Chapter Text
Neal hears him come back inside the apartment, his footsteps quick and hurried. His heart sinks in his chest the moment he hears papers rustling.
He steps out around the corner, visible for his dad to see.
He doesn’t even look up at him. He’s still frantically looking through the papers. Neal looks down, swallowing the lump in his throat. He thought…well, that was the first problem. How foolish of him. To think his dad really cared about him.
“Don’t bother.” He says.
His dad looks up and meets his eyes. He stands up straight, his face softening.
It’s all fake.
“Neal,” he says. As if he actually cares. As if he was actually relieved to see him.
As if.
“Thank God you’re okay—“
“Stop.”
He steps out further, betrayal evident on every inch of his face. “I already saw it.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” His dad, no, James Bennett says.
“Ellen made a copy of the report from the day she arrested you for murdering your supervising officer. Forensics matched the bullet to your service revolver. You told me they stole your spare firearm.” Neal continues, disgust leaking from his voice.
“They might have mixed up the details.”
Neal shakes his head, ignoring the way his eyes begin to burn. “You’re smarter than that.”
He slowly approaches his father, his lungs tight against his ribcage. “You choose your words carefully. Like me.”
“Who put this in your head?”
“You did!” Neal says, raising his voice. “That day cost you 23 years of your life, you don’t forget that. Those are details you would never mix up.”
Neal swallows roughly, about two feet away from James now. His heart races and aches. “You shot him. Because you got in deep with the wrong people and crossed a line you couldn’t come back from.”
Neal looks away, running his tongue over his lips and trying to ignore the way the lump in his throat keeps on growing until it feels more like a boulder.
This was the man he had wanted to be for so much of his childhood, thinking he had died a hero for so many years. This was the man he had longed for. To come home. To hold him and hug him. He wasn’t there when his mom was in bed, drowning in her own depression. He wasn’t there when he had to take care of himself. He wasn’t there when Ellen was the one who ended up raising him because he was in jail and his mother could barely find the energy to even care about him. He wasn’t there for any of it. And he was trying to run out of his life. Again.
He looks back at James, eyes now glistening with tears. He points to the papers on the table. “If I keep on looking through that, what else am I gonna find?”
“You’ll find that Pratt was bad.” James says in a low voice.
“What about you?” He cuts in quickly. “Why’d you come back here?”
James is silent for a beat. Finally, he speaks. “I came back here to say goodbye to you.”
Neal feels sick. He knew it was coming. But to hear it come out of his mouth, his dad’s mouth…
His phone rings.
Neal blinks and quickly swallows. He grabs his phone from inside his suit jacket pocket and answers it, stepping away to speak, wiping his eyes as he does so. “What is it, Diana?”
“Pratt’s dead.” She says on the other side.
Neal freezes, his blood turning to ice. “What?” He slowly looks up to meet James’s eyes.
He won’t even look at him.
“Calloway arrested Peter for his murder.” Diana replies.
Nausea rises in the pit of his gut.
“No—”
“Listen to me. Peter said James shot Pratt in self-defense. James has to come in and tell them.”
Neal nods, feeling like he’s falling apart. His whole world is falling apart. “Okay.”
“Neal, Peter’s gun killed Pratt. There’s gunshot residue on Peter’s hands. It doesn’t look good. Find James.” Diana says, her voice shaky by the end, and it took a lot to shake Diana.
Neal’s eyes burn.
He hangs up and puts his phone away. He takes a second to get his breathing under control. “What’d you do, dad?”
He’s met with silence.
He raises his brows, awaiting an answer. “They arrested Peter for Pratt’s murder. What did you do?”
“It was self-defense.” James replies.
Neal looks away for a second, trying to gather himself. He takes a few steps forward. “All you have to do is tell the truth, and Peter goes free.”
James shakes his head and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I can’t do it. I can’t let the Bureau put a murder weapon back in my hands.”
Neal reels back as if he’s been physically punched. “The Bureau doesn’t believe him. He was investigating Pratt off-book. You’re the only other person who knows what happened.” He says, his voice tinged with an edge of desperation.
“They’ll cuff me, Neal. Once they get me, I’ll never get away.” James says.
“You’re gonna testify, and you’re gonna clear Peter’s name.” Neal states firmly, his voice losing its steely edge the more he speaks.
James shakes his head.
“You show me you’re better than this.” He says sharply, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “You show me you’re a decent man.”
“The things I’ve done—“
“Are in the past!” Neal shouts.
James shakes his head and turns away. “I’m sorry, son.”
“Dad, please!”
His dad goes to escape. Neal grabs him by his arm. “DON’T!” James yells.
Neal quickly lets go, his heart pounding against his ribs.
“Don’t make me do something I’ll regret.” James says in a low voice.
Neal swallows once, twice, before finally speaking. The tears roll down his cheeks at a much steadier rate.
“No, you-you can’t just walk away.”
“Neal—”
“NO!” Neal sobs. “You’re just gonna walk out of my life again? How could you just let Peter take the fall when he has done nothing but help you?! Help me! Help us!”
“I don’t owe him anything—”
“You owe him EVERYTHING!” Neal shouts. “He didn’t have to help us, but he did. He is being charged for your murder! Own up to your actions!”
“Are you serious Neal?!” James yells, throwing his hands up in the air. “He’s your handler! Not your friend! With the way you’re talking, I would think he’s your father!”
“He’s been more of a father to me than you have ever been.” Neal spits out venomously. His chest hitches and another sob tears its way out of his throat.
Neal doesn’t really feel like the 26-year-old that he is. Right now, he feels like the three-year-old his dad left on the front steps of their old home.
James huffs, his mouth twitching upwards. “Always trying to find a father. Always trying to find someone. And yet you never end up with the right guy.”
Neal feels the world around him still. He feels faint.
“What are you talking about?” He asks, his voice hoarse.
“You’re smart, Neal. Why don’t you figure it out yourself with your little friends at the FBI?”
“No dad, wait—”
“I thought I made it clear, Neal.” James shrugs. “I’m not your dad. I never was your real dad.”
And Neal watches him walk out of his life a second time, tears cascading down his cheeks and his chest heavy.
❍
Whenever he wasn’t visiting Peter in prison, helping Elizabeth in whatever way he could, working with Mozzie to try and free Peter, or doing mortgage fraud at the FBI with Diana and Jones, he was researching who he was. Who he really was. Because according to James Bennett, his entire life was a lie.
One big, fat, lie.
But then again, at this point, what about Neal wasn’t a lie?
So he looked.
He didn’t tell Mozzie, or Peter, or Elizabeth, or Diana, or Jones.
It was tough. Extremely tough. He had to do it all off-book so the FBI wouldn’t get suspicious. Then, it came down to who he would search for. Little Danny Brooks from WITSEC? Neal Bennett?
He searched for a long time until eventually, he found records of adoption papers for one Neal Bennett. Then, he tried to look for any possible old records of the hospital he was born in. It took even more digging until he was able to pull together the whole story.
Little Neal was born at Gotham General Hospital 26 years ago on March 21, at 3:18 am to one Janet Drapper. The father was listed as someone named Sebastian Moore. He was currently some CTO of a law firm in Gotham. Janet hadn’t been married to her current husband, Jack Drake, at the time of his birth, so it was safe to assume that this was some fling that happened before she was married. Because of her status, it was possible she didn’t want knowledge of some child outside of marriage getting to the press. And so, she gave little Neal Bennett, or should he say, Neal Drapper, up for adoption shortly after his birth.
He was placed in the hands of the state until James and Claire Bennett adopted him. Only two months later did they move out of Gotham.
The rest was history.
To say Neal had been surprised would be an understatement.
He had spent the rest of that evening going through his wine collection, much to the dismay (and worry) of Mozzie who had come to visit the very next morning to see an incredibly hungover Neal and many empty wine bottles.
A quick Google search was all it took for Neal to confirm the status of his birth mother. She had passed — been murdered — and her husband Jack was also murdered only a year later.
Leaving the kid they had together an orphan.
Timothy Drake.
His half-brother.
He was alive and well and had been adopted by Bruce Wayne two years ago. And not only had he been adopted by Bruce Wayne, he was currently the CEO (well, partial CEO) of Wayne Enterprises. He was only 17 years old. That revelation had earned Neal two more bottles of downed wine.
What had his life come to?
But then, everything he learned had to be put on the backburner. After all, he had found a way to set Peter free. But then, he was on Curtis Hagen’s payroll. And Neal would have done it again for Peter. He owed the man everything.
And then, after that whole mess had been figured out along with the disaster that was Rebecca, he had been kidnapped and forced to help someone join the Pink Panthers. And then he had ended up joining the Pink Panthers himself. Then he was so caught up in trying to be free, avoid Keller, take down the Panthers, and fake his death that he just…never found the time to revisit Timothy Drake. His only living relative. Well, the only living relative that he cared about and might even possibly care about him. He was tired of fathers who failed him. Not Peter, though. Peter was enough for him. Not that he would ever admit that to him out loud. Or ever, now.
Being dead had felt great. Liberating, even. Neal didn’t have people breathing down the back of his neck anymore, nor did he have the government watching his every move and trying to con him out of his freedom.
But dang it, if he didn’t desperately miss Peter. He missed him so much. He missed Mozzie. He missed Elizabeth and June and Diana and Jones and Sara. But Sara was much closer to him compared to everyone else. And yet, he just…couldn’t bring himself to go visit her in London. He wondered if anyone had told her that he was (legally) dead. He wondered if she had mourned him. What they could’ve been. (Neal knows he does on some nights.)
Paris had been fun for the first few months. He had lived it up and enjoyed his life. He drank. He went out to clubs and partied. He traveled the city and even visited the Louvre from time to time. To admire the art, not to steal it.
Even if his fingers itched to just grab something and run. After all, what a con it would be to steal something from the Louvre and be able to get away with it.
But that had all quickly grown old.
And it was one night, with a glass of wine in hand, looking out his balcony at the glimmering city of lights below, he felt so unbearably and excruciatingly lonely.
He may be free, but he had no one.
He didn’t have Peter, or Mozzie, or Elizabeth, or June, or Sara, or Diana, or Jones. He had no one. The wine that night had gone down his throat tasting sour and settling heavy in his stomach.
Neal was so lonely, and one of his greatest weaknesses was that he cared so much for those he loved. He cared so much. But he had also hurt those he loved so much.
He always did.
Kate was killed. Elizabeth was kidnapped. Mozzie was poisoned. Peter was attacked, imprisoned, lost his job, and so much more for him. And what did he do in return? He lied. He stole. He conned.
Neal didn’t want to hurt them again. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to hurt the people he loved the most in the entire world. So, besides giving Peter and Mozzie the hint that he was alive and well, he didn’t bother contacting them.
But then Neal had thought back to Timothy Drake. His half-brother.
And as selfish as it was to think…could he go see him? Reconnect with his actual family?
One part of him said not to. That he would only bring trouble wherever he went. That he would only hurt Timothy with his presence. Either he would bring danger to his doorstep, or he would hurt Timothy himself just by being himself. There was also the fact that Timothy simply wouldn’t want to see him. After all, he had a family of his own with the Waynes, as much as it hurt Neal a bit just thinking about it. Why would he want some estranged brother showing up at his doorstep?
But there was another part of him that craved family. He was desperate for some sort of connection with someone after he had burned all of his old bridges. Bridges that he stared at longingly but knew he shouldn’t try and rebuild. For their sake.
But this bridge…he wanted to cross it. Test its strength. See if it was possible for Neal Caffrey to love and care for someone again without messing it up.
So, Neal had packed his bags and booked the first flight to Gotham, New Jersey, one of the most dangerous cities in the world.