Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter Burke will puzzle over some of Neal Caffrey’s alleged heists, even after the conman is safely behind bars. There’s something about Neal that draws him to the case again and again, feeling like he’s missing something.

Neal, however, does not give up his secrets. His brother, however, and those trained by the Bat can read his message loud and clear.

A set of notes, written in Jane Austen’s hand, for Jason, who always returns to her books when in need of comfort.

St. George and the Dragon painted by Raphael, something Damian would stare at thoughtfully in art books in the library.

A rare limited-edition poster of The Flying Grayson’s that commemorated Dick’s first show with his parents.

A limited-edition comic that Stephanie talked about with Tim all of the time.

A beautiful sculpture from an up-and-coming Gotham artist (who had grown in fame in Paris) that Thomas Wayne had gifted to his wife after the birth of their son, Bruce.

Greek antiquities for Cassie, not Themysciran because Neal doesn’t have a death wish. No, antiquities tied into her mother’s research.

All, of course, had one thing in common. They had hurt Timothy Jackson Drake. Neal Caffrey may have left Gotham behind, but he was never leaving Tim behind, not for anything, not ever. So, well, he hurt those who hurt his brother in different ways.

Some jobs, sure, are purely for skill, for the thrill, for Neal to push his mind further, for that next big score. Others, however, are purely symbolic. Jobs against those who have hurt his brother. Those who harmed Tim when they were supposed to love him.

Neal Caffrey is still Thomas N. Drake and his parents were ruthless and vicious, which passed to their children in different ways. (They were supposed to be better to his brother.)

Tim may forgive them, but Neal sure as fuck doesn't have too.

It's funny to Neal. Well funny in the way that twins are funny, he supposes. Though he's never met a pair quite like him and Tim. Tim holds grudges for others, those outside himself. Superman for hurting Kon, for example. But when Tim is the aggrieved party? No.

So, Neal observes and keeps notes. He marks down all who have hurt his brother and what sort of thing that they most love, what they will most like to see. The things that they've taken from Tim, many of them were invisible. Jason took Tim's safety. Damian took his sense of belonging. Neal would go on, but he feels like the point has been well enough made.

 He takes physical things that they admire, that they want to see, that aligns with their interests. It's all a reminder from him to them. Tim may forgive them, but Neal sure as hell doesn't.

People have stolen for pettier reasons, he feels. So, he takes and hides them away. Maybe, maybe if they give Tim a real apology, then he'll return them.

Chapter Text

Timothy Jackson Drake and Thomas Neal Drake are twin brothers with vastly different birthdays. By this, it means that the pair were born months apart from one another. Timothy was born via C-Section two months premature due to a health issue that had long since been resolved, according to various doctors over the course of Tim’s life.

For two months before Tom Drake is born, Tim Drake lives and fights without his brother. Perhaps, this experience as a preemie infant is what defines the Drake twins’ differences for the rest of their lives.

For two months, Tim fights for his life, struggling with a will to live that will dog his heels until the end of his days. Tom grows comfortable in his surrogate’s womb until his born via the usual methods for such things. He comes out charming the doctors or, well, so the story goes.

Perhaps, this is a metaphor for the rest of their lives.

In his darker moments, when he’s older and a bit maudlin during his prison sentence, Neal will wonder if their parents wanted one child. So, they went about trying to have one in a rather gruesome and tragic fashion to help them appear sympathetic.

It’s perhaps an unkind thing to think about one’s own parents. Tim knows his thoughts on the matter. He likes to think that, perhaps, their parents loved them. Neal doesn’t want to burst his brother’s bubble there.

Jack and Janet Drake hired a surrogate to have a child because it was expected that successful married couple have children. They didn’t have a sob story of trying for years and years and years before hiring one. Janet didn’t want the time off of work. It was not love, but obligation. Neal never really mourns his parents. It’s hard to mourn people who were, at best, business associates to him.

They did give them each other though.

It's the only good thing that Janet and Jack Drake ever did.

Chapter Text

Growing up, virtually alone, in a big manor for most of their developmental years with only themselves for company, it’s amazing that Tim and Tom didn’t end up more screwed up than they are as adults.

Like, okay, being a conman and a superhero aren’t exactly healthy lifestyle choices. But things could have been worse. They could have been supervillains or something.

(“Always good to be self-reflective,” Neal says languidly one evening. A glass of wine rests within reach as he fully relaxes, even with the anklet’s weight. “A conman and a vigilante, Mother and Father would be so proud.”

Tim rolls his eyes at that from where he’s washing dishes. Neal cooked, Tim cleaned, that’s how it’s been since…always. “It could be worse. We could have been supervillains. Or hippies.”

Neal snorts. Mother would have been horrified if they were hippies. He considers the supervillain angle.

“You could be married to Ra’s al Ghul. If we were villains.”

Tim throws a dish towel at his brother.

“Don’t even joke. He would find that universe. And then I would get a bigger headache than you.”

They both grin at each other, sharp with too much teeth, before breaking down into laughter.)

Either way, it ends with Tim and Tom developing habits around each other because they always had the other person to account for. Even years later, even after prison, Neal finds himself almost ordering Tim’s favorite smoothie or his coffee order when getting lunch. Or how he’ll be waiting for someone to snatch bites of his lunch or a mid-afternoon snack. He still carries around almonds without thinking about it.

Neal doesn’t sleep in entirety of his bed. He’s too used to Tim sleeping on the side closest to the door. When he’s alone, certain that Peter and Mozzie won’t come over, he dips into his habits as Tom and wonders if Tim is doing the same, like sprinkling crushed potato chips over his chocolate ice cream.

At time, Neal misses being able to move effortlessly in one space. He misses when the world was simply just Them and Us. He and Tim, they talk without needing to say the word. Like what Cass does for everyone, but only with one person. Usually, Blackbird will show up as if reading the mind of his twin brother from miles and miles away. For a night, they can just be Tim-and-Tom again. 

It helps. 

Chapter Text

Mozzie looks between the two Neal Caffreys before him, which is not what he was expecting when he showed up early than expected for his friend’s weekly bug sweep. Though, perhaps, he should have expected this sooner or later. They live in such unprecedented times, even though they try to keep away from the cape and cowl set.

One is the Neal that he’s familiar with in, wearing the well-cut suit and the hat. The other is a scruffier Neal with messy dark curls and bright blue eyes under thick-rimmed glasses. He’s in ripped jeans, a slouchy old school Superboy tank (definitely for the former one, Mozzie’s pretty sure he’s going by a different name), and a flannel shirt tied around his waist.

“Did you get cloned?” he asks his Neal.

Other Neal snorts at that, “Who says he’s not the clone?”

His Neal looks over at his doppelganger, “Not. Helpful.”

“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Mozzie asks. “Is this like The Prestige?”

“It’s not like The Prestige, Moz,” His Neal assures him. He sighs. “This is my twin brother…”

“Timothy,” Other N—Timothy pipes up. “We’re fraternal twins.”

They look exactly alike.  

Neal rolls his eyes, “You missing a spleen doesn’t make us fraternal, Timothy.”

Huh. Timothy does not have a spleen. Maybe he should keep some antibiotics on hand in case they change their mind about The Prestige thing. They could get a lot of mileage out of it even with Neal shackled to the Feds.

“Well not when you say it like that, Nealsworth.”

“That’s not even a real name!”

Timothy grins at Mozzie conspiratorially. It’s a smile that he’s seen on Neal’s face a thousand times. It means he’s riling up someone and having fun with it. Okay, Bizarro Neal aside, maybe Mozzie potentially likes this twin brother.

“People used to name their kids No Fornication or whatever. Your name could be Nealsworth.”

“I regret sharing a womb with you.”

Timothy says brightly to Mozzie, “He only says that when he thinks I’m being super annoying.”

Neal returns with a glass of wine for Mozzie, a nice red that he’s been eyeing up. He hands it over to him. Well, he has to ask his friend.

“Why are you trusting me with this?”

“You came,” Neal says. He gets that Look that he gets on his face sometimes: a sort of sad, sort of angry, sort of hungry, and all achingly lonely Look. A Look Mozzie knows that he wears when thinking about his parents, whoever they are. Neal continues. “When I asked for help. You came. Only one person’s ever really done that for me before.”

I trust you with him goes unsaid.

“Do you like mahjong?” Mozzie asks.

“Finally,” Timothy says, pretending like he wasn’t openly listening in earlier. “Someone with taste. I’ll bet embarrassing stories from our childhood to any sort of heist mishaps you have.”

“I take it back,” Neal says, but his smile lies. “Introducing you two was a mistake.”

Chapter Text

“D’Amico and his wife fled the jurisdiction last night,” Peter grouses over his paperwork. “Probably to a non-extradition country.”  

Neal grimaces, “We knew it was a possibility.”

He’s seen and heard about it plenty of times throughout the course of his childhood. He’s pretty sure that his parents had a plan as well to escape if things got a little too hot. Tim and Neal are well aware that the reason their trust funds are so generous was some financial shenanigans. Good news, however, is that they have a cushion without Bruce’s money, even if Jack couldn’t touch it after ruining what was left of his company.

The D’Amicos reminded Neal of the Drakes: a cold mother and an oblivious father. Right down to the trips out of town all year long, leaving their child with a nanny. He hopes that they took…

A cold feeling settles in his gut.

“Don’t they have a daughter?” he asks Peter. “Was she traveling with them?”

He watches as the agent frantically flips through the paperwork. The cold anger on Peter’s face is enough to have Neal on his feet.

“We need to go,” he says, trying to tamp down his own rage. “Call CPS on the way.”

Peter doesn’t argue.

“How did you know they forgot their kid?”

Neal snorts and gives Peter a rare glimpse into his past.

“My parents would have forgotten me in their shoes.”

Chapter Text

Tim has maintained, currently maintains, will always maintain, that he never told anyone about Batman and Robin. His twin brother, in his opinion, does not count as he was literally sitting right next to him when the pieces slotted together in Tim’s brain, like a final click of a solved Rubik’s cube or figuring out the killer in a detective story.

“Dick Grayson is Robin,” he breathed out moments after seeing Robin do a quadruple flip in the air. Tom, who was drawing on the couch, snapped his head up at that. He has known, currently knows, will always know his whole life that when Tim says something like that? It’s not without evidence.

(By the time Tim Drake is seventeen, he will be the greatest detective that the world will ever see. He only improves with age. By the time Neal Caffrey is working with the FBI, he knows his brother has well and truly surpassed Batman.

He always feels such pride seeing the former Robin, the former Red Robin, the Blackbird in his own right, solving crimes. Admittedly, Neal’s own penchant for casework probably came from a childhood of listening as Tim pieced together clues and emailed in tips to a captive audience of one.)

At the age of nine? Tim Drake is still pretty damn impressive.

“You sure, Tim?” he asked his brother.

Tim met his eyes and nodded one fiercely. Well then, Tom thought, there is only one answer as to who Batman is. The answer slotted in neatly and made a lot of sense once he put some thought into it. It’s Tom, who finishes the rest of the equation.

“Huh, then Bruce Wayne must be Batman.”

Tim’s eyes went wide and excited at that. They grinned at each other in the empty home, but never breathed a word of it to anyone. Tim because the secret was important. Tom because Batman was Tim’s favorite superhero and also kept the city pretty safe. They were content to have a secret that only few knew without ever having been told it.

That, really, should have been that.

(Neal admits later that he was more than likely being a bit too optimistic.)

Chapter Text

Everyone always leaves.

That’s been the center of the world for Tim and Tom Drake since they were little. The Drake Manor was empty, devoid of life, except for two very lonely little boys who were each other’s whole world.

Everyone always leaves.  

Tom bears witness as Tim’s loses friends, a love, their father, and a man that his brother loved as good as. He watches as Tim suffers, sits by his brother’s bedside as he has the Clench, as he recovers from Jason and Damian. He watches as Dick takes away Robin without talking to Tim about it. He watches as the hero community seems to think brother has cracked in the aftermath of Bruce’s death.

(Don’t you see? Can’t you understand? It’s not grief. Not with Tim. They are their mother’s sons. They’d never let something as emotion get in the way of the facts.

Tom wishes heroes would stop being such a disappointment to him.)

It’s Tom, too clever by half and too good with his words, who gets Tim out of Gotham. He later calls it his first heist. It feels right, Neal will think, that it’s his brother that he steals first so Tim can do what he does best. The first time that the boy who will become Neal Caffrey bamboozled and hoodwinked those around him in order to get out with this prize.

It felt different to be the one doing the leaving, he thinks while he and Tim board a plane heading to Europe under the name Alvin and Theodore Draper.

(They will separate, of course, because the mission gets more dangerous. Tim and Tom will never truly leave each other. They will always be drawn to each other because no one in the world will ever know them like they know each other.)

Chapter Text

'Peter Burke', the man who became Neal Caffrey thinks, 'is solid as a rock.'

He considers the man, who is across the park, kissing his wife goodbye. The voice in the back of his head that sounds like Tim (could be Tim, twin telepathy could actually be a thing in their world) tells him about unnecessary risks. Neal tells Tim(?) to shut up because he totally has it handled. Plus, given half of things Tim has gotten up to, he has no room to talk.

Peter makes things fun. There’s an added element there. Neal leads the man off on a merry chase. Kate thinks that he has a crush and Mozzie think he’s playing a dangerous game. But, no, it’s not that. It’s…he can’t describe it.

He likes the steady nature of Peter Burke. He wants to see how he can rile him up. He sees that wild eye brightness in his eyes just before Neal gives him the slip. Or when Neal sends champagne to FBI fans and apology macarons to Peter’s wife with a note apologizing for taking up so much of her husband’s time. It makes his own heart soar.

“You have a playmate,” Tim says when Neal calls him that night. “I mean I wish it wasn’t with the FBI agent chasing you, but here we are. You’ve made a friend. I'm so proud. Imagine the lone tear running down my cheek as I stare off into the distance while pop song plays.”

“I’ve had friends.”

“You’ve had me, Cass, and a variety of acquaintances that you low-key hated. You have friends now. You want your FBI agent to be your playmate. He likes you too, by the way. He calls you James Bonds in the file.”

Neal grins, delighted at the nickname, “You need to stop hacking into the FBI database.”

“I really don’t. Not while they’re tracking you.”

“If they get me, then they get me. I’ll serve whatever time is needed.”

Tim sighs, frustrated. The argument is one that they’ve had. They’re both unique individuals in many ways, but one trait that they share is sheer stubbornness.

“Try not to get caught then.”

“Says the hero to the criminal.”

“Says the brother to the brother.”

Neal smiles, feeling the warmth in him at the reminder. That he and Tim are apart from each other, but they’re still them, steady as ever.

Chapter Text

Thomas N. Drake visits the graves of his parents precisely once after their deaths. Tim is, well, somewhere, running around with three assassins, trying to find Bruce Wayne. He’s sends emails from burner accounts and texts from untraceable cell phones to let Tom know that he’s still alive.

After a rocket launcher was aimed at their hotel room, though, it was agreed, after a very long conversation that devolved into a fist fight before ending with them hugging each other and crying, that Tom would leave and return back to Gotham. Tim pressed a manila envelope into his hands, telling him to open it when he decides what to do.

“I would go with you,” Tom insisted with red rimmed eyes, a bruise on his jaw, and his hand gripping onto his brother’s. He followed Tim when he went around the world for his training tour. “I don’t like him, but I’d help you get him back.”

“I know you would,” Tim said, softly. He’s sporting some vicious scratch marks across his face. His eyes are puffy from crying and his grip is just as tight. “But this isn’t…you’d have to become something that I know you don’t want to be. And I won’t ask that of you. I want you to go and be…you. Whoever that is. Even if it’s without me. Just for a little while.”

“Not a goodbye.”

“Never a goodbye,” Tim insists. He grins that same lopsided sort of smile he’s had since childhood. “It’s a see you later.”

The ritual settles something in Tom. Goodbyes mean loneliness and empty promises and endless, bitter disappointment. A “see you later” is a promise, a verbal talisman, that they will see each other again.

“See you later,” he promises.

Tom slips back into Gotham and breaks into one of Tim’s safe houses. One of the ones that’s reasonably certain that the other Bats and Birds of Gotham know nothing about. Even if they did, they would get no answers out of him, not a whisper word will be said on where in the world is Tim Drake. After arriving, Tom sleeps for about fourteen hours that first day and orders Thai from that good place nearby that delivers. He watches videos on YouTube and cries.

Jack Drake was very much a “real men don’t cry” sort. Tom always thought that was bullshit. Tim could name all the healthy benefits to a good cry from a scientific perspective. He always thought that it was cathartic, even if he hated feeling like a mess afterward. Consciously, he’s not sure why he spent that time sobbing on the floor of Tim’s safehouse.

Maybe it felt like the end of era.

Maybe he was scared he’d never see his brother again.

Maybe he was frightened that Tim would just…never look for him, whatever he decides left. That he will choose all of them over Tom because they had something that he never wanted for himself. 

Either way, he cries himself to sleep and wakes up sticky-eyed and feeling gross. He showers, brushes his teeth with a finger and some toothpaste, and runs a comb through his hair. Tom changes into his clothes and, without looking at the manila envelope, he decides to go see his parents.

He boards the bus and rides all the way out to the cemetery with a ball cap pulled low over his face and disinterested air about him. Tom slouches off and looks at the twisting metal of the gates. Bruce handled the funeral arrangements, so the cemetery is one of “nice ones” where all the Gotham elite end up when they die.

For all their social climbing, at least the Drakes had that in death, Tom supposes.

Despite only ever being at their graves for their respective funerals, the memory of where the headstones are is easy enough to drum up in his head. His feet take him down to tasteful yet simple memorial to Janet and Jack Drake’s earthly remains.

Janet Drake
Beloved Wife & Mother

Jack Drake
Beloved Husband & Father

Tom wants to laugh as he stares at his parents’ headstones. He feels positively ancient as his eyes trace the words carved into the stone. It’s a lie. A farce. Clearly Bruce had picked these out. He gets sentimental about such things as dead parents and orphaned children. World’s Greatest Detective, Tom’s ass, he was always awful about seeing what was right in front of him.

Janet and Jack weren’t beloved to each other. They weren’t beloved to their sons. Tom blackmailed Jack to let Tim be Robin again.

“I don’t mourn you,” he tells the graves without even thinking about it. The words just tumble out of his mouths to cold and unfeeling stone. It’s like, with Tim so far away, he needs to purge himself. “Tim does, but I don’t. I don’t know if that makes me a bad person or not. It’s hard to mourn people when they were never really there to begin with. Sure, Dad tried, but that was more Dana than anything. If Drake Industries survived, then it would have been back to square one. You both were shitty, neglectful, and terrible parents. You were more concerned with other things than with your children. I’m not even sure you had us for the right reasons!”

Tom is the only person here. If he could think past the blood pounding in his ears, then he would feel faintly ridiculous, standing here, yelling at a pair of gravestones like they could talk back. But, well, it definitely feels like childhood in a way to him.

“Now, you both are dead. I know Tim comes once a year on your death to give you flowers and talk. But that’s obligation. Because he’s a good person. It’s not love because God forbid either of you ever show us that while you were alive.”

He can feel tears spill across his cheeks, hot and fast. He scrubs them away into fabric of his jacket, like he can stop the show of emotion.

“I hope you can hear me. I hope you can know how I feel about it. And I hope you regret it in the next life. Because your sons? They are not yours. I disown you. I cut any ties to you. I hope that those other important things were worth it. I hope you realized they weren’t as you died.”

With that, Tom turns on his heel and leaves the cemetery.

He never goes back.

Back in the apartment, he will open the envelope Tim gave him.

The paperwork for one Neal George Caffrey looks back at him.

In Tim’s handwriting, a familiar spiky slant, Neal Caffrey is care free. :)

Tom, in his last act as Thomas Drake, laughs. He knows Tim’s message here: a promise to be okay, a reminder not to worry too much about him, and a wish for Tom to live his own life.

Neal Caffrey leaves Gotham with plans never to return.

Chapter Text

When Tim begins Robin training, Tom makes sure to be there every moment of it. He bears witness, so to speak. He sits and watches as Bruce Wayne runs his brother again and again into the ground. As Tim takes everything with a smile, like he was made to be worked over by this man. Tom bites his cheek and keeps his mouth shut.

Because, well, it’s a delicate situation. Wayne may not want a new protégé, but Batman needs a Robin. Personally, Tom thinks that Wayne needs to deal with his grief because it will kill him, but it will not kill his brother. Even as Tim: brave, sweet, determined, kind Tim, pulls the man from a brink that he wants to cross.

A thirteen-year-old should not have to stop a grown man from self-destructing.

Over the years, as Tim becomes more entrenched, Tom continues to show up. He watches, like ghost, like a wraith. He knows Wayne hates his presence. He sees the glances directed at him, the tenses in the man’s shoulders. He’s sure he has a million contingencies planned for Tom, should he ever get out of control. He’s waiting for Tom to slip up so Bruce can be right.

Tom refuses to let Tim get swallowed up by The Mission. He refuses to let his brother fall down into the pit that Bruce Wayne has made his home.

Robin is a light in the darkness, but who is Robin’s light?

Batman may be Robin’s lord and master. He says jump and Robin says ‘how high?’ Tim wishes it were partners, but Tom knows better. He sees it all from the sidelines with clenched fists and a sharp tongue, always ready to step in when Bruce goes, in his estimations, too far with Tim.

Tom is Tim’s brother.

They both know who will win if Bruce ever makes Tim choose between them.

Chapter Text

One of those stupid games that Tim and Tom would play as kids was taking random names and rhyming them. It was a fun bit of word play when they needed to entertain themselves. It’s something that Neal kept up into his criminal career.

“Burke the Jerk?” Tim snorts over the phone. “What are you five?”

“There’s not a lot that rhymes with Burke,” Neal defends as he looks over his latest plans.

“Fair point. How are things with your new girlfriend?”

Kate’s out at the present, picking up things for dinner tonight. Neal takes a moment to enjoy the gauzy billows of the curtains in their Paris apartment. It was a great idea to bring Kate here. Sure, they’ve been working. But they also been playing tourists and eating their weight in French food, coming home and there is…

Passion.

Fun.

He can see why people think so much of this sex stuff, so long as it’s with the right person. Kate? Kate’s very much the right person.

“Out and about.”

“Gross. You sound positively lovesick.”

Neal glares at his speaker phone.

“Do I need to name the list of girlfriends and boyfriends you had in high school? How much I had to listen to you talk about your boyfriends and girlfriends in high school? The crushes? The puppy dog eyes? I? I have suffered. I deserve to be lovesick. My turn.”

Tim laughs at that.

“Fair enough, you demisexual unicorn.”

He shakes his head and considers the canvas in front of him.

“How is Bernard?”

“Good,” he hears Tim shuffling his papers awkwardly. He sounds like the awkward twenty-year-old he is rather than the world weary CEO and vigilante. “Wonderful even. I guess I like his stupid face.”

“Clearly you are a poet.”

“You’re the artistic twin,” Tim groans. “Listen, I need to go wrangle some overseas investors. You and Kate enjoy your date.”

Neal snorts as his brother hangs up.

Chapter Text

Tim is trying his best to put on a brave face, but Tom can tell that his twin is hurting. He sees the carefully blank expression that his brother wears whenever he sees the latest news alerts about Batman and Robin (Stephanie Brown, which privately gutted Tim and made Tom seethe). He sees how Jack keeps an eagle-eye on his brother, questioning everything he does, making Tim feel like he’s a terrible person.

Sometimes, Tom and Tim will swap clothes on their way home so Tim can have a few hours to himself to breathe. Sure, Jack isn’t thrilled that his youngest knew about his brother’s vigilante career, but Tom also didn’t dress up in tights and rain around with a bo staff.

After he hears from Tim that Dick says that Stephanie was fired for recklessness and insubordination as Robin, Tom makes his move. He doesn’t like Batman very much, but, sooner or later, Tim will go out in a mask. It’s in his blood, in his heart. Even if he doesn’t know it now, Tom knows. He’d rather Tim have the resources and the support that Batman provides over doing it alone.

Of course, no way Jack Drake will let Tim back out in costume. Tom will just have to handle things. Much like his brother, he has a plan.  One night, when Tim is hanging out with Ives for a Warlocks & Warriors one-shot game and Dana is having a girls’ night, Tom makes his move.

“Can I talk with you about something?” he tells his father about an hour after he gets home. He learned this by watching his mother. Janet Drake was many things. The chief amongst them was her cunning. According to her, ambush tactics are all well and good, but it makes a person defensive. The last thing that Tom wants is to make his father defensive.

No.

No.

He wants his father calm. He wants him to think that he’s in control to start with.

Jack looks up from where he’s watching television.

“Tommy!” he greets. “Everything okay? Having girl trouble? Thinking of joining the baseball team?”

Internally, Tom rolls his eyes. That’s Jack Drake for you. He likes to think that he’s a good father, he bets. To Tom, however, Jack just wants those perfect moments seen in, like, commercials for anti-depressants or erectile dysfunction products. Everything is bright and cheerful. The kids are smiling and so are the parents.

Nothing, however, is real. It’s just an act.

These falsehoods are what his father wants. To believe that his children will grow up normal with steady office jobs and married to picture-perfect girls next door. Never mind what Tom and Tim actually want.

“Nothing like that,” he says as he sits down next to his father. “I was hoping we could talk about Tim. I’ve been worried about him, lately.”

He keeps his face contrite, widens his eyes just a bit. Jack frowns.

“I haven’t noticed anything. Why do you think he’s talking to Wayne again?”

“No. He’s cut contact like you asked, but I think he misses them.”

His father snorts, “So? They’re not his family.”

Maybe not.

Tom wishes that Bruce didn’t disappoint him yet again. He wishes he would stop with these mind games: like bringing Tim’s girlfriend in as Robin, like testing his brother, like cutting him loose the moment that he becomes a threat to the Mission. He hoped, briefly, that Bruce would fight for Tim.

Even so, even so, he sees how much Tim misses his friends, how much he misses Dick, how much he misses Alfred. He sees that naked longing on his brother’s face. The way he sometimes twirls an imaginary bo staff, how he looks out through a window at the Gotham night sky.

“Neither are you,” he says. “As far I’m concerned, I’m Tim’s family.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Jack snaps angrily as he looks at Tom.

Tom is ice. He is marble. He is the coldest region of the voice black of space. He is Janet Drake at her most Janet Drake, his mother’s son.

“It would be the first time that you thought I was smart,” he says back, standing his ground. “I heard you and mother make plans. Tim was supposed to be the elder genius. Tom? Oh well, he’s the pretty face. Who knows what sort of perverts would be into that, right? Nevermind that Tim and I are identical twins. We are both pretty and smart.”

Jack turns white and then purple. He flexes his fingers.

“I can see you want to punch me,” Tom says pleasantly. “I should let you know that I have a hidden camera in the room. It’s wirelessly uploading to a Cloud drive. If I don’t put in a password within, say, three hours? It will send any and all footage to Batman. He doesn’t like people who hurt kids.”

Even if that kid is Thomas Drake.

“I have blackmail on him. He won’t touch the case.”

“Oh? You mean his identity? How you went in with a gun to threaten Bruce Wayne? Do you really think that you’re the first person to do that? It’s a meme. It’s an internet joke. I think John Oliver has a very funny rant that he did about it with Jon Stewart. I’ll link it to you. He took your ‘blackmail’ seriously because he’s sentimental. But if he feels that Tim is in an unsafe environment? Please.”

Tom holds his father’s glare.

“See? Bruce and I? We’ve never gotten along. I honestly don’t hold much affection for the man, not like Tim does. Tim will put a cape on again. He will be a hero. I say that as the only person who has been with Tim for his entire life. So, you will let him be Robin again. Because I’d rather it be where he has a support system, then him in a homemade costume and rolling the dice that way.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you love Dana.”

Jack freezes at that.

“And what does that me?”

Tom keeps his voice light.

“Does Dana about the months and months that you and mother left us alone? Sure, she knows that you weren’t the best father. But she thinks that you mean that you got a little too wrapped up in your work. Not that you left your two unsupervised children virtually alone by themselves since the age of nine. Mrs. Mac did her best, of course, but she was only the housekeeper and she had her own life. Imagine what Dana would think about the times you missed Christmas or forgot our birthdays. The time that you yelled at Tim for shellfish allergy. The time that you kicked me out of the car and made me walk two miles home by myself because I spilled soda in your car.”

He leans forward.

“You have someone who loves you, really and truly. She is so much better than you. She’s a good person. A good person will be horrified by the sort of sins that you have, Dad. And you don’t know how many I know.”

They sit there in the relatively silence of the room. The television continues to play a Gotham Knights game. The Knights were losing. Tom had to wonder if this was a metaphor for his father.

Jack blinks first.

“What do you want?”

“You’re going to tell Tim that you give him your blessing to be Robin again. You are going to support him with his decision. And you are going to grin and bear it because you lost any real right to parent your sons years ago.”

“And you?”

“I’ll do what I’ll always do,” he says pleasantly. “I make sure Tim is safe and healthy. He’s not like you or Mother or even me. Tim cares. He loves freely and without exception. He is kind for the only reason that it is the right thing to do. I don’t know where he got it from.”

With that, Tom strides out of the room.

Tim comes into their room beaming that night. He crawls into bed with Tom and hugs him.

“What’s that for?”

“Dad said I could be Robin again.”

“Amazing. I get more bonding time with Alfred.”

“Thank you.”

Tom runs his hand through Tim’s hair, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Chapter Text

Neal Caffrey is going to be the death of Peter Burke.

Peter is equal parts serious and joking as he thinks this, looking at the younger man’s head as it lulls back. He’s been singing old showtunes, which, well, of course he is. Peter’s less surprised by that than the whole “Neal breaking into a building and putting his work-release deal in jeopardy again” thing.

That should be expected.

Neal is going back to prison.

Then, however, Neal looks up at him with those big blue eyes and slurs out, “You’re the only person in my life that I really trust, Peter. Well, you’n’T. No one’s ever come close to T, but you do. S’nice.”

T?

Peter knows the Neal Caffrey file inside out and backwards. “T” has never appeared in there before. Is T an accomplice? Whoever they are, they must be important if Neal trusts them more than Kate or Mozzie.

He trusts Peter close enough to them.

As Peter looks at Neal’s head, he sighs deeply before handcuffing him to the chair.

“Do not pick your way out of these.”

Neal has good intentions, he believes. He has a good heart, despite all the criminal behavior and con artistry. Peter will not let Neal go back to jail unless he well and truly blew up his life.

The younger man stares up at him with glassy eyes, “Peter?”

He sighs and rests his hand on the back of Neal’s neck.

He’s not going to ask about T. Not while Neal is like this, drugged and vulnerable and looking so very young. Instead, he just drops his hand, “Stay.”

Peter needs to go steal a surveillance tape.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth Burke spends most of her day around the finer things in life. It’s just a fact of her industry. Event planning, especially for the sort of clientele that she’s worked hard to cultivate, is all about trying to get the best of the best for a fraction of the price.

Honestly, it’s part of the reason she loves Peter so much. He’s a blessed sea of normal and practicality after days listening to clients fight over gold leaf on chocolate or color schemes. He helps her put things in perspective and destress. Peter prefers a good baseball game with a hot dog and beer over caviar and mother of pearl spoons.

She desperately loves him for that.

Even so, a taste for the refine is not something that Peter will ever have. He appreciates the finer things in life. They’ve had wonderful conversations about art over the years or the classic films that she’s so fond of.

Still, after Neal Caffrey came into their lives with a charming grin, El is not one to use his palette to give her an edge in her business.

“How do you know about all of this?” She asks him one day. Peter’s up in his office handling some paperwork (and escaping from the more interesting dishes that her clients are insisting on). “It can’t all be for the con.”

Neal swirls a glass of wine in consideration, “My parents were social climbers. New money. They made sure I knew everything about everything with all of this.”

Honestly, it explains a lot about the con.

“Oh?”

He smiles, a bitterly real thing, “Everything I learned about being a con artist? I learned from my mother. I was just supposed to be a pretty face in the crowd.”

“You’re so much more than that, Neal.”

He looks at her in surprise.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” he clears his throat. “I’d-uh-appreciate the thing about my mom to be kept between us? I prefer not to think about my parents and you know how Peter can get.”

“Our secret, though you may feel better telling him something someday.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “Now let’s see if I can help you narrow down a caterer.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Neal says after telling the story about Vincent Adler and his first big con. They’ve been sitting in silence with Peter’s badge face down between them. Dawn, and the end of the immunity, creeps ever closer in the silence of the apartment. “Anything I say until sunrise, you won’t pursue?”

“That’s the deal.”

Peter Burke has always been a man of his word. Even if circumstances force him to go back on it, it’s almost always powers outside of his control than anything else that causes him to break that promise. And he always hates himself, a little bit, for the times when he has to go back on giving his word.

Neal considers him for a long, long time. In the lowlight of pre-dawn, his eyes almost seem to glow. Finally, after a long moment, he nods.

“I have a brother,” Neal says casually. “He’s my best friend. I trust him more than I ever will anyone else in this life.”

“T?” Peter asks, remembering Neal drugged and singing. “You mentioned him once.”

There’s a long pause, but he has to ask.

“Is he…?”

A criminal, a con, out there with bright eyes and a brighter smile conning people and forging paintings. Will he have to arrest him?

Neal seems to know his thought process, chuckling.

“No! No. T’s not like me.” The chuckle dies off before he drains the rest of his wine. “He’s a good person.”

“So are you,” Peter insists.

“I’m not so sure some days.”

“Listen to me, Neal,” he says firmly, waiting until the younger man looks at him. “I wouldn’t believe in you so much otherwise.”

Neal huffs a laugh.

“Glad to see you have some faith in me.”

“Someone has to,” Peter insists quietly. “But why tell me about your brother?”

“Because I know you’ll keep your word about not mentioning him to anyone,” he says seriously. “If something happens to me because of this? Then I’m asking you, Peter. I want you to keep an eye on T, okay?”

“Neal, you’re not…”

He’s not going to die. Peter is not going to let him die.

“Promise me. He needs someone like you.”

Neal is not going to let this go, huh?

“Okay. I’ll keep an eye on your brother.”

His friend’s face softens gently.

The warm light of dawn creeps over the horizon, a rosy glow filtering into the apartment.

(Neal’s brother will never make it into the file.)

Chapter Text

“Who is your favorite superhero, Caffrey?” Clinton asks while they’re in the van, doing a stakeout.

Peter leans back curiously at that. It’s a standard sort of get to know you question from childhood to adulthood. Everyone has a favorite superhero. So might as well find common ground. He’s been asked it a million times with different people on stakeouts over the years.

Even ex-cons have favorites, right?

“Blackbird,” Neal answers immediately. He’s solving a Rubix cube. Again. “Formerly Red Robin and the third Robin. That guy.”

Peter considers the answer for a moment, going through what he knows and has seen of the hero in question, in action.

Elegant, graceful, smart?

Peter could see why he likes him.

“Wow,” Cruz says, dragging out the ‘o’ slightly. “You a fanboy, Caffrey?”

“Only of him,” He has his eyes closed and is trying to solve the damn Rubix cube. “He’s a better detective than Batman. It’s impressive.”

When Neal returns from being exonerated and on the run after Fowler appears, there’s a Blackbird action figure on his desk.

Some sort of mix of “I’m sorry” and “Welcome back”.

He smiles and displays it on his desk.

Chapter Text

It was Alfred Pennyworth that had the greatest impact on Neal’s style.

“A good suit is a suit of armor, Master Tom,” the elder man once said. Tom Drake would often help Alfred around the house when he needed a break from Bruce and superheroes. “You can fade into the background or own the room by how you rare the suit.”

“Really?” Tom asked from where he’s watching Alfred handle the laundry.

“Truly. It’s the most versatile piece of clothing that a man can own. So long as you have a finely kept base suit? The world is your oyster. You just need to own it.”

Tom considered this to be one of the most important lessons that Alfred had ever taught him. And the man has taught him many things over the years.

This remains why Neal Caffrey always appreciates a very finely made suit.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to change my hero name,” Tim, dressed in his Red Robin costume, informs Neal. He’s sitting against the outside of his cell door. Neal is back-to-back with Tim. He thinks he can feel the warmth of his brother seep through the bars.

These midnight visits are something that he looks forward to. Tim just sort of appears in costume at night and they talk. His brother talks about his cases and makes sure that Neal is treated well. How no one ever mentions them whether the guards or the other inmates? He assumes magic or alien tech on some level.

During these visits, Neal studiously avoids mentioning Batman’s own midnight visits as the man stares at him through the bars while he sleeps. With him in prison, he doesn’t want to take Tim from what support that he has for himself.

Still, Tim changing his hero name is a big deal.

“Yeah? Which one are you going with, Red?”

He can almost hear the smile in his brother’s voice.

“Remember Katya?”

Neal remembers Katya, one of the many nannies that their parents had hired over the years. She was nice and genuinely seemed to care about them outside of Tim and Tom being just a paycheck. Of course, like all nannies that they had, their parents grew bored or didn’t like how the twins preferred her to them or something, one day she was just gone.

Katya, he remembers, was one of a handful of people in those early years that could tell him and Tim apart from each other. Not even their own parents could do it, mixing them up until their own deaths. She played music constantly and sang to them before bed.

Her favorite song to sing was…

Oh!

Neal grins, chuckling to himself.

“Not a bad name at all.”

Tim chuckles, bright and warm, which sends Neal grinning.

“Gad you approve,” his voice is warm and fond.

“How long can you stay?”

“Couple more hours.”

Neal closes his eyes and feels his brother’s warmth seep through the bars. He gently hums to his brother.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.

Chapter Text

Neal Caffrey, Diana Berrigan thinks, is one of the most graceful men that she has ever seen. Over the course of her life, she has seen a lot of graceful men, not that they’ve done anything for her. But still, she’s curious about where Caffrey’s grace came from.

“I have to know, Caffrey,” she says during a particularly slow day at the office. “Did you do ballet? Were you a dancer at some point? You have that way about you.”

He grins from where he’s making an origami frog, “Good eye, Diana! You win the prize.”

She accepts the frog, which is pretty cute, she likes the little pattern paper he used, “Thanks. So, what was it?”

“Ballet, gymnastics, and aikido,” he names, ticking off the fingers.

Well, that was interesting.

“You’re non-violent.”

Neal raises an eyebrow, “I am non-violent, but self-defense was needed when I grew up. Aikido is all about defense.”

Now, she’s wondering where he’s grown up that it was a necessity. Due to her parents, she needed to have that sort of training as well, but he also had that grim flat certainty as well in admitting those sorts of lessons were needed.

But she also knows that Caffrey will not mention past it.

“And the ballet?”

“Annoyed the hell out of my dad,” he smirks, looking like the cat that got the cream. “He wanted a football kid. American football.”

Huh. Diana’s not quite near Peter’s level at reading Neal for truth or lie, but she believes that he’s telling her the truth.

“Can’t see you as the quarterback,” she admits.

“Neither could I,” he admits. “Hence everything else that I could do to give the metaphorical middle finger to the gender norms, you know?”

Fair.

“I can drink cheap government to that,” Diana says, lifting her mug in a toast.

Neal laughs, “If I donate a better coffee maker, then you think that Hughes’ll have it investigated?”

Valid question, but Diana also wants better coffee, “Maybe an anonymous donation?”

He leans back, “I can see if June will handle it. She’s an eccentric socialite. Or, well, she likes to play it.”

June also, apparently, has an amazing taste in coffee.

Peter calls Neal, who gracefully stands to join him. Diana watches him go.

Ballet, huh?

Chapter Text

When Tom was a child, he fell in love for the first time. There was a field trip to the museum, but Tim had to go to the dentist to get a cavity filled. Tom, meanwhile, was sent off with his classmates to the Gotham Museum of Art.

This is the day that he will meet his first and truest love: art. Years later, he will always remember standing in front of the Flaming June with her orange dress and careless pose, staring in wonder at how alive she looks. Like any moment, she will wake from her slumber and face the world.

He remembers the piercing set of eyes of Saint Lucy as they stare back at him in another painting. Tom feels seen and known by the gaze of something painted centuries ago. He stares at the bold color and near frenetic brushstrokes of one of Van Gogh’s sunflowers, warm and buzzing with life.

Tom is enraptured for hours and hours. People made these things with their hands and pigment and flat services. They made them and, even when they’re gone, they survive. They are here and people know they are here. They existed and made these things.

(Tom, deep in his heart, is a very lonely little boy even with his brother nearby. Because, well, he is terrified and knows that one day he will not be enough for Tim. He will never be enough for him.

And then where will that leave him?)

Tom aches to be able to make such art as well.

He comes home and talks to Tim, who is miserable from the trip to the dentist, for hours and hours, feeling well and truly alive. His brother listens and nods, watching Tom with curious, calculating eyes.

The next week, there is a delivery.

A box of art supplies.

Tim grins in delight at Tom’s reaction.

In this moment, Tom has never felt so known in his life. It will be a long time until he recaptures this feeling. But it sustains him, this memory, when he feels the ghost of loneliness wrap around him. He remembers that kitchen of that big empty house populated only two brothers that raised themselves with a box of paint opened before him.

Chapter Text

Neal examines the crockery of the hole in the wall kitchenware shop within his radius. Honestly? It wasn’t really a place that Peter would expect to find him on a Sunday afternoon.

“Cast iron?” he asks.

Neal doesn’t startle at all to Peter’s approach. Though, honestly, you really have to work to sneak up on the con man. He knows where everyone is in a room at any given time in a way that Peter hopes is from his criminal activities rather than a terrible childhood.

“Needs to be seasoned,” Neal answers thoughtfully. “I prefer to pick one up at an antique shop, but there’s none in my radius. It takes time to get a cast iron the way I like it. And honestly? Older is better in this case.”

Huh.

Every day, Peter learns something new about Neal Caffrey.

Still, he can help with this and maybe get the younger man to behave for once. Or, well, as close to behaving as Neal gets.

“Well, if you come with me to wrap up the Luxon case, then I’ll take you to an antique shop.”

Bright blue eyes narrow thoughtfully in his direction.

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

“More like rewarding good behavior, Neal. Is it working?”

He puts down the pan he was holding.

“Yes.”

“Then look at it working. C’mon. My car’s not that far.”

The two of them walk in silence together for a couple of minutes before Peter has to know.

“Who taught you about cookware?”

Neal pauses for a moment. It’s not a “thinking a lie” face. At this point in their friendship/partnership, Peter is well aware about how that particular face looks.

No. It’s the look at that Neal gets when he’s torn about talking about his past.

Interesting.

“A sort of grandfather,” he lands on. “It’s complicated. But he taught how to cook and we exchange recipes through dead drops.”

Yeah. No. That sounded like something someone related to Neal would do. Peter’s not going to to touch that today.

Okay that’s a lie. He needs to know.

“That was a joke, right? Neal? Neal?!”

Chapter Text

“Caffrey,” a haughty voice says to his right. Externally, Neal only turns the page of his book in the small café that he’s enjoying a couple of quiet hours at. Internally, he prays for strength because, well, he’s been expecting this, but, also, God, at what cost?

“Demon brat,” he responds neutrally as he studies the words on the page without fully absorbing them. He knows that the nonchalance and lack of attention will throw Damian off balance. “As far as I’m aware, no one has chanted your name in a mirror three times or made any appropriate sacrifices to summon you.”

“Where is the Raphael, Caffrey?”

Only now does Neal allow himself a bit of smirk as he turns the page.

“Who says I have it?” He looks up and over at Damian, widening his eyes slightly in faux innocence. “Oh! Were you about to see it in person? Too bad, so sad.”

That struck a nerve. Damian’s fist tightens.

“I wouldn’t do whatever you’re thinking, kid. Damian Wayne doesn’t have the best reputation with the public,” he grins brittle and knife sharp. “And I will play up being stabbed by you. Or, hey, fake the stabbing and place the blame on yourself. I’m not that picky.”

Neal would rather not stab himself, but he can admit that he’s petty enough that to get one over on Damian that he would do so in a heartbeat. Dick’s betrayal against Tim hurts the most, but Jason and Damian’s near murder attempts again Tim are things that deserve punishment, more than Tim will ever give.

Even if he’s Neal now, the part of him that is always and forever Tom Drake, will make damn sure to be as petty, vindictive, and punishing as possible.

“I don’t understand,” Damian grits out after a long moment, metaphorically blinking first.

Neal snaps his book closed and taps the cover, “If someone allegedly stole a painting that they hypothetically knew you very much liked, then, well, it comes down to the fact that the alleged thief believes you to be a bad little boy, Damian Wayne.”

“I am not a child, Caffrey,” he spits, glaring on.

“Oh, but you have been bad,” the elder man says silkily. “Pushing Tim off the dinosaur? That got you on my shitlist. But what earns you this? Knowing that the Raphael being stolen is hypothetically your fault?”

Neal leans in and hisses out the ice that has been in his veins since Tim told him what happened in Gotham.

“You cut his line and that is unforgivable? Until you earn Tim’s forgiveness? The Raphael stays nice and safe. Since Bruce or Dick don’t seem to want to teach you consequences, then I will.”

Ah.

There’s the reaction that Neal was looking for. Grim satisfaction fills him as Damian’s face pales at the fact that he knows what happened in that alley with him and Tim.

“See here’s the thing,” he chuckles. “Older and younger don’t really mean much to Tim and I. We’ve always been equals in everything that we do, in our standing with each other. Even so, Tim would have liked a younger brother to mentor, maybe to even pass down Robin properly.”

He throws a couple dollars onto the table.

“But you made it quite clear that he is no family of yours, so this is me saying that you’re no family of mine. Try another little murder attempt like that on Tim again? And the Raphael burns while you watch. Tell Jason same goes for the Austen notes. Follow me and you won’t like the consequences. I never got into the nightlife, but I’m not one to cross, kid.”

With that, Neal stands with his book tucked under his arm, leaving Damian behind like a bad ghost.

Chapter Text

This will end poorly. Tim knows it the moment the plan is suggested. Unfortunately, the most viable plans that even he comes up with work much better with Cassie’s suggestion.

“We need your brother’s talents to get us past the door,” Cassie says apologetically. She knows, especially with Neal’s work release, that Tim is near paranoid about keeping his brother out of prison. “Do you think he will help us?”

Definitely. Neal’s forgiven Cassie those Greek antiquities suddenly and miraculously return. He’s never had a problem with Bart or Kon, not really. Even though Neal’s not a hero, he still has his own sense of justice.

“He will,” he sighs, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Shit, he’s going to need to get a haircut. Tim hates his life. “I’ll need to swap with him for a few days though. If the FBI thinks that Neal has slipped his leash, then it will be really bad for him. And I don’t want him jammed up.”

“Maybe ask him first? I know he has a problem with,” Cassie gestures to everything. The other Titans listening in silently from their table.

“It’s not you that he has the problem with. Not anymore anyway,” he waves off her concern. “He’ll help the Titans. He has no problems with this team.”

“I can make sure that Dick doesn’t appear at the Tower,” Gar promises. “Rave and I both will.”

Well, that’s the best that Tim can hope for.

“And I need to go get a haircut,” he sighs sullenly as his team chuckles around him.

Chapter Text

Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke realizes early on, is a great many things. He’s cunning, charming, and clever with a quick word and movie star smile that opens doors as easily as he cracks safes. He’s smart and talented, which is what fascinates and frustrates Peter to no end. Above all, to El at least, is that Neal Caffrey is, well, sweet.

He remembers El’s preferred brand of wine when he comes over for dinner along with Peter’s favorite beer. He makes sure that Peter comes home at a reasonable hour when there isn’t a more interesting, time-sensitive case that takes their time. She’s also pretty sure that he gives Peter gentle reminders before big events. It’s not that her husband forgets about them, of course. He just has a horrible sense of time and the passage of it.

Still, Neal does errands for June, brings Diana those chocolate-covered espresso beans she likes, talks basketball with Jones even though he’s utterly uninterested in the sport, and always has Mozzie’s back. Neal Caffrey tips generously, treats service workers well, and remembers that people are people. He is, above all else, a very sweet man.

One afternoon, when Peter and Neal are using the living room as a makeshift office for a change in perspective in their latest case, the con man suddenly frowns at something outside the window.

“Be right back,” Neal says before disappearing out of the door. Peter startles while El heads to the window.

She watches as Neal strolls over, getting in between a slight little boy and a group of scowling teens. He looks almost predatory in his movement, tilting his head to the side and smiling in a way that feels both casual and maybe a hint menacing.

One of the teens snaps something at Neal.

“Are those bullies?” Peter murmurs, frowning at the scene. “Maybe I should…”

“Shhh. Neal as it,” El eventually says, watching as the man in question says something that sends the boys backing. He stands in front of their victim until the boys are well out of sight.

The casual menace drops as Neal kneels next to the kid. There’s something almost achingly gentle in his face as he talks to the young boy, coaxing out a smile. Eventually, the pair move over to the Burke’s stoop, just sitting and talking for a long time.

Time enough for the bullies to, hopefully, get bored and leave.

When the boy does leave, he’s smiling as he waves goodbye to Neal.

Yeah.

Neal Caffrey is very sweet.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne tries with his children, that is just a fact of life. His success rate with his kids, however, is debatable in regard to, well, pretty much everyone. Especially his children, who would be the first to say it, very loudly.

Tom, no, Neal as he prefers now. He remains the one, outside of Jason, that Bruce had probably failed the most with. Four years in prison, working on a work release with the FBI, and the only person outside of Tim that he will occasionally take calls from are Alfred and Cass. Everyone else is summarily ignored, unless he steals something with a connection to them in some way so they know his displeasure.

Jason talks to more people in the family than Neal. On the topic of his brother, Tim refuses to answer any and all questions, merely staring the person down with an unsettling stare that Bruce is pretty sure Raven taught him. Everyone just pretends to not know about him breaking into supermax for late night visits or random trips to New York, according to his subdermal tracker.

Sometimes, he wonders how he screwed up so badly with Neal. Well, no, Bruce knows how he screwed up so badly when the twins came into his life: one determined to save his soul and the other determined to protect his brother.

As he tried (and failed) to push Tim away from him, from Robin, from the life, he succeeded in doing with Tom.

By the time that he was ready to try with Tim, it was already too late with his brother. He remembers two identical faces staring at him with vastly different looks in their eyes. And Bruce had failed, was too late.

Just like always.

Chapter Text

“You must be truly desperate to come to me,” Neal chuckles to himself, pouring a glass of wine. He takes a moment to relish the splash of deep red filling up the glass. He feels that he can allow himself a moment of drama.

Settling into his chair, he takes a long look at those gathered before him. Heroes that he is certain Tim knows or has worked with, not the Titans or the Bats so he doesn’t really care, but his gaze lingers at Batman and Nightwing, standing center stage before him.

“Blackbird’s off-world with the Titans at the moment, huh? Otherwises, you would have just sent him to ask me.” he sips his wine nonchalantly. He knows this, of course, Tim came by a couple nights ago for dinner before he had to go off the planet. He promised to bring him back something cool from space.

“Neal,” Batman begins.

He raises a hand to cut him off with a sharp grin.

“Batman, please, I know your identity,” he tilts his head to the side. “That’s why Mister Caffrey would be just fine.”

Admittedly, this may be pushing Batman a bit too far. He’s curious to see how desperate the cape and cowl crowd are for his help. With every inch of Drake gala circuit training along with some lessons from Mozzie and Alfred, he keeps his face perfectly impassive as he drinks his wine.

It truly is an excellent red. He’ll have to find where June picked it up so he can get a bottle for Mozzie. Or maybe, he’s just savoring making the frown deepen on Batman’s face that makes the bouquet all the more exquisite.

“Mister Caffrey,” Batman grounds out as Nightwing chokes next to him. Allowing himself an internal cheer, Neal takes new stock of the situation. They really must be that desperate. “We’d like to commission you to paint a replica of a painting.”

“Oh?”

“We’re hoping to use it against Luthor,” Nightwing pipes up, taking over from Batman. “He’s been making Kryptonite jewelry. It’s why the Titans aren’t here, so that Supernova won’t feel the need to get involved.”

Kon must hate that. From what Tim could say about the mission, it did sound urgent enough that maybe there wasn’t too much grumbling about being pushed to the side.

“Why a painting?” he asks. He likes Kon. He’s been a good friend (and, now, boyfriend) to Tim. He makes Tim happy so, naturally, Neal doesn’t want to see him hurt. Not when those two idiots finally got together.

He watched Tim pine through their teenage years without realizing that’s what it was. Those two are going to have a long happy life together.

“What do you mean?” one of the other heroes asks. He’s pretty sure it’s one of the myriad of Lanterns.

Neal shrugs, “Why not forge the Kryptonite?”

Ah.

There’s that look.

The Batman ‘you threw me off my game with this information and now I need to pretend that I’ve known all along’ look. Neal relishes in that look.

“You can do that?” Nightwing asks. He can practically see Dick’s eyes wide behind the lenses of his mask.

“I’m far more than just a pretty face,” he shrugs.

“What would you need to make this happen, Mister Caffrey?” Batman asks.

“I’ll make a list. I need you all to make sure my handler doesn’t get suspicious without telling him that the Justice League needs me.”

That’s a headache that he’d prefer to avoid. He likes keeping the cape and cowl crowd away from his current life. Outside of a select few.

“Then we have an accord.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Bats,” he pauses. “Well not really, but ah well. Now get out of my house.”

He gets up, taking his glass of wine with him, and makes plans to let Mozzie know about this situation. At the very least, he’s going to need him to do a related sweep for Bat bugs.

(Also to go over their hypothetical forging Kryptonite plans for a refresher.)

Chapter Text

Home, even back when Neal Caffrey was Tom Drake, never existed as a building to him. It always remains a person: Tim.

Over the years, home changes as Neal adds more people to his life and as a people leave. Yet the singular constant in his life has always been his twin brother, he knows (hopes) that Tim feels the same way about him.

No matter the distance, he knows that Tim will always be his home, will always be there for him. They are each other’s only constants in life. Nothing seems to be able to truly drive a wedge between them, no matter how many may try.

They will be each other’s home.

In the dark of the night when the loneliness clings to Neal Caffrey, to Tom Drake, he worries. He worries that he won’t always be enough to be Tim’s home. That one day, Tim will decide that he has enough people in his life and say that Neal, that Tom, is longer really worth the effort or the love.

And then where will he be?

And then where can he find his home?

Chapter Text

“He has control issues,” Tom mutters under his breath from where he’s watching Bruce and Tim go through Robin training.

“That’s part of his charm,” Dick wryly chuckles. He has a to-go tray of milkshakes in his hand. “Chocolate and blueberry, right? I don’t get it but it’s your favorite right?”

Tom stares at the milkshake, “Uh yeah? You got one for me?”

Dick chuckles before sitting down on the stairs next to him.

“What was I gonna do? Not get you one? You’re my little brother too.”

Something unfamiliar blooms in Tom’s chest at that easy assertion from Dick. He knows Tim enjoys having Dick as a pseudo older brother, who takes him train surfing and teaches him things. But, yeah, he also makes sure to do things with both of them outside of masks. Tom remembers Dick picking them up a couple weeks ago to go to an exhibit that he’s been dying to go to.

At the time, he just assumed that Tim mentioned it as something he wanted to do and Dick just decided to do it. Now, however, he wonders if Dick knew Tom would like the show and just wanted to spend some time together.

The warmth settles in his chest.

“Thanks,” Tom says as around his straw.

Dick winks, “So B is being an ass, huh?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Said I was a security risk because I wasn’t a vigilante or I was distracting Tim or whatever.”

The hero frowns at that.

“Oh, B and I will be having words about that.” He sounds very annoyed.

“It’s fine that he doesn’t like me,” Tom couldn’t give two shits about what Batman or Bruce Wayne thought of him.

“You’re a kid. Not to excuse him, but, well, you terrify him. It doesn’t excuse shit, but there it is.”

Tom snorts into his milkshake. Him? Terrify Batman?

“Trust me,” Dick insists. “You do. You’re someone who doesn’t want anything to do with The Mission. You just want to be there for your brother. Your loyalty is to Tim, not Bruce.”

He nudges Tom’s shoulder.

“It makes you a wild card, Tom. You’re the uncontrollable element on the board. You should be proud of that.”

(And even when Dick disappoints him, it is something that Neal Caffrey embraces being the wild card beyond control.)

Chapter Text

“The safety better be on, Hood,” Neal says blandly as he enters his apartment at June’s to find the feared Gotham crime lord/vigilante sitting at his kitchen table. He eyes the guns in front of Jason in distaste.

It’s the one thing that Neal agrees with Bruce on, the distaste for guns. He can shoot, quite well, but he just doesn’t like them very much.

“I do know how to take care of my guns, Caffrey,” Jason drawls. The full helmet is next to the guns on the table. He’s only wearing his red domino to conceal his identity. Neal does swallow a comment about Jason clearly not knowing anything about goddamn manners.

“Mmmm,” he hums instead as he hangs up his hat. “Make this quick, Hood. If my handler comes in and sees you? I will be sent back to prison so fast that it genuinely wouldn’t be funny. And then I would just have to spread embarrassing stories about you so no one takes you seriously anymore. Duffel bags filled with heads or no.”

“A birdie dressed in black said that I should talk to you.”

Tim did mention that he and Jason were hanging out more in the past couple years. Given the attempted murders? It was something that Neal didn’t really like. But Tim was a grown adult, so he had to let his brother make his own terrible decisions.

“You two sound chummy.”

“You know that he and I have been working together,” Jason sighs. “And Arsenal, you know, well he doesn’t have me working the steps because I’m not an addict. But, um, making amends? That’s been something that I wanted to do, you know? For me and for the people. I hurt.”

He pauses from putting away his groceries.

Huh.

“So, you’re here to apologize to me?”

“I hurt Blackbird. Badly. Multiple times,” he says awkwardly, fingers tapping on the table. “He’s forgiven me, for some reason. But you don’t. I get it. Honestly, you give us probably as much shit as we really do deserve. Still hurting him, hurt you. And I want to make amends with you.”

“Huh.”

This is new.

He considers Jason for a long, long moment, “Blackbird has really given you his blessing?”

“He said to tell you this: lavender snow.”

Oh.

Tim really has forgiven Jason for what happened. That’s their special “this is safe” codeword from childhood.

He considers Jason for a long moment.

“Hide the guns and the helmet. You can keep the domino if you want. Do you wanna stay for dinner?”

Chapter Text

There’s a disparity between the twins, Bruce realizes early on.

Not in their appearance, of course. Despite the premature nature of Tim’s birth, the twins were carbon copies of each other. From how their hair curls when it gets long or the identical nature of those bright blues eyes, the pair of them were very different from each other. In that, Bruce can usually tell them apart on body language alone.

It as their presentations to the world that causes the differences between the Drake twins. Tim is shy, awkward with bursts of confidence when he stops overthinking things. It shows how truly different he can be from the world at large.

Tom, however, is fearless. He projects utter confidence in a room. He owns the space, fills it with his personality, an utter charm offensive at the ready. He abhors violence, but isn’t afraid of confrontation. He will call out anyone and anything, especially Bruce.

(Tom Drake reminds Bruce so much of Jason that it hurts to look at him sometimes. It’s easier to ignore Tom instead, who has no interest in heroics.)

For Bruce Wayne, for Batman, the disparity is easy enough to pin down and separate them in his head.

One (Tim) is easy to hold at an arm’s length until Bruce turned around and realize that he loved him.

The other (Tom) is necessary to hold at an arm’s length, lest he get hurt again. Until Bruce realized that he loved him as well.

By then, however? It’s been too late.

Chapter Text

There are pieces missing to Neal Caffrey’s identity. Or, well, to who Neal really is, Peter Burke supposes. Neal Caffrey has to be an alias of that he’s certain.

“Maybe,” El says gently. “He’s trying to hide from something. Or someone’s hiding him.”

That’s the one thing that does give Peter pause. If he finds Neal’s real identity, then what does he do with it? What if he’s running from something?

“Well, he did a bad job of it. If he was in the program, them the Marshals…”

They would have said something, right? He hopes so. Maybe.

El raises an eyebrow, having heard many a story from Peter about WitSec and its layers of secrecy. He sighs as she kisses his cheek.

“Sorry.”

“You like him,” El says softly.

And that’s the million-dollar statement, huh? He does. Peter Burke does like this confident, smart young con-man who is running circles around the White Collar unit.

“It just…he has so much talent, El. He makes works of absolute art. He has potential and he’s smart. And whatever drove him to this…I think it lies in his real identity.”

“You hate leaving stones unturned.”

Peter laughs at the statement.

“IU hate leaving a mystery unsolved, maybe.”

“Well,” El says with a kiss. “I can think of a very fun mystery for you to solve instead of Neal Caffrey’s identity.”

“What?”

His wife grins wickedly. Her eyes flick upstairs.

Oh.

Oh!

Peter abandons the mystery of Neal Caffrey for much more pressing concerns with his beautiful wife.

Chapter Text

Tom Drake stares at the glittery blanket of fresh white snow under the pale light of the moon. It’s still and quiet, but not in a scary way. More like, well, a comforting way. Staring at the untouched world outside, it just feels so peaceful.

Like the entire world has breathed out a deep sigh.

“You okay?” Tim mumbles softly from the bed.

They’re sleeping in Tom’s room while their parents are away, missing both Hannukah and Christmas again this year. Neither of them is upset by the latest case of their parents’ neglect. They can’t find it in them to be upset over this.

Not with the peace that they felt both in and outside of the house as the world glitters like a wintery diamond outside.

“Yeah,” Tom says, climbing back into bed. “I’m fine.”

Chapter Text

Tom sits next to Tim’s bed as he recovers from Damian’s “little” murder attempt. Like pushing Tim off of a fucking T-Rex that Bruce has for some goddamn reason isn’t an issue. Why does he even have that fucking thing? Batman’s the world’s weirdest packrat and one of his collection was used to almost kill his twin brother.

He feels cold as he watches Tim in bed. He always feels cold when he’s in this scenario: Tim injured and hurting with Tom unable to do anything.

Tim shifts against the sheets. Tom rest wraps his hand around his wrist with his fingers on Tim’s pulse point, counting the beats in his head, needing the reminder that Tim is alive.

He feels Bruce’s stare on him. That ice in his blood turns subzero.

“I don’t want him near my brother,” he says. “I’m tired of your sons trying to kill him time and again.”

“You both are my sons.”

Tom laughs at that statement, a cold and brittle thing.

“I’m no one’s son, Bruce. I’m Tim’s brother. Maybe Dick’s. But just because you adopted me as a courtesy—”

“Tom.”

“I’m fucking serious, Bruce. I don’t want Damian near Tim. Send him to the Amazons like you did with Supergirl. Let them bring him under control, get him safe to be around others. They don’t mind boys. Just men.”

“And if Talia notices?”

At that, Tom stands, getting between Tim and Bruce. The older man has his cowl pushed back.

“Fuck Talia,” he hisses at him. Tom is cold and snow and ice. He is Janet Drake’s son, who wasn’t known as the Ice Queen of Gotham because of how well she pulled off cool colors. “Fuck the League. Fuck Jason goddamn Todd and fuck your blood-related bastard. I am asking to put Tim first for once in your fucking life, Bruce.”

“I can’t send him away.”

Just like that, the blizzard inside Tom just freezes as his exhaustion resonates throughout his body.

“Of course,” he says hollowly. “Why would I expect any different from you?”

“Tom…”

He pointedly turns away and walks back to Tim, holding his hand.

In the icy silence, Batman flees.

Chapter Text

“It’s not your future,” Tom whispers to Tim, holding him close. “It can’t be.”

“The evil us, well, the future Titans…you get it,” Tim whispers tiredly with bags under his eyes looking more like bruises. “They were very convincing, Tom.”

Yeah, convincing enough for Tim to hold a gun to his head if Kon’s frantic phone call to Tom was indicative of anything. He knows Tim would never walk away from the life, but sometimes he really hates the sort of mental anguish Tim gets from his hero work.

“Did he mention me?”

Because where the fuck was that Tim’s Tom? He had better be dead and that wasn’t even a good excuse.

Tim blinks tiredly, “What?”

“Did this future you mention me?”

Tim’s brow scrunches in thought.

“No.”

“Because you know I wouldn’t let you do any of that sort of bullshit,” he squeezes Tim’s hand. “They were probably from alternate timelines or the multiverse or whatever weirdness that you superhero types have to deal with.”

He looks up at Tom, who stares back at his brother. He refuses to let Tim think he believes anything else, not even for a moment. Tim looks the closest to glass that his brother has ever seen like he is seconds away from shattering.

“I promise, Tim. I will never, ever let you go down that path. You know I won’t.”

Tim sniffs.

And shatters.

He buries himself closer to Tom and cries like he’s never really cried before. Not even when their parents died.

Tom, holding his sobbing brother close, has a thought.

A terrible sort of thought.

Was it really Tim behind that mask?

Or Tom himself?

Grief can drive people to shatter and splinter like glass, never to be put back together.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Tom was jealous of Tim’s new hero friends.

But he was totally jealous of Tim’s new hero friends.

He just wasn’t saying that out loud because Tim really likes them. Tom is many things, but he’s not that much of an asshole. At least not to his brother.

Part of Tom hated that he was feeling this way as well. Tim always desperately wanted to have real and true-blue friendships. Outside of Ives, who had to move away for his cancer treatments, Tim was usually too quiet, awkward, and unsure in order to go through the friend-making process.

While Tom was friendly enough to get them social clout and acquaintances to keep them from the bullies, he didn’t really need much outside of his brother. Tom never really felt lonely because he had Tim. Admittedly, he’s self-aware enough to know it wasn’t healthy, but he just didn’t care. Have you met kids his age? That’s too much drama for him.

Now, however, Tim disappears to go off with Young Justice and returns full of stories of people that he loves and trusts. Sure, they screw things up, but he’s still happy. And Tom? He can’t go with him because of Bruce’s stupid paranoid Bat Rules. Which is whatever, it’s fine. He’s not going to begrudge Tim’s own happiness.

Tom hates feeling this way, but he feels like Tim is leaving him behind when their whole lives they only had each other. Because it’s the truth. Nannies and their parents came and went, but Tom and Tim, Tim and Tom, they were it. And now?

Tom doesn’t want Tim to go.

“I’m always going to be your brother.”

What does that matter in the face of so many people that make Tim so happy?

Chapter Text

Kramer, and by extension the FBI, never want to let Neal Caffrey go free. He sees the writing on the walls pretty early on.

It just feels so…hopeless. All people do is expect him to screw up, make the wrong decision, be a con. Neal, well, he’s not why he is the way he is now, but he’s pretty certain that people thinking he will do something illegal all the time isn’t helping much. Except for Tim.

But the twins are willing to admit their blind spots are each other.

Either way, Neal doesn’t want to be chained forever by an anklet to the FBI. He sits on the floor of his kitchen, staring at the anklet.

“You look like you could use some help,” Tim says as he plops down next to Neal. How did his brother get inside? At this point, it’s better not to wonder too much.

“Kramer and the FBI are going to get what they want,” he leans his head on his brother’s shoulder. “Peter’s hands are tied. No commutation for me. Maybe no more New York.”

“Like I would let that happen.”

“I promised B I wouldn’t let you get involved in my whole,” Neal gestures as the flaming wreckage of his life. “Everything.”

“Neal, I don’t listen to B. I mean I do, but not when you’re involved. You are my family. And if you think I’m going to let the FBI make you into their dancing monkey? Then you don’t know me as well as you do. Besides, even though you don’t believe it, B loves you too. He sucks at showing it, but he wouldn’t you want you to be in this situation.”

Neal snorts.

“He hates me, Tim. I’ve been such an ass to him since I was thirteen.”

“Yeah, well, he needs someone to tell when he’s wrong that doesn’t devolve into violence and yelling like Jason,” he grins. “Besides one of us needs to be the sane twin. Now let’s get you into a better place, okay?”

Suddenly, things feel a bit less bleak with Tim behind his side.

Chapter Text

“Baby brothers!” Dick Grayson crows happily as he kicks open the door to the room that Tom and Tim share in Wayne Manor.

Tom cracks his eye open and flips Dick off before pulling his pillow over his head. Next to him, Tim groans.

“How are you so chipper in the morning?”

“Awww teenagers,” Dick coos. “You lazy degenerates, it’s two pm.”

Tim is up at that bit of news, “What? Oh. Oh shit.”

Tom sighs, “It’s summer.”

“Sure is,” Dick agrees as he flops onto the bed. “So I want to take my favorite baby bros out for some ice cream. If they can get their butts out of bed that is.”

Tim laughs at that, sounding so happy that any annoyance Tom feels at Dick’s dramatics and octopus arm-style cuddling dissipates.

“Okay,” he huffs outs. “Give us a sec. Unless you want Tim to go out in his ratty PJ bottoms.”

“They’re not ratty.”

“I think Professor Rattigan would say otherwise.”

Tom bursts out laughing at that.

Chapter Text

Mozzie likes watching Neal paint. Not in a creepy way, of course.

There’s just something so real and genuine in his joy. So much of their lives are about masks and acts. When Neal picks up his paintbrush, it feels like the most genuine version of himself. Mozzie feels like he knows Neal Caffrey the best when he’s creating art, whether original or forged.

Perhaps, more than his technical skill, it’s why his forgeries are so impeccable. People can sense the passion that went into each stroke.

Mozzie considers Neal for a moment as he enters his apartment. He’s smiling to himself with his paints out.

“How’s it going?”

“Tim sent me some wax fruit,” he chuckles to himself. Bright blue eyes meet Mozzie’s. “It’s a running joke.”

The wax fruit is good quality, looking so real that a person could pick up and bite in expecting fresh, clean fruit. He considers the half-completed painting.

“Have you slept?”

Neal can occasionally forget about mortal things like sleeping when he gets wrapped up in his art. His friend stares off into the distance for a long moment.

“What time is it?”

Yeah.

Mozzie thinks that it’s bedtime for Neal.

Chapter Text

Neal is a person that doesn’t usually get sick, Peter knows this. For some reason, amongst all of his other talents and almost uncanny luck, someone decided to gift Neal Caffrey with a freakishly strong immune system.

So when Alice, June’s maid, meets Peter at the door instead of Neal, he knows that something isn’t right.

“Mister Caffrey is running a fever, Agent Burke,” she reports, tutting under her breath. June’s staff all likes Neal very much.

It definitely explains why Neal wasn’t up. Peter wracks his brain, there was no casework that weekend, so he saw Neal on Friday. The consultant did look a little pale and his voice sounded slightly scratchy. He was drinking tea rather than coffee.

“Is it bad?”

“He has a hundred-degree fever. Cindy must have passed it to him. Apparently, the flu had been knocking out most of Parsons. She’s on the mend though, so he should only need a couple of days to get over it.”

Well, that’s a relief.

“Can I see him?”

Alice nods and waves him upstairs.

When Peter does get to Neal’s apartment, letting himself in, he finds his friend looking genuinely awful. He’s shivering under a quilt and has a general air of miserableness of someone in a sickbed for the past couple of days.

“Hey Peter,” he rasps.

“You look terrible.”

“Always great for my ego,” Neal coughs. “I hate being sick.”

“I bet,” Peter agrees, heartbreaking at the thought of him being alone. “Take as much time as you need to recover. I’ll handle it with the brass. El or I will be by later with some food.”

He stares at Peter like he doesn’t know what to do with him. It sends Peter rambling further.

“I’d call in, but I need to be there. We got the search warrant for Leeman.”

Neal nods slowly, “I’m going to sleep and probably have an IV of tea and OJ. You don’t have to stay.”

“Yeah, well, despite the multiple gray hairs you give me, Neal. I do care about you.”

He smiles, glassy and a bit off. “I only had a couple of people who would do that for me.”

And that breaks Peter’s heart more than anything Neal has told him previously.

Chapter Text

Peter blinks into the sudden darkness of the place where he’s being held prisoner.

He was almost home free. Neal got him out of his cell, giving instructions over the pilfered cell that Peter had taken from his captor. Then Matthew Fucking Keller showed up and…

Well, then everything went dark.

Not as in Peter passed out, but the lights suddenly went dark.

In front of him, Peter hears a body hit the ground with a thud. As he’s not on the ground, he knows that it’s not his body hitting the floor.

A couple of moments later, a flashlight clicks on.

Peter looks into the masked face of a hero, Blackbird. As his brain catches up with the situation, he remembers that Blackbird is Neal’s favorite.

His regards to Superman, but right now? Blackbird is Peter’s favorite hero as well.

“Are you okay, Agent Burke?” Blackbird asks, using the slightly autotuned and mechanical voice that the masked heroes tend to use.

“Yeah. Thanks for the save. Where’s Keller?”

Blackbird grins and there’s something very familiar about the smile.

“Keller is unconscious and restrained. I restrained the guy that you had knocked out. Building is clear. I can lead you out or give you the flashlight to get yourself out.”

“I’ll take the lead if that’s okay.”

“Sure thing!”

Peter exits with Blackbird, who calls the rescue in.

The FBI swarms the building moments later. By the time that Neal and El arrive, however, Blackbird is gone.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Neal says not looking up from his book. “You should all be very thankful that I’m not under surveillance.”

Kon-El or Conner Kent, former Superboy and current Supernova, grins at him charmingly. It’s a pretty charming grin, all things considered, but Neal has seen him in some very embarrassing moments throughout their friendship. So, it doesn’t work for him.

“Between Tim and your friend with the glasses? Please, like anyone would dare put you under surveillance that you aren’t already aware of and have, like, eight different plans to work around. Also, you literally have a wall of windows on a balcony.”

“Those are doors, you heathen,” Neal replies lazily flipping a page of his book. “Why are you here?”

Kon suddenly turns shy, clearing his throat awkwardly and rubbing at the back of his undercut. It’s enough to have him look up from his reading, assessing the hero carefully.

“So, um, you know how Tim and I have been dating the past couple of years?”

“Mazel tov,” Neal deadpans before raising his eyebrow. “Tim did come to visit me in prison.”

Kon huffs and shakes his head, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” he smiles. “Why are you here, Kon?”

“I want to ask Tim to marry me.”

Oh!

Huh.

Neal takes a moment to take stock of his emotions. There’s a bittersweet sadness for himself, a wedding to Kate that he will never have. Who knows where his thing with Sara will end up? The familiar fear of being left behind, of this being a way for Tim to disappear out of his life forever. It’s a selfish feeling maybe. He wants Tim to have a family.

And they’ll still be each other’s family, right?

Finally, there’s happiness and joy because Kon is good to Tim and takes good care of him. He’s one of the few people that Neal trusts completely with his brother and his happiness. He knows that Kon would move Heaven and Earth for Tim.

“I’m not asking for permission,” Kon continues awkwardly, bringing Neal back to himself. “It’s an archaic practice and Tim will do whatever the hell he wants. But I know your blessing or stamp of approval or whatever, it would mean a lot to him. You’re Tim’s person, you know? And Tim’s your person. I think—”

“Kon?”

The clone pauses in fiddling with his hands to look up.

“You take good care of my brother, okay? Because I will fuck you up otherwise.”

Kon nods so fast that it’s amazing he didn’t crack something.

“Great! Now have you picked out a ring?”

“Uh…no? Not yet.”

Neal tsks under his breath, “Well I can help with that. Remember, Tim likes a simple and clean aesthetic for jewelry. Anything too gaudy will make him get twitchy. If you get gems, then make sure they are ethically sourced…”

Chapter Text

Neal Caffrey has a secret.

This is not surprising to Peter, of course. Neal always has a secret or a scheme in the works.

Anything before his eighteenth birthday, for example, remains one big question mark. Sure, there are crumbs Neal throws out here and there: mention of parents, possible elite education, classes that a father disapproved of. But nothing that Peter can nail down like concrete. The only thing he has that he knows Neal isn’t lying about is the brother that he told Peter about when telling the story of Adler.

A brother that Peter swore would never make it into any file, that he would talk to should anything happen to Neal.

(Peter Burke is a man of his word. He will keep these promises.)

Still, that doesn’t mean that Peter stops seeing between the lines.

There are moments when Neal slips ever so slightly: skills that he doesn’t elaborate on, contacts that are not Mozzie that he uses, and the distaste for heroes feels more personal than professional.

There is the brother, the mysterious “T”, who is not like Neal. The one Neal considers a good person.

And then, the latest mystery, the Silhouette.

A figure that Peter will see sometimes in the window of Neal’s place at night when he pulls up, backlit against the light of the apartment. The Silhouette went whenever he gets to the door.

Neal never mentions the person. Peter can’t quite get the courage up to interrogate him about it.

Just another secret in the deck that Neal Caffrey plays close to the vest.

Chapter Text

The newly named Neal Caffrey sees the world on his own terms. He followed Tim previously on both his Robin training and the start of the Red Robin mission because he wasn’t going to let his twin travel alone. This is especially true when they were thirteen.

Who the hell sends a thirteen-year-old to travel alone? What the hell, Bruce?

Still traveling with Mozzie and Kate is something different. It’s new, exciting, and kind of relaxing. There’s no Sword of Damocles swinging over his head as they con their way through Europe.

Instead, there are heists and talking circles around rich assholes. Neal paints and paints and paints. His work hangs amongst the masters, believed to be a master’s work, and no one knows the difference.

Well.

Mostly no one, but it still counts.

There is a rush in his blood as he travels and accomplishes these feats. Neal Caffrey gains a reputation for being bold and daring. He goes after things that people think he’s crazy for attempting. More than that, he pulls it off.

(Anything extremely hinky in the cape and cowl way, he makes sure to send to Tim.)

But, as he looks toward a new horizon and a new day with his friend and girlfriend at his side, he feels like he could travel the world a hundred times over and never be bored.

Neal Caffrey lives up to his name as he sees the world.

He’s well and truly carefree.

Chapter Text

“Why don’t you like heroes?” Peter asks Neal one night.

They’re sitting on the couch of Neal’s apartment. Peter’s drinking beer and watching sports while the con drinks wine and reads a book. El is out of town, which means Peter is feeling a bit lonely.

“Peter,” Neal says, eyes still on his book. “I’m a criminal. It’s in the job description. You don’t get into the criminal underground without a dislike of heroes.”

Peter gives him A Look.

“You know what I mean.”

His friend swirls his glass of wine, looking off into the distance.

“Yeah, I do,” Neal murmurs, voice sounding sad.

Peter considers him, putting his badge face down on the table. He smirks at the sudden bark of Neal’s laughter.

“It’s not for that reason,” he assures. “It’s just…castles in the sky.”

It’s a phrase that Peter has never heard before.

“Castles in the sky?”

“Heroes are big picture thinkers. They look down from their towers and their fortresses. And they don’t think of one single person. Needs of the many and whatnot.”

It’s so cold and calculated in a way that Neal isn’t is. On the surface, it’s a perfectly valid explanation. Peter, however, knows him.

“Really?”

“No,” Neal says after a long moment. “Heroes keep breaking my heart. But I’ll never say it to anyone but you. I’ll just point to the castles in the sky.”

Chapter Text

“Run,” Tim begs. His voice a crackle over the cheap burner phone that Neal picked up. “Get away from here. Go somewhere warm and sunny with Kate. I hear tropical locations are lovely. Preferably ones with an extradition treaty with the US.”

“You know that I can’t,” he responds. Neal can feel the weight of the FBI bearing down on him. Agent Peter Burke is a dog with a bone, one that wouldn’t drop it for anything. “It’s too late. Or as close to it.”

Maybe Neal has a bit of a heroic streak of his own. One that he didn’t realize that he had. If they get him, then they get Neal Caffrey. He can distract and bamboozle enough to keep them away from those he cares about like Kate and Mozzie.

Plus, there was also the Bat.

He feels this knowledge like an albatross around his neck. Unlike it weighing him down, he is gliding on air, as the bird does.

“You can!”

“And if I run, then the Bat will come after me. He’s been waiting for the excuse for years.”

There’s no love lost between Bruce and Neal. Part of him thinks that Bruce would be relieved to know that his distrust and dislike of him was well-warranted. Look at how he treated Jason: half wanting him to come back home and half wanting him to pay for his crimes. That was a kid that he loved.

Or Damian and his whole clusterfuck of a childhood.

Endless excuses are given while the twins are left in the cold. Neal more so because he didn’t wear that stupid mask and tights.

Neal breathes out, “I need to keep Kate and Mozzie safe. I need to keep you safe, Tim. Please. Let me do this.”

“Neal,” Tim sounds so sad, so lost. “Tom…”

It’s the use of his name that grabs Neal’s heart.

“It will be alright,” he comforts his brother, holding onto the belief. It’s a lie that is as old as time. One that they would whisper to each other in a cold house while their parents went away to tropical climes.

Mom and Dad will come home.

They will be a family.

Their parents love them.

It will be alright.

Tim chuckles, sadly, “No, not really. But you’re a very good liar, Neal.”

Neal snorts.

“We both lie to Batman.”

And it’s that laughter he’ll hold onto in his heart when those handcuffs click into place.

Chapter Text

“Do you ever just want to burn it all down?” Tom whispers to Tim one night. Their parents have called to say that they were extending their trip and wouldn’t be back until the summer.

Next to him in bed, his brother shifts to look at Tom.

“Like our house?”

“Everything. Like we run away and start new lives somewhere. We’re smart enough.”

It’s the thought many young children in unhappy homes have over the course of their lifetimes. While Tom and Tim never have to worry about the heat going out or going to bed hungry, while they are aware of how “lucky” they are in comparison to others, it doesn’t really stop the feeling of loneliness.

They’re alone together in a big empty mausoleum that feels more like a gilded cage as the days tick by. It’s an endless monotony of time and silence, no matter how much their voices and presences try to fill the house.

Some days, all Tom wants to do is rob their parents blind, burn down the house, and run away with Tim elsewhere. Somewhere where they could be happy and make their family on their own terms.

“It’s a nice dream,” Tim whispers into the dark of the night. “But you know it’s not possible.”

“When we’re sixteen?”

Sixteen is a better age than nine. It’s old enough to feasibly pass themselves off as older if needed and young enough that if they were found after burning the house down they may be able to talk into lesser charges. Tom could take the blame.

“If we’re still here when we’re sixteen,” Tim promises. “We’ll burn down the house and run away somewhere nice.”

He holds out his pinkie, which Tom links together.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

There’s a locked drawer in Bruce Wayne’s study. Or, well, the equivalent to a locked drawer for him. He would never keep anything truly valuable or important in a locked drawer, not with the secrets that he holds close. It’s a fake book with a blue and silver cover with a discreet thumbprint scanner on the spine, disguised as a bit of filigree.

It’s one of several, each with different colors.

Still, the locked drawer intent is there in that book along with all other books like it.

In it, there are letters, written in pen on nice paper. Bruce’s careful yet sharp handwriting in stark black on the cream-colored paper. On it are apologies that read false for his ears even as he pens them to their recipient.

Bruce is not good with words. At least, he’s not good with words to those he loves. He is clumsy with them and prefers action to show his true feelings to his loved ones.

But he tries and he keeps his failures in locked drawers, locked books, one for each of his children.

When Tom, Neal Caffrey, was sent to prison, he took out the blue and silver book. For what felt like the hundredth time, he tried to pen a letter to the son that was never truly his, not in the way his other children were.

And he tried to explain why it was so hard to look at him, how he reminded him of Jason when the wound was too raw, how his name and bright grin made him think of his father, how Tom was so good at picking every vulnerable spot in Bruce when he trained Tim…

How he wished he could be better to them and how he’s sorry he wasn’t.

How he is selfishly relieved that one of his children didn’t feel the need to take the mission, wasn’t broken in that way.

But the words sound hollow and false to his ears, too accusatory and wrong.

So, the letter is tucked away in the false book, amongst the others, and it is put on the shelf.

Bruce, instead, leaves to make sure Tim doesn’t do anything stupid.

Chapter Text

“How did you know how to handle a panic attack?” Diana asks Neal once he’s back from the ambulance. The teenager, who had been briefly held hostage and devolved into a panic attack upon being freed, looks slightly better as the EMTs check them over.

She hates to admit that the whole thing threw her off. Neal, however, was a pro in the moment, talking to the kid, checking in with what they needed, and generally being a sea of calm in the moment.

By the time paramedics arrived, the kid was feeling and looking better.

“There was a kid I knew that had them a lot,” he volunteers. “It’s ingrained in me. Usually, it works better with someone that they trust, but, apparently, I was better than no one.”

“I think it’s because you knew what was going on,” Diana says. “Sometimes you just need to see someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Oh, I didn’t the first time it happened. I thought he was dying. It turned out that he had anxiety instead. Not fun for an eight-year-old.”

Yikes, Diana thinks but doesn’t say. What the hell kind of environment is an eight-year-old in to develop that sort of thing?

“Is he okay now?”

“Doing better and better all the time,” he winks at her. “That place with the good hot chocolate is near here. Can I tempt you for a cup, Agent? Let Peter deal with all the boring stuff.”

Bonding moment over, Diana grins.

“I can get behind that.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe that someone would forge these,” Peter says, looking at five forged original Dungeons and Dragons player guides.

“I can,” Neal says. “A first edition playbook in a decent condition can fetch a pretty penny. A mint condition copy of it? It could fetch a high price, especially amongst…”

“Nerds with tech empires?” Clinton sounds wry. Peter doesn’t even try to hide his snort.

Something fond passes across Neal’s face, quick enough for Peter to notice, but his face is schooled back into a normal expression.

“Something like that,” the con agrees. “Though more and more people are getting into it nowadays, especially with the release of the fifth edition.”

“Ever play then, Caffrey?” Diana asks, looking up from her paperwork.

“Oh yeah,” Neal agrees easily. “All throughout high school. It was fun.”

“Huh,” Peter has to admit that he didn’t see it for his CI. But Neal had a bit of a fond smile on his face, so it was clearly a good memory at least.

“Unsurprisingly,” he admitted with a grin. “I played rogues and my alignment was Chaotic Neutral.”

Later that night, Peter looks up the definition of Chaotic Neutral on his phone.

An individualist who values their own freedom and moral code without being too concerned about good and evil?

Yeah.

That sounded like Neal.

Chapter Text

“Do you remember that summer when we were fifteen?” Neal asks Tim.

They’re on the rooftop patio of June’s home. Neal has a glass of wine in front of him while Tim has a sort of alcoholic root beer that he prefers.

The warm New York summer breeze ruffles their hair. Tim’s grown his hair out again, letting loose their natural curls. The bags underneath his eyes are fewer, which promises that Kon has gotten him to bed at decent hours.

Tim looks over at him, “Yeah. Why?”

The summer when they were fifteen, honestly, felt like the last time that they were innocent in a sense. Neal remembers walking the grounds of Wayne Manor for hours, hands stained with charcoal or pastels, cut-off jean shorts in grass stains.

He remembers Tim with bright eyes. There were late-night video game tournaments and helping Alfred in the garden. Even Bruce was less…Bruce that summer. In the dewy sort of sepia nostalgia, Neal doesn’t remember a lot of fights with him.

Yes, their dad was in a coma. And their mother was dead. But Tim was flying through Gotham: confident and bright, settled into Robin’s skin. There was the first blush of love with Stephanie. Dick was taking them out for ice cream and movies, sitting with them as they worked on projects.

It felt like the last quiet exhale before a long and loud scream.

“Ever think we’ll have a moment like that again?” Neal asks quietly.

Tim looks at his project and knocks their knees together.

“I think that we’ll have a lot of moments. Some are bad and some are good, but, yes, I think we’ll have a sort of peace like that again.”

And it’s a mix of truth and a lie to his ears.

For now, however, Neal sips his wine and enjoys the New York summer night with his twin brother.

For now, for them, all is right in the world.

Chapter Text

“Why are you in my apartment?” Neal says after staring at the mess before him. The remnants of Young Justice have made a blanket fort in his living room and were watching the third Tiles of Fire movie that Mozzie had left.

“Duh,” Bart says cheerfully. He’s wearing a onesie that makes him look like a unicorn that’s half unbuttoned, revealing his lightning strike tattoo. How he found someone to wrestle with the headache of superspeed healing to give him that thing, Neal will never know. “Friend has a super sick NYC apartment; you crash at the NYC apartment.”

Cassie, at least, has the good grace to look a little bit bashful, “Tim said he told you that we were doing our annual vacation in New York this year.”

Neal glares at his traitor of a twin brother, who is fast asleep wearing a dragon onesie.

Kon, who is cooking what smells like one of Ma Kent’s recipes at the stove, points a spatula at him.

“Do not wake him up.”

He sighs, hanging up his hat.

“Just tell me that you brought Ma’s pecan pie.”

“And homemade ice cream,” Kon promises. “She says hello by the way. And she loves the family portrait you sent her for Christmas.”

Neal grins at him. He, like many who have met them, would do anything for Ma and Pa Kent.

“Well, if Ma and Pa ever need anything in my areas of expertise, then I’m always happy to help.”

“Don’t drag them into a life of crime.”

“Ma and Pa literally met when she punched a police officer that was harassing her friend in the mouth and jumped in his car and told him to floor it. And together they raised a group of superheroes with rock-solid morals who have done a lot of wild things to make a point. Don’t think I didn’t see those pictures of you and Tim making out in front of that anti-gay hate group.”

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing,” Kon says.

“Oh I would have and I would have stolen their credit card information and donated to all sorts of charities in their names and sent boxes of dildos to their homes. Just say, Ma and Pa Kent would probably be fine with my help.”

Neal is like eighty-five percent certain that Pa Kent was a forger back in the day. Again, not that he would rat the man out. But Superman’s birth certificate had to come from somewhere.

“Okay, Ma and Pa’s criminal yet morally right pasts aside,” Cassie says as she shakes some nail polish. “I want Neal’s steady hands to point my nails please.”

“Oh! Oh! Me too!” Bart says excitedly. “We can paint yours.”

“Pretty sure the feds don’t allow that,” Neal says, surrendering his home to some happy and loud chaos for the next couple of days. “But you can paint my toes, Bart.”

Chapter Text

“I can rip his teeth out one by one and bring you them,” Jason offers Neal. “Red Hood is mostly an anti-hero. He can go a bit crazy.”

This bit of surreal had been going on for the past couple of months. Whenever the older man was in the city, he’d come over to Neal’s apartment for dinner.

It was alright. They mostly stuck to safe topics like art and books. Jason, however, asked about the case he was working one because freaking Matthew Keller escaped from prison. It was enough to get Neal to spill everything, mainly because Tim was in Japan and Mozzie was out of town at a “convention’.

“Yeah, let’s not get you back on the FBI’s Most Wanted list,” he said, feeling weirdly touched at the offer. “Not for Keller at least.”

“Dude sounds like a creep.”

Neal snorts as he gets Jason another beer.

“You have no idea.”

(Matthew Keller was caught and brought to the FBI offices the next day, being pushed out of a moving van. He was missing two teeth.

Neal tried not to show outwardly how touched he was.)

Chapter Text

“You never learned how to ride a bike?” Peter asks, staring at Neal who is sitting with Mozzie and El as they enjoy some baked brie.

It’s an increasingly common occurrence as of late. Neal shares more and more bits of himself, pieces that are real. It paints a childhood that sounds heartbreakingly lonely, full of neglect and trauma.

“Lots of people don’t know how to ride a bike,” he answered. “I know how to rollerblade and skateboard.”

“I can’t see that at all.”

“Oh I’m pretty great at trick skating,” Neal grins charmingly. “But the bike thing? No. My dad got us bikes and promised to teach us. Then he got frustrated within twenty minutes and gave up.”

“That’s pretty depressing,” El says.

He shrugs, “It lost the luster after that. Instead, I learned how to pick locks.”

“Nimble child fingers?” Mozzie says as he digs into the brie.

“Start ‘em young,” Neal agrees as they toast each other.

Peter drains his beer with a deep sigh.

Chapter Text

“I have a contact,” Neal admits thoughtfully after their latest case hits a dead end. “But you can’t pursue her if I do call her in.”

Peter looks up from his paperwork at that. “You do realize in this relationship you don’t dictate what I can and can’t do, right?”

“Even for a morally grey member of the caped community who is exclusively tangoing with the Bat? Superman doesn’t go after her.”

It takes Peter a moment to connect who it could be. Because, well, a lot of the members of Gotham’s Rogues who identify as women have stepped to a more morally grey stance between anti-hero and anti-villain. But there is one who Neal could conceivably know.

“Catwoman?” he whispers. “Neal!”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, but she would know about this person. She knows all the big players.”

“And she’ll play ball?”

“She likes me,” Neal says with his most charming grin. “More than that, she owes me one. But I need you to promise me that you won’t go after her, Peter. I don’t want the Bat here.”

There’s that weird Batman issue that Neal has. It’s one that he doesn’t really know how to broach with his CI. He’s not even sure if he wants to know it.

Still, they need a nudge in the right direction.

“Give her a call. I’ll handle the higher-ups.”

Neal winks, saluting with two fingers, “Off to give the Queen of Thieves a call then. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Chapter Text

“Elizabeth, hon, you need to breathe,” Peter reassures his wife. “I think five-star generals have done less prep work than you.”

His wife looks up at him, smoothing down her dress for the tenth time, which is how Peter knows she’s extremely nervous. Otherwise, he, like everyone else, would think she’s cool, calm, and collected.

Still planning and running an event for the Wayne Family, practically American royalty, is a big deal for anyone, especially a small business owner like his wife. While it was very next that she was allowed to bring him, he wished that she didn’t put so much pressure on herself. El is one of the most competent people he knows, she can handle this.

“I am breathing.”

Again, someone not married to his wife for over a decade would believe.

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay, I’m mostly breathing. This is just…a big deal. It could mean a lot for Burke Premier Events, Peter.”

“And you’re going to knock it out of the park, El.”

“Mrs. Burke?” a voice calls from one of the staff. His wife smiles before going to handle things, leaving Peter to hang back.

It’s a ritzier gathering than Peter is honestly used to. What makes him especially uncomfortable is that he will probably end up investigating some of these people one day. Still, he is going to have to thank Neal later, who helped him with the suit that he’s wearing so he doesn’t embarrass his wife.

“Oh! You must be Agent Burke,” a bright and blithe voice calls. Peter almost chokes on his drink when he sees Bruce Wayne glide toward him: broad-shouldered and still looking nebulously thirty-something.

“Uh yes. That’s me.”

“Wonderful to meet you. I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Peter swallows the ‘I know I’ve seen you on every supermarket tabloid cover’ to shake the proffered hand instead.

“Peter Burke. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well. Elizabeth has been a great asset. I’m glad that my son, Tim, was able to recommend her. He heard of her work from a friend of a friend. We honestly couldn’t be happier with her work.”

Peter feels a glow of husbandly pride for his wife at that.

“My wife has always been great at her job.”

“It must run in the family,” Bruce laughs. “I have to admit to loving a good mystery story! Though Jim, you’ll have to meet him, despairs of my detective skills. I can never quite figure out who did it I’m afraid. But you’ve done very well, right? And the rehabilitation program with your CI.”

Peter takes a moment to dig deep, so deep, into the Catholic guilt that exists within his soul to pray that Neal Caffrey has not stolen from Bruce Wayne.  

“Neal has been a real asset and has done well into not falling into old habits,” he says. “And he brings a unique perspective to the cases. I believe the Bureau wants to use our partnership as a pilot program in other offices to see if they can get similar results. I think it’s a good idea, but only if they find pairings where they want each other to succeed.”

Here’s the thing.

Peter Burke did not know Bruce Wayne as well as his wife. That’s unsurprising, considering that they have just met.

Dick Grayson, however, is also at this party, watching Bruce from the corner of his eye.

He sees the way some tension bleeds from Bruce’s shoulders and how his grip on his glass readjusts. From this, Dick relaxes as well.

Good, Tom-Neal, he prefers Neal now—is doing well. They were worried.

“Of course,” Bruce nods. “It may sound odd considering my background or, well, most think it odd, not that I care what they think. Wayne Enterprises believes wholeheartedly in prison reform and helping lower the rate of recidivism. If you need any support on this, then you should call the Wayne Foundation.”

Huh.

For someone who acts like a bit of an airhead, there was a bit of a sharpness to Bruce Wayne’s gaze that surprised Peter. Though, working with Neal, he supposed even the rich need their masks.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Excellent!” Bruce claps his shoulder with a grin. “It was lovely talking to you, Agent Burke. But I need to go and make the rounds. The Devil may be in LA, but his work is never done as they say!”

Chapter Text

“I need you to trust me,” Neal tells Peter, who continues to stare at the point behind him.

Blackbird continues to sit, perched on the counter of his CI’s kitchen and drinking coffee. The blank white eyes of his mask give nothing away.

“Why is there a hero here?”

“I can’t tell you,” he says resolutely. “That’s what I’m asking you to trust me, Peter. Please.”

“You can tell him,” Blackbird says in that synthesized voice.

Peter, still off-kilter, looks between Neal and the superhero, “Someone just tell me something.”

Neal tilts his head at Blackbird curiously. The hero tilts his head back before nodding once. Peter feels like that maybe they’re having some sort of conversation that he can’t understand.

“Remember my brother, T?” Neal says after several moments.

“What does that have to do—” Peter starts before his mouth clicks shut.

Blackbird waves from the counter, hiding a very familiar smile behind a cup of coffee.

Chapter Text

“Are you going to stay mad at me forever?” Nightwing asks from Neal’s balcony.

“I’m a grown man. I can stay angry at anyone in this family for as long as I want.”

He pours himself a glass of red wine.

“B is freaking out about your FBI agent knowing about Blackbird.”

“And that affects me how? Blackbird is a grown man and gave his permission.”

“Neal.”

“Nightwing,” he turns to stare at him. “Why are you here? Do you want to watch Disney movies and relive the good old days?”

“I’m here because I’m tired of this distance between us and I want to fix it.”

“Yeah, well, some things aren’t so easy to fix.”

“But Hood gets a second chance? Talk to me, Tom.”

It’s the use of his birth name that snaps Neal’s tenuous control over his temper.

“I didn’t trust Jason before! I sure as hell never trusted B! But I trusted you, Dick. I trusted you to have our backs. I trusted you to be there. Because no one ever gave a damn about either of us like you did. No one fucking cared, but you did. You made me think that you did. More importantly, he trusted you!”

“I never stopped caring.”

“You did the second Damian came into the picture! You did the moment you thought he was lost in grief and I was letting him have those delusions.”

“I was grieving too. And I had to be a parent. I apologize for how I handled it, but—”

A tightness winds its way around Neal’s throat. Tears pinprick at the corners of his eyes. He hates getting really, truly angry. He always has been an angry crier and he hates it so much.

“And we needed our brother to fucking listen to us! We needed you to give it a chance. After all that time, after all those years of ice cream and sleepovers and those Disney marathons, and getting involved in dozens of arguments between me and B, I thought you had our backs. I really did. But you just…you just disappointed me the most. I don’t give my trust easily, not like Tim. But you had it.”

He takes a shaky breath, “I don’t like Damian, but I understand having a responsibility. I just wanted you to listen. But you didn’t and it was just like our parents all over again. That hurt the most out of everything.”

A quietly stricken look passes over Dick’s face.

Neal turns his head away, walking past the older man to head to the shower.

“If you can fix that, then you would be a better magician than Zatanna."

Chapter Text

“Neal,” Peter’s voice is low, almost gentle. “It’s okay. We’re going to figure it out.”

No.

No, it’s not okay.

Kramer wants Neal to heel. The FBI never wants him free. They want him to continue to be useful. Considering that Mozzie was able to hear from a friend of a friend that Amanda Waller was in town, well, Neal’s always been able to put two and two together to get four.

There will be no commutation.

Not unless someone intervenes.

“Neal.”

He looks up at his friend. Peter is worried. His brown crinkled in that particular way and a slight tenseness around his mouth.

“We’re going to figure it out.”

He’s never been particularly good at lying to Peter, but he still smiles.

“Of course, Peter,” he promises. “We’ll figure it out.”

It’s amazing what will break down a wall that has been held. Dozens of times throughout his life, Tom could have turned to Bruce. But there always was a disconnect between them, never really clicking.

But the back of his neck itches and Neal has heard stories of Amanda Waller’s Suicide Squad. It scares him. Kramer is ruthless and results-driven enough to maybe hear her poisoned words and think the idea is a good one, especially for Neal Caffrey.

The general public doesn’t really care about ex-cons after all.

And it would kill Tim.

Maybe he and Peter can handle it, but he’s heard enough horror stories and read between enough lines to know that there is no time for pride. The cage bars are tightening. It’s time for the bird within them to kill itself or ask someone for a key.

This is the breaking point.

“Hello?”

Neal is a name that fits him better than Tom ever did. He likes the way it sounds. He doesn’t want to go back, but there has to be a way to salvage this.

But this is no time for pride.

“Hey B. It’s me. I need your help.”

Chapter Text

“You need to get out of the bubble bath, Neal,” Tim says from next to the tub. “Or, at least, get out long enough to change the water.”

The sudden coolness of the water hits him at the sound of his brother’s voice.

Huh.

He could have sworn it was warm a second ago.

“That’s because you did that fun thing you where you dissociate while taking a bubble bath.”

Neal glares at his brother but takes the offered towel, climbing out of the cooling bath into the warm, fluffy softness.

“I don’t think you’re one to talk about unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

“I just don’t sleep for like three days. At least I’m not running a risk for hypothermia.”

Yeah, neither Drake brother was the picture of healthy coping ability. Tim props a hand on his chin while Neal goes to dry his hair.

“B told me you called.”

“The Kramer situation got worse.”

“So he told me when he called,” Tim frowns thoughtfully. “You sure Mozzie was right about Waller?”

Neal snorts.

“That’s like asking me if Babs can hack into the Pentagon.”

“Fair. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it.”

“Waller gives B trouble. And I don’t even know if it’s a coincidence or not yet. It just…”

“Yeah,” Tim runs a hand through his hair. “You do know that I won’t let them lay a hand on your, Neal.”

He turns to his brother.

Tim’s face is resolute.

“Tim?”

“I would burn down the world for a handful of people, dumbass. We already knew that the FBI and Kramer were trying to be slick about things. If Waller is involved, then that puts her in my court with my brother. B and I will handle this.”

Neal swallows and looks down.

“Tim.”

“All that time protecting me and my heart, you don’t think I would do the same for you? You are my brother, Neal. You are mine just as much as I am yours. We’re the only ones who may know each other as we do. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just how it is, but you will be free.”

“I just…I don’t want to leave my life.”

His brother’s eyes soften and Tim reaches out to him.

“I know. Bruce and I will do everything to make sure that you’ll have your friends, Neal.”

Chapter Text

Bugs Bunny, in Peter Burke’s opinion, is the original modern-day conman.

He’s tricky and clever, using his wits to run circles around his opponents in order to get what he wants. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be Neal’s favorite Looney Tunes character.

But, he has to be honest, Peter’s not sure how he’s going to get Neal out of this one. It doesn’t matter how well they work together. For all of Neal’s cleverness, Peter is not a Bugs Bunny.

Still, when Neal arrives for the final day of testimony of his commutation, he looks almost preternaturally calm. He smiles at Peter with some confidence that the FBI agent is honestly not feeling right now.

“Neal….”

“Have a little faith, Peter. It’s all going to work out.”

And it’s at that moment that Peter remembers Neal’s brother is a superhero.

“What did you do?”

The conman winks before heading into the commutation hearing.

All Peter can think about is Bugs Bunny about to seriously fool those who think they are in charge. 

Chapter Text

“Mister Caffrey,” the board chair for the commutation committee begins. “We’ve heard a lot of testimony over the past couple of weeks about why you should and should not be granted a commutation.”

It’s only due to the fact that he is Janet Drake’s son that Neal does not break. With every inch of his well-bred composure, he sits tall and confident in his chair.

Behind him, he can feel the gazes of both Peter and Kramer on his back.

“Due to your exemplary service with the FBI…”

“Sir?” a voice meekly calls. “Um, there’s someone here to speak on Mister Caffrey’s behalf.”

“This is highly unusual,” Kramer says, standing. “Testimony is over.”

“Agent Kramer,” snaps one of the board members. “You are not in charge of this meeting. Miss Jones, who is it?”

The woman shifts a bit awkwardly.

“Um…Blackbird, sir, and Batman. Plus, all the current roster of the Titans, almost all of the Gotham heroes, and about half of the Justice League. They’re all here to speak on Neal Caffrey’s behalf.”

Everyone turns to look at Neal, who merely smiles back. Kramer, especially, looks ready to burst a vein.

Way to be a troll, Tim.

“Why are they here?”

“You think that the FBI are the only ones who have utilized the skills of Mister Caffrey over the years?” Tim’s mechanized Blackbird voice speaks into the room. “Please. Even superheroes need consultations from the best of the best, and Caffrey has been calling in tips for years.”

“I’m nonviolent and that extends to paintings used to fund attempted global takeovers.”

“You would be surprised how much our jobs involve a money trail and knowing how to spot a fake work of art,” Blackbird agrees. “I keep saying we need to poach Caffrey and Agent Burke, but, alas, I am not in charge of everything. Let me tell you that is a daily disappointment.”

“Because that’s called being a dictator, Blackbird,” Superman says, a little bemused. “But we have consulted with Mister Caffrey during his employment with the FBI, discreetly and within his radius. And he has shown exemplary work and a willingness to stay on the right path. Of course, when we heard about the commutation, we wanted to lend our support.”

“Along with making sure certain unsavory elements are not able to get their hands on someone of Caffrey’s skills,” Batman growls out. Neal knows that he is glaring at Kramer. “Even if his sentence is not commuted, it’s in everyone’s best interest that he stays with Agent Burke.”

Well then, this…

It’s nice, he thinks, having heroes come to your defense.

Tim walks next to him and puts his glove on Neal’s shoulder.

“So,” his brother says as there for him as he ever was, is, and will always be. “Who would you like to testify first?”

Chapter Text

Cass loves her brothers.

All of them, even if they have their own issues with each other, they make sure to never drag her into it.

She’s had enough pain in her life.

But there is one brother she does not get to see nearly enough.

“Little brother,” she says happily, landing on his balcony.

He looks up from his book, a smile splitting across his face. Neal, Tom, Little Brother, has always been able to hide his body language from others, but not her.

“Cass,” he says. The hug he gives her is warm and genuine.

He looks lighter without being behind prison bars. New confidence exudes from him, showing a newfound comfortableness in his skin. There is also a heaviness as well, sadness and grief. But hope as well. It's confusing but good. 

Yes. 

Good.

It makes her happy to know he finds joy here. She thinks he can be happy.

‘Tim sent me the video of your latest recital,’ he signs, leading her to the couch. ‘You did so well! I’m so proud of you, Cass.’

‘You inspired music,’ she signs back. ‘Fantasia 2000.’

She remembers back when it was all so new. How Tom sat with her in her too-big room and played the Fantasia movies, no words, only movement, and sound. In the “Firebird” scene, however, his body said this is you, everything is burned, but you will grow.

And she picked that piece of music to say the same back to him.

There is pain and confidence in her little brother, change and growth underneath a layer of ash.

All it has to do is grow.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Clinton said, sipping his coffee as they watch the news. “I knew trolls were a thing because I’ve been on the internet. I have to admit, legitimate bridge trolls are a surprise.”

Peter is just thankful that it wasn’t a bridge that he used to get home. It sucks for the people who take the Queensboro Bridge. Of course, he hopes that everyone gets out safe and sound, but, also, he’s human enough to admit he doesn’t want to deal with that headache.

“Probably not that much of a surprise,” Neal says casually. He’s folding paper flowers, but his voice is just a touch too…

It’s difficult for Peter to put his finger on it. The tone and the posture are almost deceptively casual. Despite Neal’s moving fingers, his eyes are on the battle onscreen.

Blackbird flips through the air, jabbing his bo-staff into the troll as Supernova follows up with a powerful punch. It’s a good move, Peter supposes.

But the small smirk on Neal’s face speaks of more than that.

Well.

Maybe he’s just supporting his favorite superhero?

Chapter Text

“Do you ever regret it?” Jason asks, watching Neal chop away.

“You’re going to have to be more specific on that front.”

“Not being Robin.”

He laughs at that, dumping chopped vegetables into his sauce.

“No. Not even a little bit. Flipping through the air like that? Not for me.”

“Seriously,” Jason leans forward. “I mean doesn’t every kid want to be Robin?”

“Never had the urge.”

It’s hard to describe why. Maybe Neal was just more mature for his age or had a great sense of self-preservation. Either way, he never felt the need to dream about being Robin. It just seemed…exhausting, to be honest.

Watching Tim go through the training, dragging Bruce away from his darkness, soured his opinion on the position as well.

Children with powers or with training were going to put themselves in the fight whether or not he liked it. And he understood that sense of rage to want to make the world better.

He just preferred more discreet methods in the long term.

“You may be the smartest one in the family.”

“Now I don’t think that,” Neal smirks, looking over his shoulder. “I may be the one with the most common sense. God help us all.”

Jason snorts at that but salutes him with his beer.

Chapter Text

“Tom has been arrested,” Bruce informs Tim. He’s been jittery ever since Clark called him, saying that Neal Caffrey was taken into custody.

“I’m aware,” he replies, flipping through a case. “He’s made his wishes known to me. We’re not to interfere.”

It’s rare that Bruce is surprised, but his children are experts in it.

“You’re not going to…”

“I’m going to stop you right there, B,” Tim cuts him off, shutting the file firmly. “Neal is my twin brother. I would do anything in the world for him, including respecting his wishes. He’s done the crimes and he will serve whatever time he gets. For once, please, I’m asking you to respect his wishes as well, even if you don’t agree with them.”

Okay. Bruce and Tom have had a fraught relationship over the years. Maybe, coming back from his jaunt through time, he was hoping to make amends. But then Tom decided to be a criminal, only sending tips to Tim on other criminals and stealing things in a pointed message to the Bat-Family.

Still, the question falls out of his mouth before he even has time to really consider it.

“When I have ever not respected Tom’s wishes?”

“Right now. By calling him Tom. He prefers Neal,” he looks up, black curls falling into his eyes. “I know you two have your own Civil War, Cold War, whatever kind of disaster that leaves bodies in its wake with weeping and crying and carrying on. He doesn’t want to be outed as Tom Drake. He wants to serve his time if he gets any. In the end, he is my family before he is yours. So, as your former partner, I’m telling you to back off. And I hope that you will hear me and respect our wishes.”

Tim blows out a breath after his speech before standing. Now, Bruce notices the tightness in his eyes and the paleness in his face. Clearly, he saw this coming. For all his talk of respecting Tom-Neal’s wishes, he doesn’t like it.

But he will do it.

“I’m going home.”

Bruce only nods, wondering, not for the first time how he messed up so badly with the twins.

Chapter Text

“There’s no such thing as urban hiking,” Tom dryly says, legs kicking off a building ledge. “It’s called parkour or whatever you all do.”

His companion laughs next to him, joining him outside, “Perhaps you need a bit of imagination, kitten.”

Selina Kyle is pretty much everything Tom wants to be when he grows up: effortlessly elegant, classy, smart, witty, and more than happy to fuck around with law enforcement and superheroes alike. She’s also more than happy to let him crash at her place when he and Bruce get into a fight with Tim out of town.

“I have plenty of that,” he takes her offered cup of hot cocoa. “But after climbing after Tim as he runs around Gotham rooftops to get pictures of Batman and Robin, I can’t call it urban hiking.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste with hipsters.”

He wrinkles his nose and nods in solidarity. Honestly, who thinks that an endeavor like urban hiking in Gotham of all places is a good idea? If you want to do that sort of nonsense, then go to San Fran or New York, not the place where you need to carry a portable gas mask.

“Terrible business ideas aside,” Selina says with a mischievous grin. “Are you ready to continue our lessons on disguises?”

Tom perks up and nods.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Neal says as he looks up at the full moon hanging over June’s apartment. “You could just visit like a normal person.”

The steps are quiet as Batman steps out into the rooftop patio.

“It’s a nice place you have here.”

“It’s been home for the past couple of years,” he agrees. “June has been nothing but gracious.”

“Hn.”

Neal rolls his eyes, “Are you going to stand there like a giant creep, or are you going to join me?”

He can hear the awkward shifting of Bruce’s boots before the man moves over, sitting on the chair near Neal. They both stare into the fire, which crackles in a rainbow of colors.

“Interesting.”

“Present from Velocity,” he says to the man who adopted him. “It’s fun though. I need to get Blackbird to take some good photos so I can do some painting.”

“You still keep up with your original work?’

It’s only the fact that Bruce helped him recently that makes Neal swallow the comment he wants to say. He nods instead.

“It can’t all be art forgeries all the time,” he sips his drink. “Takes the romance out of the game.”

The pregnant pause is one familiar to any kid who grew up under the roof of Bruce Wayne and the Batman. He’s gearing up for a Talk.

While in the suit.

Fantastic.

“B,” he says before the other man can even open his mouth. “Whatever conversation you want to have, we need to do it face-to-face, outside of the suit. And I don’t think either of us are ready for it. I’m grateful that you came to help me. But…but let’s not push for too much, too soon, okay?”

The silence stretches between them.

“And what do you suggest we do?”

Neal leans back and looks without fear into the flat, white eyes of Batman.

“How about just enjoying the moon?”

Chapter Text

“We will never speak of this,” Tim hisses at Neal as they walk away from the Hudson.

“My lips, my dearest brother, are sealed.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh so am I,” he promises with a grin. “You disposed of the evidence quite thoroughly.”

Tim buries his head into his hands and groans, “Kon loved that sweatshirt.”

“You’re literally a billionaire. Buy him a new one.”

“Do you know what Sentinel bullshit Kryptonians go with for their fabrics? It has to be broken in.”

“Did you just reference a 90s TV show at me?”

“You should know from your fan art days.”

“There’s a respectable living in that,” Neal sniffs.

“I will tell your girlfriend that the great Neal Caffrey drew furry art to save up for his first car.”

“And? They pay top dollar. If the lure of a puzzle to be solved and making that vein on B’s temple throb wasn’t more overpowering, then I would make a pretty great living.”

“There are some things a twin shouldn’t know about his twin.”

“Like driving out to the Hudson to dump a destroyed hoodie like a body, you drama queen?”

Tim flips off Neal and strides to his car.

Chapter Text

“You guys really need to stop invading my house,” Neal says, bemused as he walks inside. Peter follows at heels. “This time my fed is with me. Masks on if you need them.”

“That’s laaaaaaaaaaaaaaame,” drawls out a voice. Peter couldn’t see inside, but it sounds like one of the Titans’ heroes, Velocity. He spoke at Neal’s hearing.

While Neal didn’t get the full commutation, he did get a year shaved off for “good behavior”. Plus, well, a promise that if anyone tries to separate them, then they need to go through the entire Justice League.

There has been some restructuring of higher-ups. It twists Peter’s strong sense of right and wrong, knowing that those higher in command were conspiring to keep Neal chained. He deserves to serve out his sentence and then sink or swim like anyone else.

“My apologies, Peter,” Neal turns to him. “It appears I have an invasion of my brother and his friends.”

“We’re your friends too, dummy,” a tall, strong-looking blonde woman appears over Neal’s shoulders. Eurydice, Peter remembers, wanted to take a name of a woman who had done wrong in mythology and make it a symbol of power. “Hello again, Agent Burke.”

“Peter,” he says, feeling a bit awkward. He can see the broad shoulders and messy black hair of Supernova inside by the stove. It feels strangely intimate. These are people who know Neal in a way that Peter doesn’t get to yet. And he doesn’t want them to be on guard around him. “I can leave if you like.”

“Nononononono,” Velocity appears, fluffy auburn hair falling over his goggles. “I wanna hear embarrassing Neal work stories!”

“You are a menace,” Neal hisses him. “Tell me Mozzie hasn’t met you yet.”

“Oh they’ve met,” comes the slightly mechanized voice of Blackbird. “He stayed for fifteen minutes before leaving. We’ll get him comfortable around us all yet.”

“Fat chance.”

“He likes that we were hellions in our youths and are technically wanted in two solar systems!” Velocity says chipper.

“It’s technically one and a half!” Supernova calls.

“I’m rounding up.”

El, Peter reflects, would love these kids. He’s just thankful that—as far as he knows—Neal isn’t wanted in another part of the universe.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

“Well, if you’re okay with it.”

Neal shakes his head.

“Come on, Peter.”

Chapter Text

Neal doesn’t like being touched, Peter notices early on in their partnership.

Or, well, no that’s not the case.

He just doesn’t know what to do when someone touches him when he’s not expecting it. If he knows it’s coming, then Neal acts normally. But, when he doesn’t, there’s a slight moment of surprise, a tensing up, but it’s gone before most notice.

It flips Peter’s stomach, wondering why Neal would be so touch-starved.

(When he does get the answer, he really hates it.)

Chapter Text

“You know,” Mozzie says thoughtfully. “I know they say variety is the spice of life, but this feels a bit ridiculous.”

Next to him, Timothy—who is Blackbird—snorts as he considers the forged circuit board they’re working on for a deal.

“I’ve been running around in Kevlar mixed with spandex since I was thirteen. I have enough variety in my life.”

“And Neal…”

“Nope,” Timothy leans back. “Don’t bring it up around him.”

“Sore subject?”

“Family drama.”

Yeah, no, that’s something very much out of Mozzie’s depth.

“Say no more. Not going to bring it up.”

Timothy grins as he pulls down his goggles. It’s a little more manic than Neal’s own smile but familiar and nice enough. For a cape, his morals are flexible enough to still get along with Mozzie.

“See? You’re handling the spice of life well.”

Chapter Text

“Do I even want to know where you got this car?” Peter asks, staring at the cherry red Corvette.

Neal merely smiles as he hops out of it.

“You were the one who called me in on a weekend. Alright, BB, thanks for letting me take it for a spin.”

Peter watches as Neal unwinds a green snake from his neck, which slithers out of his hands and shifts into the hero/actor Beast Boy.

“No problem, man! Thanks for letting me Rave and I crash on your couch last night. We’ll get dinner or something next time we’re in town in your radius.”

It keeps hitting Peter how absolutely insane it is that Neal Caffrey, who went to prison for four years and generally has a very shaky moral compass, knows a lot of the superhero community. And has a good working relationship with them.

And is related to one.

Still, he supposes if you save the world, then you should get a cherry red Corvette.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Dick Grayson says, appearing in Neal’s apartment like a ghost. He’s not in costume, but a sleek black catsuit that he uses for non-superhero work. “Are you sculpting half-naked in the dark?”

Neal definitely was doing some low-light abstract sculpting, shirtless, and drinking a glass of wine. He and Tim each have their own processes of dealing with insomnia since getting a consistent sleep schedule is out of the question due to their respective professions.

“Sooner or later, someone in this family was going to visit me doing something that they didn’t like.”

“I mean I don’t not like it. You were always a lot better with art than I was.”

Neal remembers in that golden, sepia sort of nostalgic way. When he was sixteen, he did an abstract painting to represent Dick’s past, present, and future as a birthday gift to the older man. The canvas was huge, starting out in the bright colors of the Flying Graysons, of the first Robin before blending into the blue-black of Nightwing, of Bludhaven, of a police uniform. Then future was bright, shades of silvery gray and cream and gold, his to mold and shape.

Dick cried when he opened it and hung it in his apartment.

He wonders, suddenly, if the other man still has it.

“You were apologizing,” he says instead.

The half-smile on Dick’s face fades. He nods and sits, looking at Neal.

“I know I hurt Tim with how I handled Robin and Damian. And I guess I didn’t even think that I was hurting you as well, which is stupid because you’re ready to swear a blood feud if anyone hurts him. But I didn’t realize that it would seem like I was picking one over the both of you. It was an impossible situation with Bruce gone and I was just trying to keep my head above water.”

Neal blows out a breath, digging his fingers into clay to keep from fidgeting.

“It wasn’t just you. I know you and Damian have a bond and that you were making sure he didn’t go back to the League. I knew that intellectually, but it still felt like you made a choice. And no one ever chooses to stay for us. I thought that you would and it hurt that you didn’t. Which is probably just leftover trauma from my parents and not on you.”

He clears his throat slightly, “After Damian pushed Tim off the T-Rex, I asked Bruce to send him away. Not back to the League, but to the Amazons because he respected strength and they believe in compassion. But he was worried about the League and said no. So…I don’t know. I do miss you though.”

He’s tired of being so angry at him. He came to the commutation hearing and gave support when he didn’t need it.

Maybe, Neal just wants his big brother back.

“I miss you too, little brother,” Dick says gently. “I miss you so much. I kept away because I thought you needed space and I knew you were mad when you stole that poster of The Flying Graysons. Maybe I should have forced the issue sooner.”

“I hate feeling cornered. It probably wouldn’t have ended well,” he responds, twisting a bit of clay just so.

The hero laughs, “That is also true. Listen I just…”

“I’m sorry too,” Neal says quietly. “For being angry for so long. Maybe I held you to a standard that you didn’t deserve, but…”

“Water under the bridge.”

The con man smiles, a half quirk of the lips.

“Same.”

Chapter Text

For as long as he lives, Peter will never forget the first time he almost catches Neal Caffrey.

Because, well, it took a couple of tries before he got him the first time.

He tracks him down to a forgery in Seattle where he finds him setting up a buy under an alias.

His first thought upon laying eyes on Neal was, “If this kid is old enough to drink, then I’ll eat my shoe” before yelling at him to freeze just as the criminal makes a run for freedom.

What follows was a foot chase turned into a car chase that takes them through the twists and turns of the city on a rare sunny day.

“It’s over, Caffrey,” he says once he cornered Neal on the Waterfront Park.

“Is it, Agent Burke?”

And then Neal, in the first of many heart attacks that the con man gives Peter, jumps to the water below. Peter remembers running to the side and looking over where, like something out of a Bond movie, Neal speeds away in a small boat.

In his car, Peter found a reminder about his wife’s birthday and a receipt for birthday cake sent to their address from the conman.

The cake was delicious

Chapter Text

“You know,” Peter says as he holds the flashlight. “I have to admit that this wasn’t a skillset I expected out of you.”

Neal was an expert in many things: art, architecture, forgeries of all sorts, psychology, manipulation. He was quick and clever, but knowing how to fix a car seemed a bit out of his league, for all he knew how to boost them.

“Agent A believes that everyone should have five simple dishes in the kitchen in the repertoire, know how to perform basic car maintenance, and know how to lockpick,” Neal responds from where he’s tinkering underneath the car. “Plus, T is a gadget and tech-based hero. You think I didn’t hear about all of this stuff growing up?”

It’s a new level of ease in their relationship, Neal sharing bits of his past with the Bats of Gotham, about his hero brother.

Peter has been getting an influx of tips about some particular troublesome cold cases from an anonymous source. Neal merely laughed when he brought it up, looking fond as he said that T has been looking for his own law enforcement contact for years.

“Does he sleep?” Peter asked once.

“He runs on caffeine and spite most days.”

And that was that.

Neal rolls himself out from under his car. He wipes his hands on a nearby rag.

“So how does it look?”

“Oh, everything is good to go. Next time you need some help, give me a call and I can do you and June both on the same day.”

“You’ve been working on June’s cars.”

Neal tilts his head to the side and grins, mischievous and almost like a little boy.

“Peter, I worked on the Batmobile.”

The agent just has to laugh.

Neal Caffrey will never stop surprising him.

Chapter Text

The Drake twins never did something as loud as sob. Years after stifling their cries to the deaf and uncaring ears of their parents left them unable to shed tears in such a manner.

They cry, of course.

But they don’t break down in hysterical sobbing.

Even now, Neal is back in prison.

Kate dead.

He still can’t sob as she deserves.

He sits with shiny eyes and hates Fowler with everything in him.

“I claimed her body,” Tim says as his cell door opens. “She’s buried in a nice plot overlooking the sea where you two pulled the Descartes job.”

His brother is dressed in his gear and must have called a favor with Babs to get into Neal’s cell.

“I miss her,” he admits quietly, prodding the metaphorical bloody wound. “T, she’s dead because of me.”

“Hey,” Tim says softly, resting a hand on Neal’s back. “That? That was not your fault, okay? Kate didn’t deserve to die. You didn’t either.”

“I made a lot of powerful people angry at me.”

“So have I.”

“You don’t think…”

“Ra’s knows better than to bring you into our weird dance. No, a bomb in a plane is too impersonal if he decided to go after you.”

“I want them dead. I don’t think I ever hated someone so much in my life,” Neal screws his eyes shut. “I love her so much.”

“I know,” his brother says, carding his fingers through Neal’s hair. “But you stopped me from doing some very…bad things in my grief. I’m going to do the same. I swear to you. I will bring whoever did this to justice and make sure they go into a hole so deep and dark that they can never get out of it.”

“Promise?”

“When have I ever broken one to you?”

Never.

For a moment, Neal lets himself be Tom Drake and curls up so very tight to cry.

Chapter Text

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Neal smiles warmly at his guest.

Alfred Pennyworth was as warm and welcome of a presence now as he was when he was an adolescent.

“I did want to give you your space, Master Neal,” he sips his tea. The ritual is as familiar now as it was when he was thirteen, sitting by the older man in the Batcave and listening on the comms. “I know the complicated feelings you had about everything.”

Leave it to Alfred to get to the heart of the matter.

“It was never you, Alfie,” Neal promises, unable to explain why he let Alfred skate by when he held Dick to task. Maybe, it was because the older man had been so kind, didn’t try to stop them from leaving, a hundred different quiet moments that became a swirl of colors. “I just need to be me even if it meant having a loose moral compass.”

The older man chuckles, “Well, you took to the lessons I had to share. And I had a looser than normal moral compass when I was a young man.”

“I still carry around that pocket sewing kit you gave me when I was sixteen,” Neal admits. “Right next to my lockpicks.”

Alfred chuckles, a warm and familiar sound.

“I’m glad that both gifts I’ve given you had come in handy then, Master Neal. You always showed the most promise with a needle and thread.”

“It got me out of a couple of jams.”

“Well then,” Alfred says as he pushes a plate of cookies forward. “Tell me all about it.”

Chapter Text

“Your newest little stray is staying with me,” Selina says in lieu of hello when Bruce calls. “His little birdie counterpart isn’t with him.”

“Robin has a new team,” he responds, unclenching his hand. He tells himself that Tom is safe with Selina, that he’s not in danger, that he won’t end up like…

Anyway.

“Ah,” she says, sounding full of understanding. “He misses his brother. Well, he’s a good little stray. I like his company.”

Bruce breathes out and closes his eyes.

“I’m really terrible at this.”

“You two are a lot alike. Neither of you knows how to handle that.”

He hums, acknowledging Selina’s statement.

But Bruce doesn’t really see how he and Tom could be similar. He just sees those judging blue eyes and that fierce temper, the belief that he needs to get between Bruce and Tim.

No.

He and Tom aren’t alike at all.

Chapter Text

Peter knows something is off the moment Neal’s posture shifts. The genuinely relaxed posture becomes slightly more predatory.

“Peter,” he says very calmly. “I’m going to need you to be quiet for the length of this conversation and then we’re going to call my brother once we’re in the clear.”

Before Peter could press further, a woman joined them on the bench that they were sitting on. She was very beautiful with long dark hair, warm tan skin, and bright green eyes, dressed in green and gold.

Yet, Peter’s hindbrain was saying she was dangerous.

“The Knight.”

“It’s weird that your family has pet names for my brother and me, Talia,” Neal says. “What brings me the dubious honor of your company?”

“I need you to get in contact with the Detective.”

“And why do you need my brother?”

“My father’s sanity is on a very dubious thread, especially after his recent losses. Your brother was very thorough as were you in the aftermath.”

“What can I say?” the smile Neal gives isn’t very nice. “I don’t like creepy older men hitting on a teenager. Call it my moral obligation to take away their art and luxuries.”

Not the for the first time, Peter wonders what the hell went on during Neal’s teenage years. His CI swore up and down that he never donned a suit, never felt the desire to, but he clearly is more involved than he likes to admit.

“Quite,” Talia replies, pursing her lips. “I need the Detective’s help in taking down my father once and for all. I do not like his plans for my son. More importantly, it is time for a change. I merely wish to approach him.”

“By tracking me down and showing you can get to me,” Neal shakes his head. “You know he won’t like that.”

“Perhaps not, but it does send a message.”

“Quite,” Neal mocks. “I’ll pass on your message, but I want one thing in exchange.”

“Name  it.”

“I want you to forget everything you know about my handler and New York White Collar Division along with my landlady,” he meets her eyes without blinking.

“Always the knight. It’s amazing that you and my Beloved don’t get along.”

“Enjoy the sights, Talia. I’ll get in contact with him tonight.”

“Mister Caffrey,” she nods, standing up and walking away.

“Talia? Your word.”

“Your terms for this service will be met. I do not see your companion nor anyone you associate with here.”

A breath Peter was holding releases as the one turns and disappears into a crowd. Neal blows out a breath.

“Neal?”

“Peter,” his voice was steady and brokered no argument. “Just forget what you heard. You’ll be safer that way.”

Sure, Peter will be safer.

But what about Neal?

Chapter Text

Neal was lucky.

A suspect stabbed him, but it wasn’t anywhere vital or bad. He had to have minor surgery, but he was in and out in under two hours.

Neal was lucky.

That’s what Peter kept telling himself as he goes to get terrible hospital coffee after checking in with Jones.

While the suspect had initially gotten away, he later showed up at the FBI office, terrified and begging to confess to anyone who would listen.

Peter can only guess who got to him as he heads back to Neal’s room.

Only to find a figure sitting by his bedside.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t show up in costume,” he tells T.

T looks up. He’s wearing a baggy hoodie and ripped jeans, long curly hair falling into his sunglass-covered eyes.

“Too many eyes,” he says in his real voice.

It surprises Peter, how much T sounds like Neal.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t…”

“Don’t wear the guilt, Peter. My brother is a grown man and knows the danger of his profession. Just like I do mine. You stayed and waited, contacted Mozzie, that’s what matters.”

“I would have contacted you, but I don’t have a number.”

T looks a bit bemused at that, “Are you sure?”

Peter looks down at his phone and at him.

“Did you hack my phone?”

T only grins in response.

He can definitely see the resemblance.

Chapter Text

“Do you ever wonder if we’re broken?” Tim asks one night.

He’s not doing well since their father made him give up being Robin. Oh, sure, he puts on a brave face. Tom, however, knows his brother far, far too well to fall for that.

Part of him hates his father. He wasn’t a parent for their lives, but, now, now he wants to parent.

Fuck him.

The only good thing that has come out of all of this is that Tim and Tom are sharing a room officially. It’s easy enough for Tom to slip out of his bed and into Tim’s.

“What makes you say that?” he asks.

“I just…we’re never really good enough for people, are we? Not unless we have some use to them. So are we broken? Why can’t people just want us for us?”

“We’re a little broken,” Tom agrees, resting his chin on Tim’s shoulder. “But so is everyone else. I don’t think Cassie, Kon, or Bart will go anywhere anytime soon. Let alone Dick. And if you think Jack Drake is going to keep us from the people who matter, then fuck him. Because we found our people who fit our broken parts.”

Maybe that’s not entirely true for Tom.

Like sure, Tim’s friends have welcomed him with open arms. Dick is…well the closest thing to an older brother that they have.

But, well, Tom’s brokenness…

He wants to think that someday he will find those people to match those parts as well.

Right now, what he has is good enough.

But, well, Tim is going to be Robin again.

Tom will make sure of that.

Chapter Text

“You’re enjoying yourselves far too much,” Diana says, watching as Mozzie and Neal tape together some evidence.

They’re at Neal’s apartment as the conman works.

“Puzzles are relaxing, Lady Suit,” Mozzie informs her, pushing up his glasses. “Hypothetically heists are like puzzles.”

“Allegedly,” Neal says thoughtfully as he carefully tapes a piece together.

“So con-man are just illegal puzzle enthusiasts?” Diana asks bemused.

Mozzie takes a sip of his wine and points his finger at her.

“Don’t go selling all of our secrets out to the world, Lady Suit.”

“Allegedly,” Neal says again.  

Chapter Text

“If you are listening to this, then I have been arrested. Looks like Burke the Jerk caught up to me sooner or later, huh?”

Tim closes his eyes as he pauses the recording from Neal.

He has long since memorized the contents of the recording. Neal asks him to figure out discreet ways to take care of Kate, to make sure Mozzie is okay, to hide things that need to be hidden. He asks Tim to keep Bruce out of his affairs and asks the same for Tim.

“I don’t want you to get in your head about this, Tim. I made my choices. I know that you didn’t entirely agree with them. I’ve made my peace with it. I love you, okay? I know we’re not verbal love family. But I love you and you are a good brother. Right now, I need you to be strong and stay away until it’s safe.”

It’s hard, following the wishes of someone that you love when all you want to do is help.

But Neal has supported him through so many bad ideas. He stopped Tim from going too far.

He owes his brother that.

“I love you too, asshole,” he tells the recording of his brother’s voice.

He then gets up to bury himself in some casework.

Chapter Text

“Did you know?” Neal asks Tim when he enters his apartment.

“I know many things,” he says to his twin. He holds up his bag of Chinese takeout. “Hey Moz. I brought crab ragoons.”

“Oh! Thanks, Timothy. I think we have a nice wine to go with that,” Mozzie says before digging into Neal’s wine fridge.

“So what do I know?” Tim asks as he takes out the food.

“There’s a college class teaching me. Or well about my crimes. Lectures! Neither of us even went to college and we’re being taught in them.”

“Oh yeah, I knew about that.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!” Neal cries, holding a hand to his heart. “Betrayal by my own brother.”

“I do not want you getting a big head about it.”

Tim also probably went double-time to make sure the protections that kept Neal Caffrey and Tom Drake separated as well.

“We have the same head.”

“I don’t know. What do you think, Moz? Who has the bigger head?”

“You both have perfectly fine heads with amazing cheekbones that make people want to give you priceless artifacts. Heaven forbid we get Tim involved in a hypothetical heist.” Mozzie uncorks the bottle of white wine and pours.

“Get enough wine and food in me and we’ll see,” Tim says as he sits.

“Promises, promises.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe I need to know this,” Peter complains as Neal leads him back out onto the dance floor.

“Well, you were the one who had to go undercover this time as the shady wealthy investor. You need to at least fumble your way through a waltz.”

“Where did you even learn how to do this?”

“Our parents were rich—straighten your back—they were very concerned about appearances. T and I knew this stuff from an extremely young age.”

A memory flashes in Peter’s mind, a girl abandoned by her rich and neglectful parents that were fleeing charges. Neal’s reaction…

“Would your parents have abandoned the two of you?”

“T is more sentimental than I am about our family,” Neal admits as they fall into the waltz, keeping in time with the music. “Keep your eyes on my face, Peter, or a point off in the distance if that makes you uncomfortable. Do not look down at your feet.”

That doesn’t answer Peter’s question.

“So you come from money?”

“Nouveau riche, which was a sticking point. The whole house of cards fell when we were teenagers and our parents died. While T probably visits their graves once a year I haven’t been back to them when I was seventeen. I just…they were never there. They met our physical needs and our intellectual ones. But they weren’t meant to be parents. We were just props to them. T was the smart one to take over their business and I was the pretty face.”

“You’re so much more than that, Neal.”

“That’s sweet, Peter.” He gives him one of his rare genuine smiles. “And I know. But, well, they raised a superhero and a con-man respectively. For the most part, heroes are just as messed up as the rest of us. So I’ll let you draw your own conclusions there.”

Peter really doesn’t want to.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry that Mister Drake-Wayne couldn’t come in to personally meet with you, Agent Burke,” Lydia Masters, the NYC head of Wayne Enterprises, says as she walks down a hallway with him. “Gotham’s an absolute mess in the aftermath of an Arkham breakout and it’s near impossible to even get out from the suburbs of the city.”

“Well, it’s not his fault that supervillains are rampaging,” Peter says. “We can always reschedule?”

“No. I heard from my counterpart in Gotham. The employees have checked in and are accounted for in various safe zones. We’ll be good. I am curious as to why the FBI is here.”

“It’s about a former employee named Gulliver Gideon?”

Neal had made a thousand and one jokes about the name. Currently, he’s in the car, a little too keyed up while waiting for news from his brother, who is in the thick of things in Gotham,

“Oh him,” Lydia wrinkles her nose. “His uncle is an ex-board member and pulled enough strings to get him a job. However, Mister Drake-Wayne gathered a lot of evidence to personally make sure that he wouldn’t be working for the company.”

“Something of a detective?”

“There’s a reason why, despite his age, that no one has tried to have him fired, after all,” she laughs. “This way, please.”

Peter’s some engrossed in the conversation that he misses the portrait of Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Chapter Text

“My mother had warned me about the pair of you,” Damian says from behind Neal.

He really wishes his family would stop coming to his place to do these big dramatic confrontations. Is it because he’s confined to a two-mile radius? There’s a lot of hiding you can do in that radius.

“Okay?”

Damian twitches, eyes narrowing under his mask.

“It’s why I was…It’s why I tried to kill him. You did not want the cowl. He was a contender. He was Robin. And he was Grandfather’s favorite.”

Gross. Neal hopes that Ra’s is dead now.

Or in the Negative Zone.

Is that a thing? He should ask Tim.

“Did you apologize to Tim? And mean it?”

“Timothy and I have talked and gone to joint counseling,” Damian grimaces. “I don’t like therapy.”

Well, Neal feels a bit floored.

“It’s not for everyone,” he says.

“Richard said you wanted me to go to the Amazons?”

Of course, Dick told him.

“I wanted you not to be near my brother,” Neal admits. “But you were a child who was brainwashed and raised to be a killer. You respected power and strength, which they have in spades. And if anyone could have gotten through to you that wasn’t Dick, then I think they would have been the best bet. I hated you for what you tried to do to Tim, but I also wanted you to get help.”

Damian’s fingers twitch at that.

“The logic is sound. I am sorry for the distress I put you through.”

“Just don’t try to kill Tim for the third time, okay? Outside of mind control or whatever.”

The costumed hero nods, looking over at the artwork Neal was working on.

“Are you making a forgery?”

“Reproduction actually,” he says. Neal looks at Damian, knowing the kid is an artist as well. “Want to learn some things, Robin?”

Chapter Text

“Do you regret it?” Bruce asks as they sit across from each other.

They’re face to face for the first time in, well, years. Maybe a decade give or take. By face-to-face, Neal means seeing Bruce sans cowl and out of costume.

Nowhere to hide, Bruce Wayne.

Of course, the man of the hour in all of his awkward, dear freakin’ God man Alfred probably taught you how to converse better than this glory just goes straight for the throat.

“You’re going to have to be more clear,” Neal says instead. “I got a lot of regrets, Bruce. I’m sure you do as well. Hell, it’s probably alphabetized.”

Alphabetized and categorized, Neal probably has his own separate list with Jason.

He looks at Bruce’s grimace, reminds himself that the man is trying, and takes a bit of pity on him.

“But if you’re asking if I regret being a con artist? No,” Neal takes a sip of his wine. “I would have grown up to be one anyway. Going into Drake Industries, most of what I learned about my craft I learned right at the knee of Janet Drake.”

He doesn’t regret becoming a con artist. He doesn’t regret meeting Kate or Mozzie. He doesn’t regret the thrills of a heist, of a con, and the rush of a job well done. He doesn’t regret that freedom he felt, fully understanding Tim’s own rush when he jumps over rooftops and beats up bad guys with a staff.

No.

He doesn’t regret it.

“I regret causing Tim pain,” Neal says instead. “I regret Kate’s d-death. I regret Mozzie getting shot. I regret a lot of things, Bruce. But asking me if I regret being Neal Caffrey is like asking you if really and truly, deep down, you regret being Batman.”

Ah.

There it is.

The man gets it.

Chapter Text

“Peter, you were literally in the building for Wayne Enterprises,” Neal says sounding far too amused. “How could you not know?”

Neal’s twin brother, Timothy Drake-Wayne aka Blackbird aka the twin goddamn brother of Neal Caffrey, elbows him.

Next to him, El laughs into her hand.

Peter leans forward, “Tell me how you two tricked the world into thinking Thomas Drake is in Paris and Neal Caffrey is not related to you in any way possible.”

Tim and Neal grin.

Peter needs a drink.

(But he grins back.)

Chapter Text

It’s amazing what people would try to forge, up to and including plants.

Either way, Peter is left with a bunch of greenery and no idea what the hell to do with it.

“Maybe you can call Poison Ivy,” Diana jokes to Neal. “Since you know Catwoman.”

Neal pursed his lips thoughtfully, “I can make a call? The Sirens were always nice to me as a kid at least.”

Peter can feel a brand-new headache forming, but they needed to do something with all of this plant life.

He also instantly regretted it about two hours later when Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn arrive together in formal wear.

“OhmyGawd! Lookit, Red. He’s all grown-up and lookin’ suave as Hell.”

“Ladies,” Neal greets looking almost fond. “You both look lovely this evening. Did I interrupt date night?”

“Aw c’mon, kiddo. We ain’t need to be lookin’ fancy except just to look fancy,” Harley said, bouncing over to Neal and pinching his cheeks with her bleached hands. “You grew up handsome and tall! Never woulda expected it, honestly.”

“Amazing what time in Europe and brushes with the law does to a person,” he agrees. “Do you need to see the patients, Ivy? From what I can tell they’ve been cared for well.”

It hits Peter again, watching Neal interact with two semi-reformed villains (anti-heroes?) how weird his friend’s childhood was. Because he’s looked-up pictures of Tim and Tom Drake: both skinny and short and painfully young.

And he can imagine Neal with his quick mind and clever fingers swinging from vines grown by Poison Ivy and playing with Harley Quinn’s hyenas and learning the skills of his trade at Catwoman’s feet.

It breaks Peter’s heart again because it shows that Neal, outside of his brother who he loved more than anyone, didn’t have much in the way of affectionate adults growing up.

Still watching as his CI lead Ivy and Harley through the warehouse, it’s probably good that someone cared after all. Even if that person was a “villain”.

Chapter Text

Neal Caffrey, three days after his sentence has been commuted, vanishes from the face of the Earth.

Well, it’s not entirely true.

He let Peter, El, Mozzie, June, Diana, and Clinton know he was leaving for a bit.

“I’ve spent years confined to a prison and then to two miles,” he says with a tired. “I kind of want to spend some one-on-one time with my brother. Maybe actually stay in that Parisian apartment Tom Drake-Wayne has.”

“But really?”

Neal laughs because Peter knows him too well.

“For once, Peter, I’m going to take some time for me. And with Tim. We’re going to go and do whatever we want together. Blackbird needs a vacation before planning a wedding. I heard it’s Hell. And we just want to spend time together.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Hmmm,” Neal says thoughtfully. “Hard to say. Freedom is a hell of a thing after years of not really having it.”

But he was excited to find out.

Chapter Text

In his first act as a well and truly free man, away from New York and everything, Neal Drake leans forward and takes a breath of cool and crisp air. It’s the kind that that sort of feels like spearmint gum: fresh and clean and maybe slightly assaulting your airways.

But in a good way.

Tim grins at him: genuinely happy.

“How does the ankle feel?”

“Weightless,” Neal says as he grins at his brother. “You know what I’m craving right now?”

Tim tilts his head and looks at his brother carefully.

“Ma Kent’s maple sugar apple pie?”

“You know me so well.”

“At this point I better,” Tim says with a grin as they head off into the fresh air of freedom together.

Chapter Text

“A nice quiet vacation,” Neal says in a total deadpan, running next to his brother. “I promise. No one is going to attack us. No mysterious conspiracies. Just some bonding time and seeing the world without it ending.”

“Okay, so I overestimated our family’s terrible luck,” Tim admits. He slapped on a domino around the time someone went after Neal with a freaking sword. “Adopted and natural, we were born with shitty luck.”

“Maybe there’s a curse.”

“Checked with Constantine, there isn’t.”

“How is John doing?” Neal asks as he ducks out of the way of a throwing star. “Your aim sucks!”

“I think he’s fucking the Devil again. He has some paintings for you to look over now that you’re free. Maybe London after this?”

“Probably a good idea,” Neal admits before grabbing the throwing star that is embedded in the wall next to him. “I’m keeping this!”

“You’re non-violent.”

“And I bet requestioning a new throwing star from whatever evil or morally ambiguous organization they’re working from.”

“Possibly,” Tim says thoughtfully. “Must be new though. I don’t recognize them. I’ll put in a call to the League, Wally owes me a favor. But first…we jump. You wearing the parachute?”

“Yep. You got the flash drive?”

“You know it.”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three…”

Tim and Neal leap over the edge in perfect unison.

Chapter Text

“Are you missing me?” Neal’s voice sounds warm and teasing on Peter’s phone.

“I’m not missing the headaches you gave me,” he says with a snort. In the background, Peter can hear the slightly too similar voice of Timothy Drake-Wayne cackle.

“Rude,” his friend says without any heat in it. “Did you and El get the wine?”

“You mean the alien wine you got when you and your brother went into space? That wine?”

It was delivered by the fucking Flash. Well, the older retired Flash, Jay Garrick (who was a childhood hero of Peter’s and Neal fucking knew it). There were like three of them running around now and Peter had to keep them straight in his head somehow. He was a nice guy and looked absolutely tickled to see Peter and Elizabeth’s gobsmacked expressions when he dropped off the crate of alien fucking wine at their doorstep with assurances it was safe for human consumption but will pack a punch and half if they’re not careful.

He was not wrong as the wine hangover the next day from a full bottle split between them attested to it. It was nice though, tasted like pomegranates a little bit.

 “You and El got drunk off it, didn’t you?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“You totally did!” Neal sounds delighted by this. “Peter, I’m so proud.”

“Are you still in space?”

“Not anymore. I had to help the Titans get unbanned from half a galaxy that they had been previously banned from, but they’re good now. All worked out. Met a very lovely King and almost became a consort for xem. And out haggled some eight-mouthed being while Tim staged a people’s revolution. All in all, it’s been a good trip to space.”

“Are you sure you’re not a superhero?”

“Ugh, no,” Neal says, sounding his young age. “I got you some intergalactic art as well. I’ll bring it back when I come home.”

Home.

New York is still Neal’s home.

And suddenly, the missing feeling in Peter’s chest tightens.

“We’ll keep the metaphorical light on for you.”

“Just save some of that wine for me.”

That? Peter can definitely do.

Chapter Text

Peter knew, of course, that Neal had a connection to the Bat-Family. It was hard to miss the fact that his brother was Blackbird (formerly Red Robin, formerly Robin). Batman had shown up at Neal’s commutation hearing. Peter would be lying if he doesn’t remember seeing a significant look between the pair.

But there was knowing it in the abstract versus the Batman appearing behind him during a case that Peter’s investigation.

“Agent Burke.”

Peter turns around on his heel with his gun drawn.

Oh.

Okay.

“…Batman?”

“Yes,” the man nods. “I apologize for startling you.”

Peter flushes and holsters his gun.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone here.”

He was revisiting a crime scene. Some wealthy financer was found in a locked room with his throat slit. It looked like an especially grisly suicide, but Peter smelled a fucking rat so to speak.

Batman’s mouth quirks up in something like a smile, “Neither was I. Luke Danes was involved with some very shady people and was helping smuggle things into Gotham.”

“We’ve been following the money and the shell corporations,” Peter says. “But the smuggling thing is new. We haven’t seen a trace of it yet.”

“To be fair,” Batman allows. “It took me a while as well. I suggest looking into his dealings with Delacroix Import and Export. Any ideas of how he died?”

“Several,” he admits. “Including some sort of trigger word that would have made him slit his own throat. It’s a brave new world and a lot of invisible ways to get someone to die. But I suppose that’s not the only reason you’re here?”

“Neal and I are mending fences,” Batman says after a long moment. “I was wondering if you knew anything of his plans once he and Blackbird have finished wreaking havoc and mayhem in their paths while also closing dozens of cases and stopping the world from being invaded. Again.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, “Are you asking me if Neal is going to go back to Gotham?”

Batman shifts awkwardly.

Dear God, this man needs therapy.

“Neal is planning on returning to New York because he has a life here,” Peter says after a long moment. “Frankly, I don’t want to give you parenting advice, Batman. But sometimes, some kids just need space from their parents to be themselves. And it’s good that you and Neal are working through whatever issues you two have with each other, but, frankly, it’s probably a good thing Neal doesn’t want to go back to Gotham.”

Gotham’s kind of a shithole, Peter doesn’t say.

“I just…keep failing my kids,” the superhero admits after a moment. “And I feel like all I’m doing is running after them and cleaning up my terrible mistakes.”

Awesome, Peter is going to be playing therapist to a man who went toe to toe against actual gods and came out victorious.

“For Neal,” he says after a long moment. “It comes down to trust and effort. I had to let go of some control to prove that I trusted him and he had to match me in turn. And I had to make an effort to be there for him and he matched me in turn. Just…show an effort, trust him, and give him some time.”

Batman looks thoughtful before nodding.

(Peter the next day gets enough evidence delivered to him to put away a secretary of Danes’ business part, who had a meta ability to plant suggestions into people’s heads.)

Chapter Text

“We can turn around,” Tim says next to Neal as they drive down a familiar road leading to Wayne Manor.

Snow glitters on the ground, making Neal think fondly of childhood with his twin brother. The two of them curled close in whatever bed they were sharing to look out at the still world, dazzling like a gem and peaceful in a way that didn’t feel suffocating.

They were older now. Tim’s elegantly simple engagement ring shines on his finger. Neal runs a hand through his hair, freshly cut in the opposite to his brother’s own curly locks.

“No,” he says. “I’m ready to go back.”

He wants to see Cass, Jason, Damian, and Dick. He’s ready to meet Duke, who Tim has nothing but praise for. He’s ready to mend a burned bridge with Stephanie and talk with Babs. He wants to see Alfred and hug the older man tight, help him in the kitchen like they would when Neal was Tom.

He wants to see Bruce and maybe stitch an old wound or five closed.

Then, after this, he wants to go to New York, back to his home at June’s.

“Hey,” Tim says gently. “I’m proud of you.”

Neal smiles, “I’ve never doubted that once in my life.”

“Still, it should be said.”

He nods, ruffling Tim’s hair as they pull up to the Manor.

He’s ready.

Chapter Text

“So mon frère,” Mozzie says as Neal settles back into his apartment at June’s with little fanfare. His elegant landlady greeted him with a hug and delicious dinner for the three of them: June, Mozzie, and Neal.

“Yes, Moz?” he says as he pours them both a glass of wine.

“What’s your next move?”

It’s definitely something that has been bouncing around Neal’s head during his year off with Tim. He swirls a glass of wine in consideration.

“How would you feel about trying a legitimate business?” He asks. “One where people want us to break in?”

Mozzie’s eyebrow ticks up.

“Oh?”

Neal merely smiles.

Three weeks later, The Nest: Security Consulting opens its doors, so to speak.

Chapter Text

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Neal says with a bright sharp grin. Peter rolls his eyes. Taking over Hughes’ job was definitely a huge step up, but it was a lot of politicking which is…ugh.

“I’m pleased,” he admits. “And you’re still around to annoy me.”

“You were the one who signed the contract with Nest to make us official FBI consultants,” the former con says primly. “So you really only have yourself to blame.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “I’m almost proud.”

“Hey if Frank Abagnale can do it, then so can I. Besides, B is thrilled for the legitimacy of it all.”

“I’m sure Mozzie is in hives over it.”

“Every good con needs a legitimate business, allegedly,” Neal says.

“And are you going back to that sort of life?”

“I get to break into places and make reproductions with a solid paycheck now. I’m perfectly legitimate.”

Peter raises an eyebrow.

Neal grins.

“Just don’t make me arrest you. I’m in the lead.”

“Two of those times don’t count!”

And, thus, a familiar argument breaks out between them.

Chapter Text

“You don’t have to do this,” Tom says to Tim as they make their way up the driveway. “It’s not on you to fix him.”

“No one else is doing anything though,” Tim says, looking into his brother’s face. “Dick doesn’t want to be Robin. No one…”

Jason’s dead, Tom almost wants to say. I know you can be a hero, but I don’t want you to be another dead kid in Batman’s arms.

“If you’re doing this, then I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to, Tom. I know you hate this stuff.”

It’s not that he hates it. He just doesn’t find it as fascinating as Tim does, but he still loves his brother. He wants Tim to be happy.

And Tim wants to save Batman from himself.

“I’m going to.”

Tim can save the world.

But Tom is always going to save Tim first.

Always.

Neal breathes out in the peaceful evening spent at the Burke household. Satchmo is curled next to him on the couch and the remnants of dinner have been cleared.

He feels good, peaceful.

Like everything has fallen into place.

“I don’t think,” he says to Peter with a lopsided smile. “That I ever told you the whole story. Of how we got into this life. Though my brother more than me.”

“No,” Peter says. “Bare minimum.”

Neal hums thoughtfully, sipping his wine.

“It started when we were nine-years-old and my brother figured out Robin’s identity…”

Chapter Text

The marriage of Timothy Drake-Wayne and Connor Kent takes place on the Kent Farm in Smallville with their friends and family surrounding them.

“Mother is probably rolling over in her grave,” Neal says to Tim as they get ready together. “Marrying on a farm.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but they both long stopped caring about what their dead parents think.

Neal is going to be Tim’s best man and Cassie is going to be Connor’s. It was going to be Bart, but Bart wanted to be the flower boy/ring bearer. Who were they to say no to him? A small contingent of the superhero community has gathered to celebrate this day.

“I hope no one attacks the wedding.”

“If Lex Luthor shows up in his stupid Iron Man rip-off suit, I will tackle him to the ground. I am that stupid.”

Tim laughs at that, “Well now I almost want to see that happen.”

The two of them smile at each other, an identical grin on an identical face. Only the difference in haircuts can tell the Drake twins apart.

“Nervous?”

“No,” Tim says, smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever been less nervous in my whole life.”

“Good.”

Outside, the music starts up.

“Ready?” Tom asks Tim.

“Yeah. You?” Tim asks Tom, who merely smiles. 

And just like when they joined the Wayne family, Tom Neal Drake walks Tim Jackson Drake-Wayne to the newest chapter of his life.

Always.