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Neal didn’t like to swear. It was a two-fold thing, really, but one reason held far more weight than the other. One was, of course, the fact that swears tended to hold more weight when they were scarce, like most things in life (the exquisite Raphael he most certainly didn’t have being one of them), and not using them made it easier to control the levity of the conversation. The second reason was much simpler, and probably the biggest reason Neal didn’t like to swear.
But regardless of likes and dislikes, some situations just demanded this particular response.
“Fuck,” Neal said, starting at the gaggle of people inside the FBI office, his feet rooting in their spot.
Peter stilled and turned to level an incredulous gaze at him. “Neal?” He asked.
“You never swear, Caffrey,” Jones added, one hand holding a coffee and another a file as he came toward them from the opposite direction. “Hey, boss,” He greeted Peter. “Hughes needs you in the conference room. There’s an outside source who needs our help in a case.”
“... Right,” Peter said, brows furrowed and a worried expression on his face.
“You should– you should get to that,” Neal managed. “I don’t feel that good, so I’ll probably–” His breath hitched as Diana curled an arm around his shoulders and forcefully pulled him away from the elevator, looking just as curious as the other three.
“Okay, Caffrey,” She said. “Spill. What spooked you?”
Peter crossed his arms. “Did one of the agents do something?”
“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?” Neal tried.
Peter sighed. “True,” He said. “Jones and Berrigan, though, don’t.”
Diana smirked. “Exactly.”
Peter smiled and walked away, speeding up as he saw Hughes gesture to him again.
Neal stepped back immediately.
“Seriously, man,” Jones said. “There’s not much that gets you like this. What’s wrong?”
Diana’s expression softened. “If you need help–”
“No, no,” Neal told them, half intentionally, half absent-mindedly, as he tried to stare at the room Peter had just entered without trying to look too obvious. “Nothing to be scared of. I, uh, I just don’t have a good history with… him.”
Diana’s eyes widened, and if Neal had been concentrating, he might even have seen a flare of curiosity that Diana didn’t often admit to. “Really?” She asked. “Why am I not surprised you’ve met Timothy Drake-Wayne?”
“Because he’s Neal?” Jones offered.
Neal still didn’t reply, his eyes piercing through the glass, his fists clenched at his sides.
“He’ll probably be calling you in soon,” Jones said, finally. “Might want to steel yourself before that.”
Neal blinked rapidly. “Wh– what?”
Diana patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. We’re here, aren’t we?” She smirked. “Peter’ll protect you from the big, mean, billionaire businessman.”
If possible, Neal paled even further.
Diana and Jones exchanged a look, but before either of them could try to change the topic and get Neal back into circulation, the door to the conference room opened again, and Peter exited, frowning like he didn’t quite understand something. Still, he nodded at Neal and gestured to the room before entering again as Hughes left with one more clipped whisper, leaving only Peter and Timothy Drake-Wayne inside.
Neal swallowed quite audibly.
Diana made a quick decision. “Want us to come with you?” She asked.
Neal swiveled to face her. “... Are you sure?”
“Beats the van,” Jones said, and it was so out of context but so Jones and applicable Neal had to smile, even if it was a smile one.
Neal took a deep breath. “Okay,” He said. “I guess it’s been long enough.”
“It has,” Jones agreed. “Boss is not gonna be happy.”
They walked toward the conference room, and as they pulled open the door and entered, Peter raised an eyebrow at them in question. The only answer Diana and Jones had was gesturing to Neal’s fisted hands, and Peter didn’t refuse their entry. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Neal, are you…?” He didn’t get to finish.
“Hi,” Neal said, and it was directed at Tim, who stood next to the window, peering out. “Been a while.”
Was that even a good greeting? Peter wouldn’t know, but he was too busy staring at the interplay.
Tim chuckled dryly and turned around, staring right into Neal’s eyes from across the table, and it was incredible how sharp they were, yet not deadly at all.
Neal, though, took a half step back immediately.
Tim’s smile became a little less formal. “Neal,” He acknowledged. “‘Been a while’ is underselling it, don’t you think?”
Neal’s eyes darted around the room. “How’d you find me?”
Peter’s breath caught. Neal was on the run from Tim Drake-Wayne? There was nothing about him ever having met the man, let alone running from him, and Peter knew most of Neal’s life by heart.
But Tim didn’t seem perturbed, only shrugged one shoulder. “I wasn’t looking, actually,” He said. “This is a genuine case.”
This time, Neal really did scoff. “Sure,” He drawled. “And you just couldn’t have asked Gramps.”
‘Gramps’? Diana mouthed.
“Well, you know how it is,” Tim said, still all smiley. “When B said he was retiring, he meant it.”
“You’re literally smarter than him! You could–” Neal burst, then stilled, eyes flickering to Peter.
Peter didn’t react.
Tim relaxed. “Aww, Neal, you think so highly of me!” He said, and it was so syrupy sweet that Neal knew with a 110% certainty that he was done. “That’s why you’re my favorite nephew, you know.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Peter snapped.
“Caffrey’s got an uncle?” Jones asked.
“That we don’t know about?” Diana added.
“Fuck,” Neal said again.
Tim just smiled.
Neal sighed. “Seriously? Did you have to? You could have come directly to my apartment, you know? If you knew I’d be here, you’d have known where I’m staying.”
Peter bristled, hand inching to his holster.
Tim hummed. “I did, in fact, reach out to June first,” He said. “An interesting person, by the way. Steph was really excited talking to her.”
Neal gaped. “Aunt Steph’s here, too?” He asked, horrified. “What, did you bring the whole family?” He shook his head rapidly. “Nope, no, I’m not asking that.” He covered his face with his hands, not noticing how his team was rapidly degenerating into incomprehensive blubbering on the basis of the realization that their CI had a whole new life they knew nothing about, even beyond the life they knew little about. “Why, Uncle Tim?” He groaned, and though it came out muffled, it was clear enough in the otherwise silent room.
“Why not?” Tim asked. “This is what you get when you run away, kid. And the only reason it’s not even more embarrassing is because, well, you did a pretty good job of it, honestly.” He sounded impressed. “I couldn’t trace you for years, and when I did, you went cold. Not a bad run.”
Neal tilted his head, peeking out and morbidly curious. “How did you find out, then?”
Tim smiled and held up a vial.
“Is that… blood?” Peter asked.
“Neal’s,” Tim said, as if it didn’t sound horribly incriminating. “And since you were in the hospital a few months ago, it triggered our servers.”
Neal closed his eyes. “Damn it,” He muttered. “I’ve been so careful otherwise.”
Tim nodded. “Changing your fingerprint records? That was genius. Babs taught you a lot more than she told us.”
Neal couldn’t help the smile this time. “Mom does love to mess with you guys,” He agreed.
“The mom you wouldn’t tell me about?” Peter interjected.
Neal blinked. “Right. I did say that.”
Tim snorted. “Trust me, you don’t want him to tell you anything because there’s going to be nothing he can tell. Babs is one of the scariest people we know, and ever since Alfred…” His smile flickered off and then on again. “The scariest person we know,” He corrected.
“That’s true,” Neal agreed. “I’d take Fowler over Mom any day.”
Peter stared at him in disbelief.
“Okay, can we park that and talk about more important stuff?” Diana asked. “What the hell just happened, and why didn’t we know Neal had a family?”
“Because Neal here ran away from home,” Tim said. “Changed his identity and then decided to become an art forger.” He raised an eyebrow. “You know, Damian saw the alert and said he was going to be here in, what? Under a day?”
“Seriously?” Neal demanded.
“Seriously,” Tim said. “But don’t worry. He’s probably the only one who doesn’t want to have fun at your expense.”
“Still confused over here,” Jones muttered, backing Diana up.
“Right, right,” Tim said, and his business smile was back on his face though it was tinged with genuine amusement. “I never did introduce myself, did I? My name is Timothy Drake-Wayne - I prefer Tim, of course - and I’m this rascal’s third youngest uncle.”
“You could’ve just said second oldest,” Neal said and then sighed. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag, isn’t it?”
Peter crossed his arms and stared piercingly.
“Oh, he has the look,” Tim said and whistled. “No wonder you’re working so well here.”
Jones snorted. “He’s got you pegged.”
“I did see him grow up,” Tim said. “Even took him to his first suit fitting because his dad’s sense of fashion is abysmal, and I, at least, had to learn for the job.”
“The youngest CEO of Wayne Industries, right?” Diana asked.
“Not anymore,” Tim said. “But at the time, yes.”
“Suit fitting, huh?” Peter asked. “No wonder he likes the expensive stuff.”
Tim chuckled. “It’s understandable,” He said. “He grew up with Bruce spoiling him. He was the first grandchild.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know it was more my winning personality than my being the first,” He said.
Tim smirked. “Whatever lets you sleep at night, kid.”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” Neal reminded him.
Tim just shook his head.
“Who’s your father?” Jones asked.
Peter inhaled sharply. “Richard Grayson,” He said.
“That was fast,” Tim said, looking impressed.
Peter huffed in disbelief. “You said your dad was a crooked cop,” He repeated incredulously. “GCPD has him as the cleanest law enforcement official in the city!”
Tim burst out laughing. “‘Crooked’?” He repeated amidst breaths. “Hell, Jason’s going to have a field day!”
“It’s not like it’s saying much,” Neal protested. “Clean is relative in Gotham. No one’s clean!”
“That’s actually true,” Tim agreed, his chuckles dying away. “And no one’s pure black, either, other than a particular clown.” His smile sharpened. “But he’s Gotham’s business. Let’s just say there’s no need to worry about him.”
“... Right,” Peter said slowly. “I guess nothing you’ve told us about yourself was real, then?”
Neal winced. “Most of it is,” He said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Just… not about my family.”
“Because you were running from them,” Jones added.
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Diana asked.
For a second, Neal closed his eyes, memories flashing, shots ringing. Then he opened them again and started to speak, only to be cut off.
Tim cleared his throat. “It’s a long story. We don’t exactly blame him for that, obviously. We’re mostly just pissed he hasn’t kept in touch.”
Neal rolled his eyes, though the relief in his shoulders was obvious. “More like I’d have everyone descended upon me if I did. I did not need you guys coming in and ruining my operations.”
“Ah,” Tim said knowingly. “The Art forgeries.”
Peter stiffened, eyes darting from Neal to Tim and back again.
But Tim shook his head. “Isn’t it just terrible that we have to buy your art at an auction, kid? Though B certainly did that every time it popped up within our radar.”
Neal’s eyes widened. So did everyone else’s.
“Wait, what?” Neal asked, and he did not squeak. Thank you very much.
“What, you don’t think we can recognize our own nephew’s work?” Tim asked. “I’m affronted!”
Neal recovered at record speed. “... It was Uncle Damian, wasn’t it?” He asked.
Tim huffed. “Yeah, well. He’s the one who taught it to you, after all.”
“Good point,” Neal said.
“So you didn’t learn by yourself?” Jones asked, just to be clear.
“Eh,” Neal said. “More or less. “Uncle Dami was more inclined to appreciation than the teaching side. Beyond the basics which he did make me practice, what, ten million times?”
Tim laughed. “Probably the reason why none of the other kids ever showed an interest in art. Or sword fighting. Or–”
“Yeah, we get it,” Neal said.
“No, no,” Peter said. “Please, tell me about the sword fighting .”
Tim frowned. “Why?” He asked. “Neal was almost more interested in the gun side.” He winced. “Though, well, not anymore, I guess.” He sighed. “Sorry, kid.” He walked over and pulled Neal into a hug. To the surprise of every FBI agent, he practically melted into the hold, his hands snaking out to curl around the older man’s back.
“It’s okay,” Neal told him softly. “I’ve used guns since.”
“... Yeah,” Peter said from the side, a little less forceful. “He’s pretty good at it, too.”
Neal grinned as he stepped back. “I did learn from the best.”
Tim looked mildly amused. “He’s coming here, too, by the way,” He said.
Neal sighed. “So it really is everyone, then,” He said.
Tim pursed his lips. “Not yet,” He said. “But most of us.”
“Waynes in New York,” Diana muttered. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you know Neal,” Peter said. “Okay,” He said. “Want to take the rest of the day off, Caffrey?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or should I call you Grayson?”
“Caffrey’s fine,” He said and inclined his head. “I’d like the day, thanks.”
Peter smiled. “Need company?”
“Oh, I’m going to have lots of those,” Neal murmured. “But moral support might actually be nice.”
“And I get to meet the family you didn’t tell me about,” Peter said.
“Is it too late to change my mind?”