Chapter Text
This was going to be a huge operation, not something the White Collar team saw every day. There were at least four departments involved, including Organised Crime, to everyone’s dismay. Months of gathering intel and rigorous planning just to get to this final operation. Peter was determined to show the White Collar team at their best and most professional. No messing up on this one. That included, or rather mainly involved, keeping his criminal informant in check.
After working with Neal for nearly two years, they had developed a friendship and a level of trust that dampened Peter's worries. But still, Peter knew Neal, maybe better than anyone else in his opinion, and Neal tended to take matters into his own hands without thinking of the proper chain of command nor the procedure of things. Not to mention the general tendency Neal had of finding himself in bizarre situations, an occupational hazard of being a criminal for sure. In a large operation like this, Neal was bound to get distracted, and with so many carefully placed moving parts, he might just get away with it too.
Their four-person team were sprawled out over the interior of the White Collar surveillance van, where they had been waiting for hours already. They were parked about three blocks away from the warehouse where the operation was going down. The teams leading the operation were in the process of scoping out the building and setting up the main base of operations closer to the scene. In the van, Diana and Jones were monitoring the surveillance while Peter kept in continuous contact with the Special Agent in Charge of the operation, SAC Williams, as well as different team leaders. So really the only one sprawled out was Neal, with his feet up on the monitor table, playing with a rubber band ball. Where he had gotten the ball, Peter had no idea.
“Really, Petter, a warehouse? Criminals have no imagination anymore.” His CI complained.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Neal; they are international smugglers. Where else would they be keeping their cargo?” Peter huffed, trying to stay focused on the communicators in case new information came through.
“I’m just saying it’s a cliché, isn’t it? Of course, the police are going to find you if you keep your illegal stuff in a warehouse and on the docks as well. It’s obvious by this point.” Neal continues passionately, and to be honest, Peter might agree. Not that he is going to tell Neal that. Instead, he just grunts an affirmative, which only seems to make Neal smile more.
“Oh, stop worrying so much, Peter. This is easygoing for us; I just wish we were closer to the action.” Throughout their conversation Neal never stops throwing the rubber ball in the air. Neal might be leaning back in his chair with his legs up, but the pent-up energy was basically radiating off his skin, ready to move.
“This is more than close enough for us to move in and do our part. And I’m not worried.” Peter lies, mostly.
“Yeah, if someone is bound to screw up this operation, it’s the meatheads in organised crime,” Jones chimed in.
“No one is going to screw up.” Diana says resolutely, “Our part in this is easy; Caffrey just has to verify that the stolen artwork is the real deal. We are not even here to make any arrests.”
“Right.” Peter was still not convinced; he had a bad feeling in his gut about this one, that was for sure. What he couldn’t quite figure out was if the bad feeling was courtesy of his CI or not. “Let’s just make sure we are ready to go when the Special Agent in Charge gives us the all clear.”
About one hour later the operation was in full effect. Multiple teams had gone ahead to deal with the more violent and dangerous parts of the organisation they were taking down, and arrests were already underway. Peter and his team were hanging back, listening over the radio that Peter had strapped to his bulletproof vest.
“Agent Burke, we have located and secured the area storing the stolen artwork, but there is a hell of a lot more than we were anticipating. You and your team are free to move towards the southwest side of the building, over.” The staticky voice was coming out of Peter's radio.
“Copy that, over.” At Peter's words they were moving.
It did not take long for the team to reach where the goods were being stored, and upon arriving, the commander’s statement of ‘a hell of a lot more’ was starting to feel like an understatement. There was seemingly an endless row of shelves with goods that awaited their inspection.
“Boss, this really is a lot more than we were expecting,” Diana voiced.
“We will have other teams of evidence come in to catalogue all of this; our job remains to verify the stolen paintings so we can close the museum case. Take care not to contaminate any of the evidence while we look for the paintings. Understood?” At his last words, Peter looked at his CI.
Neal promptly lifted his hands in a show of surrender. “Understood, Peter, no prodding at all at the beautiful artwork and priceless artefacts.”
Peter was decidedly not comforted by that.
Dick couldn’t really fault Peter for being cautious about letting a known criminal with an affinity for art loose on a haul of uncatalogued goods. Peter is no idiot, and, in this situation, it would be laughably easy to slip a couple of diamonds in his pocket without anyone being the wiser for it. Even if his undercover persona might have been tempted, neither Dick nor the persona of Neal was interested in breaking the FBI agent's trust like that. Not when the team had started becoming more like friends than colleagues.
Another factor in the no-stealing pros and cons list was that already at a distance Dick could detect magical signatures from the items stored here, while others looked like they were not from this planet altogether. Touching any of these things without proper precaution could have any range of consequences. The Justice League would have to be contacted to come deal with this.
Dick wasn’t sure how to voice his deduction or concern to his team. He might not be an expert, but the now two decades of vigilantism as Robin and then Nightwing had given him a solid understanding and ability to know when to stay clear of magical stuff. Neal Caffrey, on the other hand, should not know any of this, making the situation a lot harder to deal with.
Before he could think of any hints to give the team trying to clue them in, they decided to split up. There was too much ground to cover if they want to find the paintings and close the case any time soon.
“Diana and Jones go right; Neal and I will go left. Stay in contact on our private line over the coms and do not touch anything without gloves.” Peter says before looking around with a frown, “Actually try to touch as little as possible; this place doesn’t feel right.” At least Peter is starting to catch on.
As they made their way down the aisle, Peter was practically stepping on Dick's heels. He could see everything from vases that wouldn’t have been out of place in Wayne Manor to something that looked suspicious, like human bones. And were his eyes playing tricks on him, or were they glowing ever so slightly? The JL really should be notified. Hopefully they would find the paintings and get out of here as soon as possible.
“I have a bad feeling about this place, Peter.” Dick started; the agents would hopefully pick up on the particular kind of strangeness as well.
Peter simply raises an eyebrow at him.
Yeah, okay, maybe it's not completely in character for Neal Caffrey to want to leave a place like this. Dick, on the other hand, could not wait to get out of here. The deeper into the rows of shelves he went, the more intense the cold feeling of eyes on the back of his neck grew.
“Come on, Peter, you have to agree that something about this place feels off.”
Peter took a second to answer but eventually just sighed and nodded his head.
Sometimes Petter really reminded Dick of Bruce with all the sighing and huffing. Peter wasn’t nearly as broody as B, but Dick could swear that sometimes Peter’s exasperations with him felt paternal. It was nice, especially now while he was spending so much time away from his family. He tried visiting as much as he could, but with an undercover job like this, the opportunities were short and far between. Not nearly enough to keep the homesickness at bay.
The further they pushed on down the aisle that seemed to get colder and darker with every row, Dick could tell that some of Peter’s bravado was starting to fade. When Dick was about to call a stop to it all, he spotted one of the paintings peeking out from under a tarp on one of the lower-level shelves. “Peter, I found them!”
“Oh, thank god, let’s be quick about it and get out of here.”
Dick put on a pair of disposable gloves and carefully removed the tarp to reveal a bunch more paintings. “Looks like they are all here,” he breathed.
“And the authenticity?” Peter urged.
“Yes, yes, give me a second.”
Dick had practised all the skills necessary for playing Neal Caffrey to the point where he knew he could do them, but at times like this it would have been nice to be a seasoned art forger. Fishing the magnifying glass out of his pocket, he tried his best to hide his inexperience from his body language. This is what Neal Caffrey lived for, and Dick couldn’t let Peter see any hesitancy from him.
Before he could get to work at looking closer at the paintings, Diana’s voice sounded over the communicator in their ear. “Boss, something is wrong with Jones; you need to come quick.” Diana's words were all business, but the urgency in her voice sent alarm bells ringing in Dick's head.
Oh, this is not good.
Dick was running back up the aisle, leaving Peter scrambling to follow. He can’t help but feel like if something bad happened to Jones because of the strange nature of the artefacts, it’s his fault for not giving them a clear warning.
When he makes it to where Diana and Jones are standing, the scene that meets him is almost underwhelming. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but his mind had conjured up a slide show of worst-case scenarios.
Jones was standing by a shelf, clearly in the process of moving stuff to get a better look at what could be canvases further in. Clenched in his gloved hands was a pocket watch no bigger than the palm of his hand. At first glance the watch looked quite inconspicuous. Old and expensive-looking? Sure, but dangerous? Not very much.
“Jones?” He prompts with no success of getting the agent's attention.
Taking a closer look, it becomes clearer what got Diana so spooked. Jones was completely frozen where he stood; he didn’t even seem to be breathing. The hands of the clock were moving at an unnatural speed anticlockwise, and looking at Jones's face, he was completely unresponsive, entranced by the spiralling of the clock hands.
Dick is no expert on magic, but he could deduce enough in the seconds it took him to take in the scene that Jones needs to be broken out of the trance, and that as quickly as possible.
Fast-approaching footsteps sound as Peter catches up behind him, and he knows he needs to make a split-second decision. Dick can hear the beginnings of what is going to be a command from his handler and is probably going to sound something like, “Neal, don’t you dare!” But Dick can’t be sure as he wrenches the clock out of Jones’s hand and is promptly enveloped in the most nauseating sensation as the world spirals into black in front of his eyes.
Notes:
Not sure why I am so mean to the Organized Crime devision in this chapter, but it felt right:)
Chapter Text
“Neal, don't you dare!” Peter shouts as he catches up to Neal where he had found Jones and Diana. Before the words even made it out of his mouth, Neal had again acted with an uncanny speed and snatched something out of Jones's hand. He had no idea Neal could move that fast but pushed that revelation to the back of his mind for later examination.
The force of the move had Jones staggering back for Diana to steady. In the split second he took his eyes off Neal, the CI had seemingly vanished into thin air, and the item he had taken from Jones, a pocket watch, lay smashed on the concrete floor. Broken glass lay scattered amongst the rumpled heap of a suit. Neal's suit.
“What in the…” Peter didn’t know what to say. “Diana, Jones, what happened? Are you okay? Where is Neal?”
At his words Diana looked up from where she had helped Jones sit down on the ground. “I don’t know, boss. We were careful, but we had to move some stuff to get a better view. Jones picked up the clock and…” Diana stopped in her explanation, as lost for words as he felt himself.
“The clock”? That was Jones. He sounded disoriented, and the look on his face made Peter afraid he might be sick. “I, I couldn’t look away. It was like it was dragging me…” He trailed off, looking around him like he just now realised that Neal wasn’t there anymore. “I think Caffrey just saved me.”
“Whatever Neal just did, it was reckless, and now he is gone without a trace.” That was not strictly true, Peter thought as he eyed the heap of expensive suits now lying discarded on the floor. Peter was hit with the ridiculous thought of Neal running around naked somewhere and had to fight the sudden urge to laugh. This was just too much. How could he have let this happen?
“Our investigation stops here!” he stated firmly, trying to regain some control of the situation. “This is far out of our jurisdiction and skill level.”
He pressed down on the radio at his waist. “SAC Williams, this is SA Peter Burke is requesting to pull back. I have one agent out of commission after an interaction with an “oh, what had his life become”, a magical object. Requesting reinforcements from the Justice League.”
Peter hated to say it. He could understand the need for such an organisation as the Justice League, seeing what the world has become. But there was a clear distinct line between the things the FBI dealt with and all the ‘other’ things the JL dealt with. Peter had never been in a position where that line blurred, and he did not like it one bit.
What he liked even less was the next part he had to report: “Also, our CI is missing after interacting with the same artefact, over.”
“Copy that, Special Agent Burke,” came the strict voice of the Special Agent in Charge. “Where is the artefact now? Protocol is to keep it contained and out of reach until the Justice League representatives can investigate, over.”
“The item is still here, but in the incident, it was broken, over.” That statement was followed by a long stretch of silence.
“Copy that, SA Burke; stand clear of any part of the object while we contact the JL. All we can do for now is contain the scene. Your team is clear to pull out of the operation; paramedics are ready for your agent at the perimeter, over.”
Peter let out a long breath. “Copy that, moving out, over.”
He looked eyes with Diana. “You take Jones out to the paramedics; I’ll secure the scene and contact the Marshals. Maybe we’ll have some luck tracking Neal’s anklet.”
“You don’t think that if the spell rid him of his clothes, it would do the same with the anklet?” Diana asked sceptically.
“That’s a good point; I’ll check before involving the Marshals.”
“Peter, I don’t think that is a good idea; they told us to leave the scene untouched.”
“I know, but I can’t not look for him, Diana. I need to know that he is okay.” Peter thinks he has been doing a good job of compartmentalising his fear for his friend’s well-being so far, but even he can hear the anxiety in his voice now.
Looking at the pile of clothes, Peter can feel the worry creeping up his throat, threatening to make him panic.
“I am worried for him too, but if the protocol is to...” He doesn’t let Diana finish her train of rational thinking.
“Did you see that!”
“See what?”
“It… moved.” If Peter didn’t feel crazy before, he definitely sounded it now.
“Moved?” Diana directed her gaze to the pile of cloths and sucked in a sharp breath. “It moved!”
They both started moving closer to the pile of cloths, careful not to disturb any of the remnants of the broken clock.
The closer they got, the more obvious the slight up and down movement of the pile of cloths became. “Neal?” Peter prompted carefully, “Neal, can you hear me?” There was no way their 6-foot-something, broad-shouldered CI was hiding in the small pile of clothes, but the hope still felt too good to let go of.
Holding his breath, Peter moved some of the fabric to uncover an unruly head of raven-black hair. He froze. It’s, uh, a child sleeping in a pile of Neal’s ridiculous suits.
Why was there a child entangled in Neal's clothes in the middle of an FBI crime scene turned magical incident?
His first instinct is to step back; he knows nothing about children, and even in a normal situation, they tend to freak him out. There is no social code to follow with them; they are unpredictable, and Peter never knows what to say.
Peter would be even more concerned if the child were not clearly breathing deep, even breaths. Yet any move he made, either calling out to it or nudging it, the child stayed unconscious. There were no outer indicators that the child was hurt, but that didn’t mean much if they couldn’t wake it up.
Diana seemed to echo his thought as she urged, “Peter, do something! We need to get them out of the contaminated scene.”
Gaining a sense of urgency, Peter bypassed his initial hesitation and scooped up the child, a little boy by the look of his sleeping face. Accompanying his dark hair that was fluffy and soft under Peter's hand where he supported his neck, the boy was tanned and had puffy cheeks still round and pink with baby fat. He was also, Peter realised as he stood up from his crouching position, wearing Neal Caffrey’s shirts as a makeshift dress.
As Peter reached a standing position, the silence was broken by a small thunk sound. On the concrete floor between Peter and Diana lay Neal's ankle monitor. Seemingly having slipped off the boy’s tiny foot.
“It’s Neal.” Jones's voice sounded more grounded than before as he staggered up from the floor. Still unsteady on his feet but eyes fixed intently on the child in Peter's arms. “It’s Neal!” he repeated with even more conviction in his voice.
Peter really hated magic.
He needed a second. Taking a deep breath, the weight of the boy in his arm, of Neal in his arms, was grounding. There really weren’t any other explanations, were there? It’s not like the appearance of a random child wearing his CI’s clothes would be any more reasonable.
There were still no movements from the boy, who hopefully was just in a deep sleep.
“You might be right, Jones, but I still can’t manage to wake him up. We need to get you both to the paramedics.” He looked to Diana. “Change of plans, Diana. You secure the scene; I’ll do the extraction.” While he spoke, Peter carefully repositioned the boy, Neal, in his arms so that his little head was resting on his shoulder and he could cradle his body with one arm. The other he put around Jones to steady the agent.
“Copy that, boss.” Diana nodded and, despite the circumstances, gave him a soft, fond look that Peter decided to ignore.
As Peter made it outside of the warehouse with his two teammates, they were met by agents who escorted the group towards the ambulances stationed on the far side of what had become the main base of operations. To say they got a lot of stares as they walked through was an understatement. Peter did his best to shield Neal from the praying eyes, as he was consumed by the feeling of fierce protectiveness over his friend being in such a vulnerable state.
Explaining the situation to the paramedics made the whole ordeal feel even more bizarre, if that was even possible. The paramedics did their best to check everything, doing a standard check of health which they both passed. Jones’s blood pressure was a little on the high side, but Peter couldn’t really fault him for that. Neal was still unconscious, but the paramedics assured Peter for the third time that according to their tests Neal was in perfect health and that as long as he woke up within the hour there shouldn’t be a need to worry.
He would have found this more reassuring if his CI wasn’t missing for around three decades based on their assessment of him being between the ages of five and six years old right now. Peter would have guessed younger, but what did he know about kids really? All he knew is that Neal looked so tiny where he lay bundled up in a blanket sleeping on the ambulance gurney. His hands itched to pick him up again, to protect him, but he ignored the impulse. It was not his place, and seeing as he would never pick up an adult Neal without consent, he would definitely not pick up the child version of Neal without consent either.
When Diana finally came to join the group, Peter was so lost in his train of thought about whether he would even be able to pick up the adult version of Neal that it took some time for Peter to notice her. Neal was such a deceptively big guy now that he thought about it, yet he never seemed threatening or imposing in person.
“The scene is secured, boss. I was relieved by the clean-up crew who had strict orders not to touch anything until the JL can get on the scene.” Diana reported.
Peter started out of his thoughts. “Good. Hear any updates on how they are doing getting in touch with the Justice League?”
“No, but the SAC wants a full report.”
“Right.” Peter hesitated; he really didn’t want to leave his team right now.
“Don’t worry, Peter. I got them.” Diana’s words were reassuring, but the echo of the words Neal had spoken to him earlier in the van still resonated in his head: ‘Don’t worry, Peter.’ He should have realised the danger he was putting his team in and pulled them out earlier. If he had, all this could have been avoided, and his charmingly annoying CI would still be 35 and conscious right now.
“Don’t do that, Peter! I can see you spiralling and blaming yourself; this was not your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine for touching that thing in the first place.” Jones insisted.
Peter lets out a huff. “No, Jones, don’t blame yourself here; you had no way of knowing that thing could be dangerous. I am your superior, and I should not have put any of you in this situation.” He can’t help his eyes from lingering on Neal before he walks off to find his own superiors.
Explaining the situation again now to the SAC and other team leaders, including Hughes, who had made his way down to the scene after hearing something had happened to the White Collar team, was even more surreal than talking to the paramedics. Peter really hated how magic blurred the lines of reason.
“Both Caffrey and SA Jones are stable, though Caffrey has yet to wake up.” He finished his explanation as professionally as he could considering the circumstances.
“And the item broke as Caffrey grabbed it out of Agent Jones’s hands?” The question came from the agent that was in contact with the Justice League.
“Yes, or no I think it broke as it impacted with the floor when Agent Jones was knocked back, and Neal, well, shrank.” Peter tried to recall; it had all happened so fast.
“Right, how long has Mr Caffrey been unconscious now?” He continued.
“How is that related?” Peter bristled at the detached professionalism in the agent’s voice when referring to his unconscious friend.
“I’m just relaying the questions that are coming from the JL representative.” The man gestured to the tablet in his hands.
That was how Peter realised that the Justice League had been actively listening to him explaining the situation and apparently provided follow-up questions about his CI.
“Oh, about forty minutes now. The paramedics said not to worry as long as he woke up within the hour.” But really, what did they know about the lasting effects of magic? He kept that thought to himself. The agent with the tablet simply nodded his head before going back to typing at it.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to relay the JL representative’s response. It’s not like there was much else they could do without their assistance at this point.
When he finally looked up again, he kept his professional demeanour, though he softened the tone of his voice as he spoke this time. In Peter's experience, never a good sign. “The JL say to keep doing as we are doing, barricading the entire area and making sure nothing gets in or out before they can come and assess.”
“And when will that be, Agent Dahl?” the SAC pressed.
“Inconclusive,” Agent Dahl answered with a sympathetic glance in Peter’s direction.
“What do you mean inconclusive? They can’t even give us an estimate?” SAC Williams was getting flustered, and Peter was just about ready to riot himself.
Agent Dahl hurried to continue, “Apparently there is an alien invasion in Metropolis that just started. All JL members are either helping with that or already indisposed.”
“What am I supposed to do with my five/six-year-old CI for an inconclusive amount of time?” Peter protested. This was ridiculous! The Justice League was full of members or associated members or whatever. “They have to have someone they can send to help Neal.”
At his last comment Agent Dahl nodded his head again before going back to the tablet. “All trusted members are either dealing with the invasion or are off-planet. In the meantime, the JL entrusts the custody of five/six-year-old Neal Caffrey to you, Special Agent Peter Burke.”
“To me?” Peter splutters, “What do you mean they entrust custody to me? I already am his handler.”
“You are the handler of adult Caffrey Agent Burke.” SAC Williams says, sounding more resigned than anything else. “Anything magic-related becomes Justice League jurisdiction, including your de-aged CI.”
“But he is a child; shouldn’t we contact his family?” Peter tried, desperate for any other alternatives. He could already see where this was going through; after all, he was the one to write the file on Neal Caffrey.
“You are his handler, agent Bruke. Does he have any family or emergency contact other than you?” SAC Williams continues, sounding like she already knows the answer.
“No, no, there is just me.”
“Right, it’s settled then. You all know what you need to do; back to your stations.” With that, the impromptu meeting dispersed.
Before Peter could turn back to his team and tell them the news, Agent Dahl stopped him. “Here, this is the contact information of the JL representative I have been in communication with. They go by the name O and wish to be updated on all developments in Mr Caffrey’s condition.”
Well, at least the JL seem to care about Neal's well-being if nothing else.
Notes:
Two chapters inn and we still haven't actually met de-aged Dick? Woops, its coming up tho!
Chapter Text
Walking back to his team with the contact information of the actual Justice League in his pocket, Peter felt like reevaluating his life for the hundredth time that day.
Lesson learnt: El always says to trust his gut feeling, and his gut had told him that something was off about this operation.
Oh no, El, what was he going to tell El? To be honest, she would probably handle all this better than Peter has. She is great with kids and always has a plan ready, especially in situations where Peter can’t seem to find his footing. They have always been a great team like that. Still, how to tell her?
Hey Hun, Neal is under some magical spell that has turned him into a kid and is now under my custody and is going to have to live with us. Well, yeah, it would probably have to be something like that.
But was that even true? Would Neal have to live with them? Would he want to?
For the first time Peter is faced with the thought that Neal might not remember him or anything else from the last three decades of his life. And isn’t that just terrifying to think about? Peter might just be some stranger to him now. Some stranger who is tasked with watching him, not just so he doesn’t commit a crime, but looking after his actual well-being.
The alternative here would be that Neal is still his same old self, only in a small child-sized body. He might not want to come home with Peter but rather go home to his own apartment. But surely that wouldn’t work either. It wouldn’t be safe or responsible of Peter to let a child, with adult memories or not, live alone in New York City.
There were still too many unknowns and what-ifs going around in Peter's head for him to make any decisions now. He just hoped that Neal would wake up soon. Then they could take everything from there together. Memories or not, Neal was his friend, and he only wanted him safe and back to normal as soon as possible.
Thinking of the devil, in that moment he could hear Diana calling out to him, “Peter, hurry! He is waking up!”
Dick's head hurt. That was the first thing that occurred to him as he was regaining consciousness. Because that was definitely what was happening here. He couldn’t remember what had happened, but whatever it was couldn’t be good.
Had he been practising a new trapeze move? Maybe he had fallen and hit his head again; the headache kind of felt like a concussion.
The last thing he concretely remembers is hanging out in their trailer waiting for the circus to finish packing up before they moved again.
Or, no, that’s not right.
He was in the manor with Alfred. They were baking cookies, or more accurately Alfred was baking cookies and Dick was keeping him company. Dick was still pretty new to the manor, and its grandeur could feel cold and uninviting at times. Never in the kitchen, though. That was Alfred's domain and always had a homey kind of feel to it.
He still missed his parents every day, and no longer living and travelling with the circus made something in him ache as well. He was forever grateful to Bruce for taking him in, but that didn’t mean he missed what had been before.
The manor just had so many rooms and not a lot of people to fill them. Though Dick gave it his best try, running down the hallways and swinging from the chandeliers. It was just that it could get a little lonely at times, especially when Bruce was busy with Batman.
But that wasn’t right either. When Bruce was busy with Batman, Dick would join him on the rooftops as Robin. Or he used to before he moved out and became Nightwing.
And how could he forget his siblings? There weren’t just him, Bruce and Alfred in the manor. Bruce had a serious adoption problem!
But those memories seemed so far away, much further than breaking three chandeliers in the manor before Bruce bought him his very own trapeze setup or the short period of time he spent in the foster system.
The closest of all were his memories of his life with his parents at the circus, as clear as if it happened yesterday. But that wasn’t right; it’s all backwards. He shouldn’t have any memories of his life in Gotham yet if he was still with the circus.
The more he thought about it, the more his head hurt. It was all very confusing, and he still couldn’t remember what had happened to land him in this position.
Dick could hear voices around him. Some were far away, but some were murmuring close to him as well. They were speaking in English but not with the Gotham accent he would learn to get used to.
As he opened his eyes, he was met with bright lights and the sterile environment of an ambulance. He hadn’t been in one since his parents’ fall, which felt so long ago but at the same time not long at all. Oh no, his parents! What was happening? Was he hurt? Where was Bruce?
“B?”
“Hello there, how are you feeling?” A lady was speaking to him in a ‘you are a hurt child, and I don’t want to scare you’ kind of voice. He had gotten a lot of that in the months after the fall.
“What is happening? Where is my dad?” At the lady’s confused look, Dick realised he had asked the question in Romani. English was feeling new and foreign to him right now, his head still hurt, and he was feeling so tired. Bruce had learnt Romani when he took him in, so if he were here, it wouldn’t matter; he’d rather talk to B than to some strangers anyway.
“I am sorry, but I didn’t quite catch that. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Dick nodded his head.
“Good, how are you feeling?”
“My head hurts, and I don’t know how I got here. Where is my dad?” He was still not finding his words in English, and he wasn’t feeling very incentivised to try.
“I am still having trouble understanding; maybe we can try this instead. Are you in any pain?”
He nodded his head and pointed to it for good measure.
“Oh, you have a headache?”
He nodded again, wincing as the motion made the pain spike.
“Here, have some water; you are probably quite dehydrated and feeling drowsy, yeah? That is completely normal after losing consciousness like you did. Any nausea?”
He shook his head.
“Good, that’s a good sign.”
So, he had passed out; that’s not good. Maybe, he did hit his head. Though they didn’t seem to be in any rush to get to the hospital, nor did they seem to be in any rush to get his dad.
Looking towards the back of the ambulance, they noticed the people watching him. Oh, he knew those people, didn’t he? They worked together.
Wait, what? He was five; he didn’t have a job.
“Peter?”
Peter hurried to the ambulance where Neal had been lying, shielded from the ruckus of the crime scene surrounding them.
At the back door of the ambulance, Diana, Jones and Hughes stood making a human shield, blocking their CI from his and any other lingering agents’ line of sight. He could make out two paramedics inside the ambulance, though, and it looked like they were speaking to someone.
As Peter made it to his team and made himself a part of their makeshift barricade, he was met with the sight of Neal sitting up and speaking quietly with one of the paramedics, who was diligently getting him to drink from a half-full water bottle. Eventually one of the paramedics stepped out of the ambulance to talk to the awaiting agents.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him, well,” the medic visibly regretted their choice of words, “other than the age thing, he is in perfectly good health. A little drowsy and dehydrated from sleep.”
“Did he tell you anything?” Peter pressed, desperate for any new information.
“I’m not sure,” the paramedic said, looking warily back at Neal.
“What do you mean you are not sure?” pressed Hughes.
“We have verified that he can hear and understand us just fine, but he has yet to answer any of our questions in English.”
“What? What language is he speaking?” Peter knew Neal could speak a wide range of languages, but to do so at such a young age was something else.
“Neither I nor my partner recognise the language he is speaking.” They answered regrettably.
Well, there goes so much of the careful profiling Peter has on Neal out the window. This might be an explanation for why it has been so impossible to find anything on Neal before he became an adult. Yet, all of Peter’s theories assumed that Neal was born and raised in America. That was a great oversight on his part.
“Peter?” The tiny voice had all the agent’s attention back on the ambulance, where two very familiar crystal blue eyes blinked up at them.
“Oh, thank god! Neal, do you remember who I am?”
It took a beat, but Neal nodded his head. “You are Special Agent Peter Burke, White Collar FBI.” His accent was heavy and unknown to Peter, but at least he was speaking English.
He let out a sigh of relief. Looking behind him, he pointed to the rest of the team. When had he moved forward? He found himself kneeling in front of Neal, who was now sitting at the edge of the ambulance, looking around like he was searching for someone.
Peter cleared his throat to get his attention and pointed at the other agents. “Do you remember them as well?” Peter asked, needing more confirmation.
Looking at the respective agents in turn, little Neal was scrunching up his face in such a childlike thinking face that Peter swears he heard someone coo. “Diana, Jones and Hughes,” he finally answered. Not as fast as Peter would have liked.
“Are you having trouble remembering Neal?” He prompted.
“I remember,” he said slowly. “It’s just hard, like it happened a long time ago.” Okay, Peter could work with that. He was just relieved he didn’t have to explain to Neal who he was and convince him this wasn’t a stranger danger situation.
There was definitely a distinct accent in the child’s words that he had never heard from adult Neals. How could Peter have not known that English was not his first language?
“How old are you, Neal?” Diana asked, having taken a step forward as well.
“Five,” Neal answered, not having to think about it, like when Peter asked if he remembered their names. “And a half,” he added importantly.
“Do the memories from when you were five and a half feel newer than the adult ones?” Diana asked calmly, apparently having deduced what was up with Neal's memories already.
Neal nodded his head again. The logistics of it all were making Peter’s head hurt; he couldn’t imagine how it felt for Neal, who was living it.
“What is the last thing you remember?” Peter pressed; this was such a unique opportunity to get a glimpse of Neal's early life.
Though at his question, Neal's breath was starting to come quicker, and unshed tears were glistening in his eyes. “I want my dad!”
Oh, Peter hadn’t considered how insensitive it was to start interrogating an already disoriented child. Diana gave him a cold look.
“It’s okay, Neal, you are okay! Do you remember the warehouse? We were there to verify the authenticity of the stolen paintings, but there was an accident with a magical artefact, and you were de-aged.” At her prompting, Neal seemed to find the memories of today’s events, and he nodded his head, which spilt a couple of tears down his round cheeks.
“Yeah, little man, you were really brave and saved me when I was in trouble. I’m just sorry you got caught up in all this magic stuff.” Jones added.
At Jones and Diana's reassurances, Neal seemed to calm down, and Peter could take a deep breath. He wouldn’t know what to do if Neal started to cry.
“That’s right, you were really brave.” Diana continued in her explanation. "And other than the fact that you are now five and a half instead of all grown up, the doctors say you are totally fine."
“When it comes to your dad, Caf… Neal, we don’t know who he is or how to contact him.” Hughs added letting go of some of his professionalism. “But if you would like us to try and locate…”
“NO! “No, it’s fine; I remember now. I am an adult.” Neal states confidently that none of the agents were buying the act.
Diana continued carefully, “Well, right now you are not fully an adult, so it’s very understandable that you would want your dad. Hopefully the Justice League will come help get you back to normal soon.”
“The Justice League?” Neal asked, perking up at the mention of the superhero organisation before deflating again. “But Batman hates magic.”
Does he? Peter had no idea how Neal knew this or why he would get hung up on it. Surely, they had designated magical people to deal with magical situations.
“That’s true, so they are probably going to send someone else. Is Batman your favourite superhero then?” Diana smiles at Neal, somehow following the five-year-old's logic.
“No, Superman is my favourite! Batman is good too, but he doesn’t have any powers.” Neal explains, back to being excited again.
It’s not lost on Peter that this must, at least to some degree, be adult Neal’s opinions blending with his childish excitement. Considering neither Superman nor Batman was on the scene three decades ago when Neal actually was five years old.
“When will they put me back to normal?” He asked, having been cheered up by the prospect of meeting a superhero.
“We don’t know yet; I’m sorry.” At this Diana looked to Peter, clearly wanting him to take over for this part of the explanation.
“Yeah, Neal, we don’t actually know when they are able to come because they are dealing with a lot of important things right now.” Peter tried to explain as child-friendly as possible, leaving out any mention of alien invasions and off-planet business he didn’t even really understand.
“Are they okay?” Peter is a little startled at the sudden panic in little Neal's voice. Though it is sort of cute that he is so worried for the safety of his favourite superheroes.
“I am sure they are going to be fine. In the meantime, the Justice League asked me to look after you.” This was the part Peter was most anxious about. “Do you think that will be alright?”
Little Neal puts back on his thinking face and takes his time to think it over. Eventually he looks up at Peter with a huge grin on his face. “Yes, that is fine!” It is not the same suave grin Peter is used to from adult Neal but wider and a little wild-looking with eyes glinting. Is this Neal's natural grin? It’s such a juxtaposition from only hours earlier that Peter is starting to get a little worried about what he is in for. Maybe this is just how all kids behave.
Normal or not, that whole conversation had consisted of a lot of mood swings for Peter to navigate and probably a lot for the kid to endure. He went from shy to sad to excited to worried and then back to excited at an alarmingly fast rate. Considering the circumstances, though, Little Neal was probably remembering things continuously and dealing with it all through a five-year-old's ability to emotionally regulate.
“Great, let’s get out of here then.” Peter stands up from his crouch, determined to get Neal to a more child-friendly environment.
“Okay!” Neal jumped down from the ambulance with an impressive amount of grace for a five-year-old before taking Peter's hand, looking up at him expectantly.
“Keep me updated on how it’s going and let me know if you can’t make it into the office tomorrow. Good luck.” Is Hugh's parting words as he makes his way back to the centre of operations.
“Yes, okay, this way.” Peter started to lead Neal in the direction of the car as the kid cheerily waves goodbye to the other agents.
Thank God he brought his own car and didn’t have to drive little Neal in the van; that couldn’t be safe for a child. Wait, “You don’t need a booster seat, do you?”
Neal scoffed, “Come on, Peter, I’m five and a half! I haven’t used a car seat in months!”
Right, months. Peter was not buying that at all.
With no other choice Peter buckled Neal into the back seat for now, intending to buy a car seat as fast as possible. Standing back up, Peter took notice of Neal's bare feet coupled with the makeshift shirt dress.
“Neal, what happened to your socks?” a pretty dumb question in the grand scheme of things.
“They fell off because they were too big.” Neal explained, wiggling his little toes now dirty after walking barefootto the car.
"Oh, Neal, I’m sorry. Are you cold?”
Neal shrugged, “A little, but it’s okay.”
And Peter felt like the worst human to ever walk the earth. He should have noticed earlier. Shrugging out of his jacket, he drapes it over Neal's lap.
“There, this will keep you warm for now. What do you say we stop by the store on the way home so you can pick out some clothes?”
“Really, I can pick whatever I want?”
“Whatever you want.” Peter replied, 'It’s on the bureau after all since the accident happened on duty.' Then he remembered who he was talking to. “Whatever you want within reason, okay?”
“Okay,” Neal chirped.
Petter really couldn’t get over how different Neal was as a kid. Or maybe not that different, as the child version just didn’t seem to be able to keep his excess of energy as neatly contained as adult Neal did. Which was understandable after all.
It was luckily still early enough that the stores had yet to close. Peter took them to a department store with a large kid’s section and let Neal run wild. And wild he was. Neal cartwheeled whenever there was enough space and walked on his hands when there wasn’t. Better he tired himself out here than at the house.
It’s not like Peter imagined Neal to have had the same affinity for expensive suits as a child. Yet, he was not expecting him to have no regard for gender norms and confidently pick clothing from both the boys’ and girls’ sections of the store. What he did have was a love for glitter, as the clothes he chose had to be at least 60% sparkles and sequins.
In the end Neal walks out of the store in a brand-new outfit consisting of jeans from the girl’s section with flowers embroidered on them, a rainbow hoody Peter couldn’t pinpoint the origins of, not that it mattered, and sneakers with dinosaurs on them that light up when he jumps. Peter walks out with his hands full of bags, a new car seat and a smile on his face.
Seeing Neal so comfortable and happy being himself really was contagious. And the fact that the FBI just bought the infamous bond forger Neal Caffrey a t-shirt with a unicorn on it also helps lift Peter's spirit.
Notes:
If it wasn’t clear Dick is 25 pretending to be 35 but now stuck at just 5 :) Had to make the math easy for myself.
And yes, I dressed Dick in what I would have wanted to ware if I was five.
Chapter Text
In all the chaos that has been this day, Peter only managed to send El a text with a heads-up that something had happened in the field and Neal would be staying with them for the foreseeable future.
He felt really bad for springing this on his wife, but Peter married the most amazing woman because her reply had been that she would have dinner ready for them when they got home and the guest room made up for Neal.
The fact that he hadn’t disclosed what version of Neal he was bringing home – well, that wasn’t something he could just put in a text. At least now she knew something had happened to Neal and that it was serious enough for Peter to be taking him home on short notice.
On the drive from the store to the house, Peter had put on one of Neal's favourite radio stations, one of those that played 80s hits, and Little Neal was humming along in the back seat.
The drive was short, but it gave Peter some very much needed time to let his brain catch up with everything that had happened and everything he had learnt.
His first instinct was to update his Neal Caffrey file with information like he was not born in America, or if he was, it was to immigrant parents that spoke another first language. He was scary flexible and obviously had rigorous training in gymnastics from a young age. He had a flamboyant sense of personal style as a child, and his favourite superhero was Superman.
But maybe most notably of all, he seemed to take this whole magically de-aged thing a little too well. Had Neal been around magic before? As a child or adult?
That was another thing that made reading Little Neal hard. Was he taking this situation in stride because his mind worked like a child’s would? To a child magic was cool and exciting, and thoughts of consequences were probably not as prominent as in an adult’s mind.
Or was this all not distressing for him because Little Neal had the memories of adult Neal and had been involved in magical situations before?
He had also lamented over the thought that Batman hated magic. Diana had quickly explained to Peter and the team that all Gothamites knew that Batman did not allow metas or any of the magical sort in his city. But did that mean Neal had spent time in Gotham, or was it standard knowledge for those specially interested? Little Neal did have a favourite superhero after all.
Before he knew it, Peter was parking the car and holding Neal's hand again as they walked up to the front door. Little Neal was surprisingly tactile, seeking physical closeness or contact at every turn. Also, very un-Neal Caffrey-like.
“Hey Hun, we’re here.” Peter called out. Better to get the explanations over with.
As El rounded the corner, Neal dropped his hand and was off running before Peter had the chance to stop him.
“El, look at my cool new shirt!” Neal exclaimed before throwing himself into Els arms.
“Oh! N-Neal, is that you?” El looks up at Peter, her face a mask of complete shock.
“Yes! I had an accident at work.” Somehow Neal manages to make that sound like a good thing. “I had a headache at first, but then Peter took me shopping. Look!” Taking a step back, Neal proudly displays his new outfit.
“I’m glad you are feeling better, Neal, and you look fabulous.” El manages a smile, but the look that she sent Peter was demanding an explanation.
“Why don’t we sit down to eat, and we will explain everything? It smells amazing, Hun.”
“So, you are telling me he might be stuck like this for an indefinable amount of time?” Out of everything, it’s the inaction of the Justice League that seems to distress El the most.
They had eaten dinner together, and it really was delicious. Neal must have thought the same, as he had devoured his plate. Being magically turned five apparently really built up an appetite. He was a growing boy after all.
Soon the kid got restless, though, and El sent him outside to play with Satchmo in the yard. It was just him and El at the table now, and they had been able to get more into the details of it all without Neal being within earshot.
“Yes, that is all we have heard. But that reminds me I need to update our contact with the JL as well as Hughs.”
“You do that, and I’ll check on our boys,” El said as she got up from the dining room table.
“He is not our boy El; he is a grown man.” Peter tried to protest, trying to keep the line between magic and normal life clear in his head.
“Not right now, Peter. Right now, he is a little boy away from his family, and we are here to take care of him and make sure he feels safe. You said it yourself; one of the first things he said was asking for his dad.”
Peter let out a tired sigh. “Yeah, I guess you are right.”
“I’m always right. Now don’t take too long; you have had a long day too.”
With that she made her way out the back door, leaving him alone in the house. He could hear Satchmo’s playful barks and Neal’s laugh through the open kitchen window.
El’s words still sat with him. No matter the memories being intact, there was no question that Neal wasn’t processing as an adult right now. He was a kid, and they were the closest thing to family that he got.
Peter decided to start with the JL contact. Hopefully they could give him some new information, so he had more to report to Hughes next.
Fishing in his back pocket Peter produced the card he had been given, which contained only a phone number and the single initial O. The agent on site had purely been in written contact with them, and Peter really was tired, so he opted for sending them a text.
Hello, this is Special Agent Peter Burke.
I am currently with guardianship of five-and-a-half-year-old Neal Caffrey. He woke up within the hour of losing consciousness, initially with a headache from dehydration that has been resolved. He is in possession of all his memories, though he is processing them as a five-year-old would. His memories also seem to be reversed so that what happened to his five-year-old self is recent, while his memories of this morning are thirty years old. Let me know if there is anything else you need to know regarding his condition or if there is anything we should know. I would appreciate being kept updated on the progress towards turning him back to normal.
Peter has no idea if this is what the contact meant about updating them. It feels wrong to give up information on his friend to a stranger, but they are the ones with the knowledge on magic. In Peter's head the text sounds both too formal and not formal enough, but what even is the protocol when texting the Justice League?
O answered almost instantaneously.
Thank you for the update, SA Burke. We want you to know that we are truly grateful for you babysitting Mr Caffrey while we work as fast as we can to get a trusted league member to help with the situation. We will have someone meet you at the White-Collar office tomorrow. So glad to hear that he is okay! Please do continue to update us, and feel free to ask if you have any questions.
-O
Okay, not really the tone he was expecting from a JL contact. “Babysitting Mr Caffrey” – where was that acknowledgement the last two years?
Maybe Peter had been working in bureaucracy for too long, but the fact that the Justice League managed to go from “inconclusive” on when they could send help to “someone will be there tomorrow” was crazy to him.
Another strange part is that this is the second mention of finding a “trusted” member to come and deal with the situation. Is the Justice League in the business of hiring untrustworthy members, or does it have something to do with the magical aspect? It can’t be because of Neal, can it? The text had such a personal feel to it. Like this, O actually was invested in Neal's well-being.
And what exactly could he ask them that they would know the answer to and not him? Well, there was one thing that had been in Peter's mind since Neal woke up. Might as well give it a shot. As much as Peter hated it, they might have better resources or at least less red tape when it came to such things.
Already tomorrow? That is great news! I have one question: when he woke up and was still disoriented, he asked for his dad. We have no family or emergency contact for Neal in our files. Once he started to remember, he said he was fine, and he might be back to normal tomorrow, but I still think it would be wise to contact his parents, as he is a minor at the moment. Do you have any more information about his parents or how to contact them?
-Peter
Following Os' lead, Peter dropped most of the stiff professionalism, but he regretted the text almost as soon as he sent it. The Justice League had never even heard of Neal Caffrey until a few hours ago. There was no way they would have more information on this than him.
Yet, I got back to him just as fast as last time.
It is so sweet of you to ask. His father has been notified and is aware of the situation. Sadly, he is out of reach right now, but we are working on getting him to New York as we speak.
-O
Now, “out of reach” could mean a variety of things, yet the first thing that occurs to Peter is that he might be in jail. But does that then mean that the Justice League is working on breaking a man out of jail?
This was so far out of his jurisdiction that he decided not to think about it anymore. Instead, he called Hughes to relay the information gathered and update him on Neal's status.
“I wouldn’t know what that means either, Peter. The JL works completely differently from any federal bureau; you know as much as me on this.” Hughs said after the recap.
“Yeah, I know. I am just glad this seems to be moving forward much faster than we thought.”
“You and me both, Burke.”
At that moment the back door opened, and Satchmo came running in, closely followed by El carrying an almost sleeping Neal.
“Give me one second, Hughs,” Peter said into the phone.
El gave him a sheepish smile. “He completely exhausted himself and Satchmo playing tug of war.” She pointed to the dog already asleep and snoring in his dog bed in the living room.
“I’m just going to put him to bed and then turn in myself.”
“Okay, Hun, I’ll be up in a minute.”
“I’m sorry, Hughs. I should go; El just carried Neal to bed.” Saying that sentence made the absurdity of the situation smack him right in the face again.
It even got a laugh out of his usually strictly professional superior. “Don’t think you ever imagined saying that this morning. Get to bed yourself; I’ll see you and Neal both at the office tomorrow, and hopefully all this will be sorted out. It’s going to be a long day, and I’m not even going to start telling you about the paperwork we have in store.”
At that, Peter gave a low groan before hanging up the phone.
Peter wakes to the unmistakable sound of a child crying. Which was extremely disorienting considering he is at home and does not have a kid.
Nevertheless, he is on his feet in seconds, the FBI training kicking in even when his mind needs more time to catch up.
“Oh, Peter, it’s Neal!” El says as she herself is trying to get untangled from the sheets.
And with the reminder, everything from the previous day came rushing back to him as he made his way down the hall to the guest bedroom where Little Neal's cries were coming from.
Opening the door and looking at the boy, it is clear that he is having a nightmare. The little form is crying and thrashing but with his eyes closed and no visible threats in the room.
“Neal! Buddy, wake up.” Peter soothes as he sits down on Neal's bedside, carefully trying to ease the boy awake.
“Neal, it’s just a dream; you are alright.” He tries again, a little more desperate now. The agony on the boy’s face made something in Peter’s chest constrict painfully.
Eyes staring to flitter as Neal’s cries are switched out with mumbling, yet again in the language that Peter doesn’t recognise.
“Hey, it’s Peter. Do you remember me? You are at my house, and you are safe.” Peter tries to reassure as best he can. “Can you talk to me in English, kiddo?”
There are some more words in the foreign language before Neal finds his words in English: “They fell, they fell!” Neal's small hand grasped onto Peter's in an urgent way.
“They fell. Who fell? Someone in your dream? It was just a nightmare, Neal.”
“No, my parents, they fell and they died.” The statement was punctuated with a sob so powerful it made Neal curl in on himself. A new stream of tears ran down the boys’ cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart.” El had made it to the room and sat down next to Peter, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Did, did this happen when you were this age? Are the memories still new to you?”
In his distress Neal seemed to have trouble remembering the age predicament he was currently experiencing.
Between sobs Peter can make out the quiet “It hasn’t happened yet, in a couple of years.”
Peter's heart broke for the little boy; he would never have guessed that Neal lost his parents at such a young age. And from what it sounds like, in such a traumatic way.
The sobs were not subsiding, so Peter made an executive decision and scooped the boy up and hugged him close. Even though Neal was clearly still disoriented, he allowed himself to be moved and simply melted into the hug, clutching on to Peter's sleep shirt.
“Oh Neal, I’m so sorry!” El was wiping away quiet tears of her own, still sitting steadfast at Peter's side, and he was so grateful for it. So grateful for not having to navigate this situation alone. They all sat there together for a long time. Peter rocking Neal ever so slightly and El humming a lullaby Peter didn’t know.
Eventually Neal regained enough control of his breathing to speak again. “Where is B?” a small voice rasped in the silence. “Did social services take me back? I want to stay with B!” Neal was trying to sit up, a new brand of panic creeping into his voice. Peter had no idea what he was talking about, but the implications were worrying.
“We are not social services, honey; we are your friends. We are just looking out for you.” El tried to soothe. At her reassurance Neal deflated again. Resting his head back on Peter's shoulder, clearly exhausted both from the day prior and the nightmare.
“Who is B?” Peter couldn’t help but ask.
“My dad, he took me in after my parents died. I don’t want to go back to the juvie; I want to stay with B!”
Social services had placed a traumatised child in juvie? That was yet another thing to put on hold for later, as with everything else he was learning about Neal's childhood.
“The Justice League has been in contact with your dad, Neal. They told me they are working on getting him here.” Peter tried to reassure Neal as best he could. “I am your FBI handler and friend Peter, and this is my wife El. Do you remember?”
It took some time for Neal to sort out his thoughts and a couple more sniffles before he nodded his head. “I am sorry; I remember now.” Neal kept his eyes on his lap, suddenly looking a little shy. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”
“Oh, sweetheart, that is nothing to be sorry for. We are just happy to be here for you, right, Peter?” El was quick to say.
“Right! That’s why we are here, Neal.” If possible, Neal relaxed even more into Peter's arms.
“Thank you,” he said in a small voice.
“You are welcome, Neal; now go back to sleep. I got you.”
Little Neal was asleep in seconds. Peter held on to him a little while longer. Just to make sure that moving him wouldn’t wake him back up before lowering him down. El tucked him in and kissed his forehead before going back to bed herself.
Eventually Peter followed her but ended up lying awake for the rest of the night. Thoughts of everything he had learnt about Neal over the last day were swirling until he was getting dizzy. And what if he kept an ear out for any more nightmares? Well, no one had to know about it.
Notes:
I have not read many comics and there seems to be some different variations of Dicks early childhood. I just mixed them together for the most amount of angst. Sorry not sorry:)
And yes Peter has dubbed five year old Neal for Little Neal in his head.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Notes:
So sorry for the longer wait on this one! Of all things, I have been busy moving countries. Anyway, here it is! This is essentially the last chapter, as nr. 6 is just a small epilogue because I thought it was funny :)
Chapter Text
The next morning Dick woke up early. At least he thought so by the look of the light sneaking through the orange curtains of the bedroom. The bedroom he did not recognise. Huh, that was strange.
The room was tastefully decorated but lacking any real personal touch, suggesting it was not often used or at least not as anyone’s personal bedroom. The bed was soft and warm, though, so Dick couldn’t resist wiggling himself further under the covers.
He felt safe with another, and in this sleepy state he was not willing to go exploring just yet. Either Peter or El would surely wake him up when it was time.
Peter or El? Right, he was at the Burkes' house!
Taking a closer inspection of the small lump he made under the covers and how small his hands were, it did not take long for the rest of the facts to sloth back into place.
He was in their guest room because he was now five and a half years old.
Oh god! He had a nightmare about his parents last night. He had woken them both up.
Dick could feel heat creep into his face with embarrassment and proceeded to completely submerge under the covers. Hiding himself from the mortification of it all.
He had been so scared and confused, and Peter had held him and made him feel safe.
Ever since Dick woke up in the ambulance, he had found that his five-year-old body could only take so much before he started to get confused and scared. The memory of his parent’s death was currently one thing his five-year-old mind did not know how to process.
It was a peculiar position to be in, and if he was not careful to stay concentrated, Dick could forget he wasn’t actually a kid altogether. The memories and accompanying emotions from his childhood he could manage well enough, with some obvious exceptions. Where he really started having trouble was everything after he became a teenager.
Whenever he tried to pull on those memories, it made him confused and anxious. Thankfully Peter had seemed pretty okay with Dick seeking him out for comfort the day before and, well… during the nightmare as well.
Still feeling a lot embarrassed but too restless to continue lying in bed thinking so loudly, Dick decided to make his way down to the kitchen. Luckily for him, his five-year-old self was easily distracted when El let him have cereal for breakfast.
“Cereal is my favourite food!” He stated proudly between bites.
“How can it be? It’s not even real food.” Peter grumbled from behind his mug of coffee.
“Yes, it is! I am eating it right now, see!” Dick demonstrated by taking a large bite.
All in all, Dick managed to put away three bowls of the crispy goodness to Peter's horror, if his face was anything to go by.
“Where are you putting it all?” He whispered under his breath.
Dick only shrugged; he was a growing boy after all.
El was very impressed by the selection of clothes Dick had picked out the day before, and together they selected the perfect outfit for the office. Flared jeans that were stretchy and easy to move in, the unicorn t-shirt that Peter really seemed to like and a green cardigan. El insisted that the jacket tied the outfit together, but Dick had a suspicion she just wanted him to bring a jacket in case he got cold.
“Is your hair bothering you, Neal?” El asked as he was admittedly having to brush it out of his eyes a lot.
“I guess, but I like it when it’s long, so it’s okay.” He added the last part in a hurry, scared she would suggest cutting it or something.
“Yes, the longer hair really suits you.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Hmm, I might have an idea. Wait here.” She said before leaving the guestroom and heading in the direction of the bathroom.
When she came back, she was carrying a handful of little hairclips that were black with individual daisies on them.
“How about we use these to keep the fringe out of your eyes?” El said as she held them out to him.
“Really? Are you sure it's okay?” He asked hopefully. The hairclips were beautiful, and Dick would be honoured to get to wear them. But only if she was sure it was okay.
“Oh, I am sure. They will go great with the outfit. Do you want me to help you clip them in?”
“Yes, please!” He grinned up at her. He was going to look so pretty for the office.
Peter was not prepared for the process of getting ready for the day and out the door with a kid. Neal and El had way too much fun picking out the “perfect” outfit. El even helped Neal fix his hair, getting his wild locks to lie more styled and keeping his fringe out of his face with some of El's old hair clips. The clips had daisies on them, making it look like Neal had flowers keeping his hair in place and not the clips.
Neal looked like he wouldn’t have been out of place at a flower power 70s-themed party, but he was happy, so that was fine with Peter.
Finally dressed, fed and ready Neal was now absorbed in petting Satchmo goodbye. Peter was at the door trying not to lose his patience.
“Give him a minute, Peter; he is having fun.” El laughed at him.
“I know, I know. I just don’t want to be too late in case the Justice League shows up early in the day.”
“Yeah, you are right,” El agreed, though still laughing at him somehow. “Neal?” she started, trying to get the boy’s attention. No reaction.
“Neal?” Peter tried this time, and still no acknowledgement that he had heard his name.
“Neal honey, it’s time to go to work.” At that Neal looked up at them with a questioning glance before he visibly remembered himself.
“Oh, yeah, right!” He gave Satchmo one last pet before shooting to his feet.
Peter could have sworn he heard him mutter something like, “What kind of name is Neal anyway?” under his breath. And well, it’s not like Peter hadn’t been suspecting that Neal Caffrey was another alias, but he never actually thought Neal would confirm it. Under magical influence or not, this was huge.
He caught El’s eye, and she seemed to have heard Neal too because she gave him the ‘don’t you dare’ look. And Peter agreed; he was not about to start interrogating a five-year-old, but any information he let slip? That was fair game, right?
According to the intensification of El's glare, the answer was no.
El hugged them both goodbye and wished “her goys” a good day at the office.
When they finally made it to the FBI building, they were late, and everyone else was already there, having started their workday.
That is until Peter made his way out of the elevator with Little Neal in tow. Everyone stopped with what they were doing to take in the sight of their CI.
Neal kept a firm grip on Peter's hand as they made their way through the bullpen, even though he did not seem to be very shy as he waved at the agents and even spoke to a few who managed to clear out of their shock long enough to do so.
“Hey Caffrey, how have you been holding up?” One of the younger agents asked Neal. Peter had seen them talking around the office, so he knew they were friendly.
“I’m great; I had cereal for breakfast!” Neal exclaimed, earning himself some smiles and small laughs from around the room.
“Lucky guy!” The same agent gave Neal a high five, which he happily reciprocated.
When they finally made it to Peter’s office, Hughes was already waiting for them.
“You are late, Burke.” His superior stated he was not one for formal greetings. There was no heat in his voice, though.
“Yes, it took a little longer to get ready than expected.” Peter explained, seeing the humour in Hughes’s face, he was sure their tardiness could be excused this one time.
“Yeah, El had to do my hair!” Neal explained it like it held the upmost importance, and this did elicit a smile from the superior.
“It looks nice, Caffrey. I see you got some new clothes too; looking sharp.” Neal beamed.
Shouldering up, Hough turned his gaze back to Peter. “No more news on when today the Justice League will be here?”
“No, I have had no new updates since last night.”
“Alright then, we shall wait. I don’t expect you to get a lot done today, but try to start summarising the report of yesterday’s events while it’s still fresh in your mind. And”, for this part he turned back to Neal, “try not to disrupt the other agents too much. They still have important work to do.”
Neal nodded with as serious of a face as a five-year-old could muster.
Peter got Neal situated with some collaring supplies El had managed to find in her hobby drawer and some snacks before he sat down to start his rapport.
It went better than Peter would have expected, at least for a while. Neal never managed to sit completely still and continuously kept humming to himself, but Petter didn’t really mind. He had gotten a good draft down and three new superhero drawings hung up on his wall before Neal reached the end of his patience.
“Peter, I can’t sit still anymore. It feels like I am going to explode.” Neal was looking at him pleadingly.
“Okay, what do you usually do to make it stop feeling like you are going to explode?” Neal lit up at his question, probably recalling something specific.
“Dad always has me go for a walk to get all the jitters out.”
“A walk? Like a dog?” Peter said sceptically. Neal's smile suddenly looked a little too sharp.
“Fine,” he let out a sigh. “I am almost finished with my draft; are you alright to take your walk on your own?” Peter asked. He really wanted to get this done now when he was on a roll.
Neal nodded his head eagerly.
“You are not to leave this floor, and you remember what Hough said: no distracting the other agents.” Peter tried to sound stern but somehow felt like he was missing the mark. Neal just continued smiling.
“Of course! But it’s not my fault the agents can’t stop staring.” Neal pointed out, looking through the window in Peter's office overlooking the bullpen. As he followed Neal's gaze, he could see multiple agents periodically looking up at them, some outright staring.
Huh, Peter hadn’t really noticed the distraction they had made just sitting in his office. It made sense, of course, and the promise that the Justice League and hopefully Neal’s dad would be here at some time during the day probably wasn’t helping. He could only imagine the gossip and theories that were spreading like wildfire in the whole building.
“Right,” Peter said. “Well, just keep to yourself and don’t talk to someone unless they talk to you first.”
“So, we are en-forc-ing the saying ‘kids should be seen and not heard’?” Neal cocked his head to the side. Taking his time to pronounce the word “enforcing” like the word was too big for his mouth.
“No, no, that came out wrong! It’s not your fault that the adults can’t stay focused on their jobs. Just… just, just go take your walk, Neal.”
“Okay,” he chirped, and before Peter could think better of it, he was gone.
Peter should have known that smile meant something. That something turned out to be Neal taking a walk around the office on his hands, interspersed with the occasional flip or twist.
Admitting defeat, Peter saved the document and made his way down the half floor to reel in the kid before he hurt himself. But by the time he made it into the bullpen, however, Neal was gone.
“Jones, where did Neal go?” Peter looked around a little panicked.
“Um, he was just here, Sr,” Jones said at a loss.
“Peter.” That was Hughes. Peter looked to him on the raised platform, but he was not looking at Peter. He was looking at something way above their heads.
Peter followed his gaze and felt his heart stop.
“Neal, what are you doing up there?” Peter asked, voice a little higher than usual.
“I like to be up high. You should try it, Peter; it’s the best.” Neal was talking to him from the top of one of their filing cabinets, where he was sitting crouched, looking down at the agents.
“Neal, please come down from there so you don’t hurt yourself.” In hindsight Peter could have chosen his words more carefully.
Neal chirped an “Okay” before vaulting himself off the filing cabinets headfirst.
Someone shirked, and the agents closest to the cabinet all dived to cushion his fall.
But Neal gracefully did a flip mid-air before landing on his feet like the jump had been nothing.
Peter was on his knees in front of the kid in seconds, looking him over for any injury.
“Are you okay? “Neal, answer me, are you hurt?” he asked frantically.
Neal just looked a little confused. “I’m fine, Peter; that jump was nothing. You should see what I can do with a chandelier!”
Yeah, absolutely not. This kid was a handful. Peter really hoped his dad made it today so he could see who had managed to raise this ball of energy into the smooth and collected Neal Caffrey.
“Please keep your feet on the ground for now, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself on my watch.” Especially not before the Justice League, who has entrusted me with your well-being, shows up. Peter did not voice the last point out loud.
“Does that also mean I can’t walk on my hands anymore?” Neal asked with a little pout.
Deep breaths, Peter. “Okay, what about either hands or feet on the ground at all times from now on?”
“Fine,” Neal agreed reluctantly before launching himself into a handstand and walking over to Diana’s desk.
The next couple of hours Neal would spend on different agents’ desks while doing the actional cartwheel or handstand between the rows of desks.
It was nearing lunchtime, but unlike every other day, people were reluctant to take their break and leave the office. No one wanted to miss the Justice League, and Peter was inclined to agree. He was not about to miss their chance at getting Neal back to normal because they were on a lunch run.
It didn’t become an issue thankfully because just past midday the Justice League arrived. Or one member of the Justice League.
Neal was back at Diana's desk; she apparently has the best snacks, while Peter and Jones were getting more coffee from their shitty machine.
There had been no call from security to give them any notice, but suddenly all the fluorescent lights in the office dimmed, and the elevator doors opened to reveal none other than the Dark Knight himself. And a better fitting name Peter couldn’t imagine.
There was still light in the office. The lamps had only been dimmed, not turned off completely; Peter hadn’t even known office lights could be dimmed, and daylight from the overcast sky lit up parts of the room.
Yet Batman was at one with the shadows as he made his way from the elevators.
What had the Justice League been thinking? Sending maybe their most intimidating member to deal with a five-year-old. And hadn’t Neal and Diana been adamant that Batman did not deal with magic?
It didn’t matter right now. Right now, all Peter knew was that he was intimidated, and looking at the agents around him, more than one of them seemed ready to piss their pants. Peter could not imagine how scary this would be for a five-year-old.
But before Peter could make his way towards Neal to do what Peter wasn’t quite sure yet – he would figure something out – Neal’s face split into a grin.
“Dad!” He yelled before racing across the office space and then proceeded to throw himself into Batman’s arms.
Barman caught him easily and rose back up to his full height, now with Neal on his hip.
The silence that followed was deafening. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Hughes making his way over, thank god.
“Agent Burke,” the growl came from Batman, who was directed towards the respective agent with the help of Neal. Thanks a lot, Neal.
Peter was frozen as Batman made his way over to Peter. “Agent Burke,” he said again, “Thank you for looking after my son. I was out of the world when I heard what happened and only just made it back.” Batman was still talking in that low voice, but the growling had subsided some.
“Of-of course, it was my wife’s and my pleasure.” Peter stammered out.
“Peters got a dog!” Neal added excitedly from where he had pressed his face into Batman’s neck.
“That’s great, chum. I’m glad you had a good time.” Talking to Neal, Batman’s voice almost softened into something human-sounding.
“Batman, I am Special Agent Hughes. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Hughes introduced himself to the Bat but made no move to try and shake his hand. Smart.
Batman nodded and gave a “hmm” in acknowledgement but had mainly moved his attention to the child hanging from his neck.
“Dad, can we go home? I miss you and the others!” Neal's voice sounded on the verge of tears by the time he finished. Overwhelmed by the last day and seeing his father.
Because Neal's father was Batman. Neal was Batman’s adopted son. That sounded so wrong in Peter's head he had to say it out loud to try to make it make sense for him.
“So, this is your dad, Neal. No wonder we never found any information on him.”
Some of the anomalies that surrounded Neal Caffrey were starting to make a lot more sense. The speed and the build, but also the intelligence and competence that was so Neal. It was not lost on Peter that his CI most likely also was a vigilante, but the implications of that were something he would have to agonise over later.
His musings had gotten the Batman’s attention, and he looked back over at Peter, so he continued.
“We would have contacted you ourselves if we had any information. He has been asking for you a lot.” Peter was feeling a little bolder now that Batman was holding a kid and not actively skulking in the shadows.
“I know; O kept me updated.” He said to Peter before turning back to Neal. “I missed you too, chum. We’ll be home soon; the others are all waiting for us.”
“Really?” Neal's excitement was palpable.
“Really, they are all looking forward to seeing you at this age.”
“Do you think I can ride on Bat-Cow?” Neal presided to ask.
“Maybe, you will have to ask Robin.”
Right, because when they were talking about the others, they were talking about other vigilantes like Robin. Who else was there in Gotham again? Peter didn’t really follow the superhero news. Red Robin he knew of, and Batgirl. And wasn’t there a daytime hero as well?
“I’ll be taking him back to Gotham now, but he should be back at work by next week.” And with that, Batman turned on his heel, cape swerving out around him, and walked back to the elevators. Neal, still securely in the bat’s arms, gave a little wave over the armoured shoulder. As the doors to the elevator closed, the lights came all the way back on, though the office stayed frozen in collective shock.
“I can’t believe Batman is Neal’s dad!” Jones breathed after they all had just stood there for a while. He followed that up by exclaiming, “And yet Superman is his favourite hero?”
“I can’t believe Batman just took out CI,” Diana stressed.
“What even is a Bat-Cow?” Peter asked, finding it much easier to focus on that detail than everything else.
Chapter Text
Staying true to his father’s word, Dick was back at the FBI office as Neal Caffrey by the next week. His cover was mostly blown by the whole de-ageing fiasco, but that was alright.
His mission here was almost over; he had only come back to finish up some loose ends and say a proper goodbye to the White-Collar team.
In true Neal Caffrey style, he had avoided answering any questions by charming his way out of answering them head-on. Only providing playing of the knowledge the agents already had without revealing any new information.
He was allowed to tell the team he was undercover for the Justice League, but other than that, his and his family’s secret identity had to come first.
The news that he had been an undercover agent all along had come as a shock but not as much of a shock as Dick initially had expected. There was probably nothing that could shock them more than finding out his dad was Batman.
On this particular day the team were going through some of the last items recovered from the warehouse that started it all. More than a couple of the items recovered had turned out to be implicated in other unsolved cases.
A magic specialist from the league was to come by to inspect one such item. New protocols had been put in place so as to not have a repeat of what happened to him.
The magical specialist turned out to be Zatanna, who had also been the one to come to the cave to lift the spell on him just last week.
“Good to see you again, Neal.” Zatanna grinned.
“And you, thank you so much for the help, Ze!” Neal grinned back. There were no illusions for the team now that Neal was actually his name, so the continued ruse was mostly for show at this point.
“Have you been feeling alright? It’s not often you see a de-ageing spell powerful enough to knock off two whole decades. You must be exhausted.”
“Don’t worry about me; I think it was less exhausting being put back than the initial spell.”
“Makes sense, I guess. Well, take care, everyone.” Zatanna bid her goodbye, “See you around, golden boy.”
Turning back to his collages, Diana and Jones looked a little awed that he obviously knows the magician. Peter, though, Peter looked stricken.
“Did she say two decades?” Peter mumbled to himself. Then, louder, pointing at Dick, “Did she say two decades? Neal, are you only 25 years old?”
Shit, thanks for that, Zatanna.
Notes:
And it's done! Thank you so much for reading! This is only my second attempt at writing a fic and a much longer one at that. I really appreciate every single kudos and comment, they never fail to make me smile <3
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