything she’d never let him say to her spilling out. He opened his mouth to speak and Emma had to brace herself.

“That’s quite a vessel you captain there, Swan.”

It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say and that was--it was good. Too many emotions wouldn't help the situation. There was no going back anyway. No undoing the things that had happened--and hadn’t happened--between them. No more apologies or regrets.

So why was she disappointed?

She smiled at him and ignored the tears tickling the corners of her eyes and then he said, “There’s not a day that goes by I won’t think of you.”

And she had been right; it was easier when he didn’t say anything and just let his eyes spill all of his secrets, because that hurt. It had been less than a week and she didn’t want to think about how it had happened but he had become her--

Something.

He was something. And he was hers--her rock, her friend, her person. Emma wasn’t someone who believed that people could belong to each other but she knew if she asked him he’d agree, even if he wouldn’t have a week ago.

Until I met you.

Regina pulled her aside because of course there were things the Evil Queen hadn’t felt ready to reveal yet--no rush or anything--and said, “When the curse washes over us, it will send us all back. Nothing will be left behind. Including your memories. It's just what the curse does. Storybrooke will no longer exist. It won't ever have existed. So these last years will be gone from both your memories.”

Emma looked at her parents. At Neal. At Killian.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Now we'll go back to being just stories again.”

She. Couldn’t. Breathe.

Her eyes were on him again as she struggled to get air in her lungs and fuck it. Emma took two steps forward and grabbed him just like she’d done in Neverland and this time he didn’t wait to react, to kiss her back; he was all in, a drowning man looking for one last gasp of oxygen. She arched into him and he stole her breath and thoughts and words, his lips and tongue promising everything they could never have.

Emma could taste the salt on her tongue and wasn’t sure if it was from her tears, or his.

She didn’t think. She didn’t notice, not until she pulled herself away and started walking toward the car, reaching blindly for Henry and he wasn’t there.

Panicking, Emma opened her eyes and saw--nothing. No purple smoke. No empty forest. Just the town line sign exactly where it had been, the dwarves’ painted line exactly as it was, everyone staring in strained disbelief, pure joy mixed with confusion on their faces and Emma said to Regina: “What did you do?”

Regina raised her eyebrows the way she did, her arms wrapped tightly around their son. “What did I do, Miss Swan?” The “are you fucking kidding me” was strongly implied so Emma ignored it, turning to her parents and breaking out into a little run as she hurled herself at them. “Mom,” she said. “Dad.”

She felt her father’s hand against the back of her neck and her mother reaching to pull her forehead down close enough to kiss. “You did it,” Mary Margaret whispered. “You saved us.”

Emma stepped back, blinking in confusion. She looked at her father, who shrugged his shoulders; he looked like she’d hit him with a dreamshade-tipped arrow.

Neal wouldn’t meet her eyes, but then again--he’d always been a coward.

Hook--Killian--had his fingers pressed up against his lips as he stared at her, his blue eyes unblinking. She’d done a number on his hair when she’d kissed him--

When she’d--

When--

Oh.

Oh.

--

full list of prompts full collection on AO3

--

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @captain-emmajones @carpedzem @mariakov81 @spartanguard @lfh1226-linda @karl0ta @pirateherokillian @therealstartraveller776 @gingerchangeling​ @snowbellewells​ @withaheartfulloflove​ @scientificapricot​

[rumpledgoldenweaver]

A Weekend Away

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling February prompt “I think we���re lost”. Also @fluffapalooza if it’s still open :) Read it on my blog: https://earlyrisingwriting.home.blog/2021/02/14/a-weekend-away/

An opportunity arises for the Gold Boys to spend time together away from Storybrooke’s prying eyes.

Malcolm Gold – he’d adopted his son’s cursed surname, Stiltskin didn’t seem right, it only served to remind him of the anger he’d felt when naming his baby boy. He didn’t want anything to do with the name Peter Pan any more, Gold was a fresh start – was beginning to rue the day he’d agreed to joining his rapidly expanding family for a weekend at Rumple’s forest cabin. It’s like the tree houses in Neverland Neal had explained but on the ground. It’ll be fun Papa, his son had told him through obviously gritted teeth, Malcolm hadn’t missed the discreet elbow to the ribs Rumple had taken from Belle as she’d added that it would be an opportunity to talk away from the scrutiny of the towns folk. Henry had kept a commendable straight face at that remark considering she was referring to at least half of his family. Malcolm liked Belle. She was honest, trusting but not to be crossed. Just what his son needed to keep him in line. It was mainly because of her he’d agreed to come along.  

Malcolm had also been grateful to Belle for her advice regarding clothing in this new land. Although Rumple’s suits looked sharp, he didn’t want that many layers. Neal’s clothes were a bit too casual so he settled on trousers Henry had called Chinos, shirts with buttons, thin jumpers and boots called Timberland. Today he was particularly glad of the boots. Rumple had used magic to transport all the necessary clothes, food etc to the cabin, leaving Malcolm, Neal and Henry free to arrive on foot. Henry had been so excited at the thought of a hike through the forest with his Dad, no one had the heart to object.

“I think we’re lost” Malcolm tried to get his bearings however the trees all looked the same, he had no idea how far into the the forest they were.

“Lost Boys” sniggered Neal. Henry snorted which made his father laugh even more.

“Following the leader, the leader, the leader” sang Henry “We’re following the leader…”

“Wherever he may go” Neal joined in, the two of them dancing round in a circle.

“Very funny”

“You have no idea” laughed Neal “Have you seen the Disney film about Peter Pan yet?”

“The what?” Malcolm was still bemused by the popular cultures of the world he now lived in even though he’d got a better grasp of how it actually worked.

Henry grinned the kind of wicked grin Rumple would have been proud of “You’ll love it Gramps, especially Hook”

Neal’s eyebrows rose at the use of Gramps in relation to Malcolm

“What? I call Rumple Grandpa and Malcolm didn’t like Great Grandpa so Mum suggested Gramps”

“Which Mum?” though Neal had his suspicions

Henry didn’t answer but the glint in his eye was enough. Emma had an evil sense of humour.

“One of you must have been to this cabin before?”

“Neal shook his head “I arrived in town not long before the trip to Neverland but Papa and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms back then”

“I haven’t been either, I didn’t know Grandpa was my Grandpa and my mums weren’t about to let me hang out with The Dark One”

“Wonderful”

Neal looked around for minute or two, then as if some secret signal had been given he made an abrupt turn and set off down a path “Come on. It’s this way”

~

“Rumple will you please stop fussing. We have enough food to survive a small siege. There is no need to summon more”

“Have you ever fed a twelve year old boy? If his appetite is anything like Bae’s at that age then…” he felt a lump rise in his throat.

“Rumple?”

“Then I want to make sure there’s plenty”

“Oh Rumple” she hugged him hoping to both reassure and pull him out of this melancholy. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair, whispering a thank you sweetheart. Belle moved to kiss him and for the next couple of minutes there was a feeling of peace between them.

“Hi Grandpa Hi Belle sorry we’re.. oh…” Henry looked embarrassed at interrupting.  Belle giggled, Rumple never even turned round as he replied “Hi Henry”

“Are they here?” Neal’s voice carried through the door.

“Er...yes…they are.. here…”

“Is something up?” Neal strode into the living room and stopped dead “Oh for pities sake you two get a room!”

Rumple did turn this time “This is my cabin Bae and my room”

“Not in front of the wee ones eh Laddie?” Malcolm chuckled.

“Indeed”

“Rumple..” there was a warning tone to Belle’s voice “remember what we talked about”

“Hmm”

Ever the diplomat Henry piped up “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving”

“Yes of course Henry” smiled Belle “in the kitchen”

The young boy disappeared, returning within five minutes carrying a plate loaded with burger, fries, onion rings, various dips and salad. Rumple gave Belle a told you so look.

“He obviously appreciates his food” Malcolm watched in amusement at Henry giving the burger his full attention.

“Takes after his father” Rumple nodded towards Neal as he too went to the kitchen and brought back a plate piled high.

Conversation remained light hearted as they ate, comments about both Neal and Henry having hollow legs because of their hearty appetites. Rumple found he was nearly enjoying himself. Nearly being better than not at all as Belle reminded him earlier.

“Where on earth did all the food come from anyway?” Malcolm asked as he debated which of the many desserts to try.

“I summoned it” Rumple replied reaching for a cupcake.

“Magic” Neal raised a suspicions eyebrow.

“Only to bring it here. It’s not magic food. I’ve paid Granny’s chef triple his wages to cook a steady supply especially for us”

“Fair enough” Neal took a satisfied mouthful of cake.

“More tea anyone?” Belle stood up and began collecting the various cups and mugs strewn around the room

“Coffee if you have it please”

“Of course Bae, I’ll put the pot on. Coffee has it’s own magic Dearie” he twirled his arms, turned on his heel and practically skipped out after Belle.

The expression on Henry’s face was priceless.

~

When everyone had eaten their fill, plates, cups and cutlery washed, dried and put away by hand not magic Rumple keenly pointed out, Henry suggested they watch a film. Malcolm being particularly interested in the idea of a a “moving book” being shown on something called a TV screen. Then began the debate over which one to put on. Whilst there wasn’t a great deal of choice amongst the DVD’s at the cabin, Rumple would be happy to summon whichever was decided on. Mostly it was left to Neal and Henry as they had the widest knowledge of such things. It seemed to Malcolm to be a very complicated process.

“Nothing over a PG”

“Awww Dad! I’m twelve! I can watch..”

“No. Your Mothers would find a hundred ways to kill me, bring me back to life and kill me all over again if they found out you’d watched anything remotely inappropriate”

“Grandpa would protect you”

“Oh no no no” laughed Rumple “Do not bring me into this. I argued with both of them over many things but even I have limits”

“What about that.. Disney thing you mentioned on the way here? Would that be allowable?”

All eyes turned to Malcolm.

“You mean Peter Pan?” Henry looked sceptical.

“Yeah.. that. I’d like to see it”

Rumple and Belle exchanged a look before he got up and went into the main bedroom. There followed the sound of keys turning in locks and a safe being opened.

“You keep Disney DVD’s in a vault Papa?”

“Along with a few other items I was unsure about at first yes”

“Such as?”

“Such as none of your business son” he walked back into the living room brandishing the disc “You can do the honours Bae”

It could, Belle mused to herself long after everyone else had retired for the night, have gone a lot worse.  For instance everyone agreed that the physical resemblance between the cartoon and the person was actually rather accurate. They had all laughed like drains at Captain Hook. Belle honestly thought she’d have to give medical attention to Rumple and Malcolm as their hysterics gave way to mighty coughing fits. Neal and Henry sang along with the songs, Never Smile At A Crocodile didn’t go down very well with Rumple at first but he saw the funny side in the end. When it came to Following The Leader, the youngest father and son immediately leapt to their feet and began dancing round the room in a repeat of their antics in the forest earlier.

“So that’s where that song came from” groused Malcolm.

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to not discuss certain details regarding film versus real life, for that Belle was grateful. She knew the relationships in that room were complicated, messy, quite possibly very unhealthy and could keep Archie Hopper on Rumple’s pay roll for decades. Whilst she believed talking about these issues was healthy, this weekend was not the time or the place. For once no one was arguing, for once certain townsfolk weren’t around to stick their well intentioned (or otherwise) noses in. She wondered if inviting her own father for a weekend here might help ease tensions between him and her boyfriend. Maybe leave it a month or so before she suggested that.

“What are you smirking at?” Rumple came from the en suite,  pulled the bed covers back and climbed in bed beside her. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Don’t you dare Belle” he warned, which was the wrong thing to say because of course she dared.

“Never smile at a crocodile..”

“I’m warning you young lady”

“No you can’t get friendly with a crocodile…” she sang between giggles.

“Right then”

And he proceeded to show her how friendly crocodiles could be when they wanted to.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

What Happens at Comic-Con. . . .

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/kwhbVe4

by Honyasbookshelf

"'Remind me again why I'm here,' Peter groused, feeling extremely out of his comfort zone as he weaved between a guy in green wearing fake elf ears and a group of teens with gray skin and candy-corn horns.

'Because I bribed you with tickets to take Elizabeth to see Hamilton?' Neal responded with a grin. Great. His CI found his discomfiture amusing. Perfect."

Neal drags Peter to Comic-Con. Peter's confused. Again. It's a whole thing.

Words: 1355, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 18 of Neal Grayson

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne, DCU Ensemble (Implied)

Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Batfamily Members & Peter Burke, Batfamily Members & Neal Caffrey

Additional Tags: Neal Caffrey is Dick Grayson's Clone, POV Peter Burke, Comic-Con, Confused Peter Burke, Supportive Neal Caffrey, Good Sibling Neal Caffrey, Author Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Artist Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne is Robin, Nerdy References, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Octopus Hugs, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, This is ridiculous, I have No Excuse, Cosplay, Humor, does this count as crack?, probably, The Waynes Are Not Good For Peter Burke's Blood Pressure, Good Friend Peter Burke

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/kwhbVe4