#and peter burke needs a hug

[aragarna]

You're free. You're free. - White Collar rewatch (148/?) 6x06 Au Revoir

[thesymphonytrue]

24. “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” for Neal and Peter

Okay this turned into a full FIC??? lol. I may clean it up later (this is a super rough draft I literally wrote in a half hour 😅) and post it to AO3 if you all think it's worth it?? (Maybe the other prompts too honestly? ) lol it's similar to another fic I've posted but........can't have enough, right?

Also, season 1 spoilers and finale spoilers!!

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

Peter woke to clanging resonating up his townhome stairs into his ears, shaking his brain sufficiently enough to warrant getting out of bed. Grumbling to himself, he shuffled downstairs to find Neal kneeling on the kitchen counter, arms stretched up and his hand elbow deep into their top cabinets.

Peter sighed and ran a hand down his face. Since Kate’s plane had blown up two days before, Neal had stayed with Peter and Elizabeth. The authorities (authorities with more control over Neal than Peter, unfortunately) deliberated as to when (not if) to send Neal back to prison and demanded Neal be under twenty-four hour surveillance until Neal's re-admittance date (which happened to be tomorrow).

Not that Peter would want Neal un-supervised right now, anyway. The kid had drunk himself into oblivion both nights, crashing onto the Burke’s couch in a heap of fitful laughter and mutterings of Van Gogh and Picasso. Peter longed to take Neal into his arms and try to heal his wounds, but the words got caught in his throat and his hands grew stiff if he tried to reach out to Neal. The past two evenings had ended with Peter tossing a blanket over Neal, watching him sleep for a few moments, and then collapsing into his own bed with Elizabeth with exhaustion.

“Neal,” Peter said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms as he took a stance in the kitchen.

“Goodmorning, Peter!” Neal said chipperly, “I have coffee brewing!”

Peter sniffed, sure enough, Neal did have an excellent roast wafting through the air--along with the distinct scent of suppressing emotions, like grief.

“Whatcha need up there?” Peter asked suspiciously.

“Ahhh…got it!” Neal leapt off the counter and waltzed over to his already-steaming cup of coffee.

In his hand gleamed a clear bottle of…

“Vodka?” Peter sputtered, eyes widening as he reached to snatch the bottle from Neal.

Since when was Neal his teenage son with an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex?!

Neal’s eyes slid to Peter as he raised the bottle out of Peter’s grasp, plucked off the cap, and poured at least a half cup into his coffee.

Peter let out a growl as he managed to grab the vodka bottle and place his hand flat over the coffee mug to prevent Neal from picking it up.

“Peter!” Neal whined.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

“In Paris, it’s noon.”

“Still not an appropriate time to have vodka.”

“But—”

Peter slid the mug to the sink and dumped its contents.

Silence.

The hum of the fridge.

Neal’s breathing, in and out.

Kate's plane exploding again and again and again. Ears ringing, heat suffocating, Neal's cries....

Neal turned to look out the window to the patio, the back of his head displaying a rather wild patch of bedhead. It dawned on Peter that he’d never seen Neal so disheveled. In a t-shirt and pajama pants, Neal’s normally perfect hair was untamed, his shoulders slouched.

Peter stepped forward quietly, taking a glance at Neal’s face: dark bags tainted his perfect skin, his blue eyes bloodshot.

“Neal?” Peter said softly.

The silence continued and Peter almost turned away to put the vodka in his high-security safe when Neal whispered:

“She’s gone, Peter.”

Peter’s heart clenched.

Oh Neal.

He set the vodka on the counter and placed a hand on Neal’s shoulder.

“I know,” Peter said, giving Neal’s shoulder a squeeze, “I’m so sorry.”

Neal’s face crumbled, tears tumbling down his cheeks, all of his suppressed emotions giving way to a raw, hurting human.

“Let it out, Neal,” Peter said, enveloping Neal into a hug, "It's alright."

“I wish she was still here,” Neal said, hot tears spilling onto Peter’s neck.

“I know,” Peter repeated, unsure what to say, but continued to hold Neal tightly as Neal's shoulders shook from crying.

“At least you’re still here.”

The words Neal spoke were so inaudible that Peter knew they were not meant for his ears, but his heart still shattered on to the kitchen floor. He kept his arms around Neal, hoping that his wordless communication would be enough.

I’ll always be here for you.

~~~~~~~~

Years later, Post-Finale

Peter tore out of his bed, his shirt was soaked with sweat, mind running in circles tight enough to choke his heart. El slept soundlessly next to him (cuddling with her pregnancy pillow, not Peter) so Peter tiptoed downstairs and began to brew a cup of coffee.

Everywhere Peter looked, Neal stared back at him. Neal sat on the couch, grinning wildly. Neal was throwing his rubber-band ball in the office. Neal flipped his hat at Peter’s front door. Neal laughed as he and Elizabeth ate dinner.

Those intelligent, bright eyes, his handsome smile, the way he made Peter crazy and so fulfilled all at the same time.

Peter’s eyes burned as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push Neal’s face from his mind.

Please, leave me alone. Peter pleaded, suddenly willing to do anything to just erase the memory of Neal, to dull the pain.

In a mad frenzy, Peter climbed onto the counter and reached into the highest cabinet, pulling out a bottle of vodka. He opened the bottle and proceeded to combine the vodka with his coffee, humming to himself as he murmured:

“Just to take the edge off…”

He was going to be a father in a few weeks, he couldn’t be still dealing with this greif—-

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

Startled at the smooth male voice, Peter looked up.

There was Neal, alive, in his kitchen, dressed impeccably in a beautiful suit and Devore fedora. His eyes were glittering, his skin rosy, his chest rising and falling with life.

Peter shook his head, trying to shake the vision.

“You’re not real,” Peter said, blinking his eyes to try and banish Neal.

He opened his eyes and Neal was still there, pouring his vodka-filled coffee cup into the sink.

“Hey!” Peter exclaimed, “It's noon in Paris! You’re in my head, you can’t just—”

Neal's face flickered at the word Paris, a shadow passing as his smile faded.

“Peter,” Neal said softly, his eyes growing melancholy.

“I know,” Peter whispered, “I have to be strong. For El, for…our son.”

Neal nodded and reached a hand to Peter, then retracted it.

“You’re allowed to break down, Peter,” Neal said gently, “But you have to let me go.”

Peter’s eyes filled to the brim, overflowing with hot anger.

“I can’t just let you go! You–you–-were—are– a part of me!” Peter said, slamming a hand against his own chest over his heart, “I—I loved you!”

Sobs overtook Peter’s body as he braced himself against the kitchen counter, the months of holding back his sorrow over Neal’s death finally pouring out.

A slender hand found Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned and pulled Neal into him, Peter didn’t care if this was his grief-ridden mind hallucinating, he was going to hold on to Neal as long as he—

And in an instant, Neal was gone. Peter was on kitchen the floor, hugging himself.

Peter’s heart ached, his body throbbed with the absence of Neal…

But he had a job to do, a husband to be, and father to become.

He took the vodka and dumped it down the sink.

It was time to move on.

~~~~~~

Post-Canon

Peter and Neal stumbled into the kitchen, sides aching from laughter, eyes puffy from tears.

“Boys!” Elizabeth hissed from the living room, “Keep it down! Sleeping baby upstairs!”

They both quieted their giggles as they prowled the kitchen cabinets, searching for something to toast their recent reunion with. Peter had arrived in New York around 3 am, Neal in tow, and they spent the first half-hour at the Burke’s home just staring at Peter's baby son sleeping in his crib. The second half hour was dedicated to a lecture from Elizabeth on Neal’s foolishness. The last two hours were Peter and Neal, sitting on the couch, talking and talking and talking until their throats were dry and all the tears had turned into laughter.

Peter had found Neal, after that year of absolute hell. Neal was alive and here, living and breathing in his townhome once more.

“Let’s just make coffee,” Peter said, “It’s almost six am. God. I’m going to feel like shit today.”

Peter started the coffee. Neal balked.

“No! You cannot welcome me back to New York with coffee–as much as I adore it. Where’s that Bordeaux I sent you last week?”

“Oh, Elizabeth and I drank that immediately.”

“So much for delayed gratification,” Neal snorted.

Peter glared.

“You’ve been dead for a year, I think my skills in delayed gratification are—”

“Okay okay, fair enough,” Neal said quietly, guiltily, the mood dampening.

“I’m pouring us coffee,” Peter stated, grabbing two mugs from a lower shelf.

“How about this?” Neal chirped as he clambered up on the counter and found the vodka bottle (a new one) on the top shelf.

Peter rolled his eyes, but grinned nonetheless.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning—” Peter started.

“...You’re not having vodka,” Neal finished softly, as if he’d said the words before, too, as if Peter’s vision had been real after all.

Peter met Neal’s eyes. He was angry, so angry he could punch Neal for what he’d put him through. But he also was so grateful that Neal was alive, he felt he could vomit right there on the kitchen floor.

“Damn it, Neal,” Peter whispered wetly, unscrewing the cap and pouring a drop in two coffee cups, then filling them with steaming coffee.

“You’re alive,” Peter said, raising his mug to Neal.

Neal swallowed and looked away, unable to meet Peter’s stare.

“Neal,” Peter pressed gently, placing a firm hand on Neal’s shoulder, “I’m glad you’re home.”

A tiny smile cracked through Neal’s lips as those blue eyes grew misty. They clinked mugs and took a sip.

“Me too, Peter, me too.”

Okay, I know it's rough and needs some nice language and descriptions to polish it off...but....I kinda see fic potential? maybe?

THANKS ANON FOR THE PROMPT!!!! :):):)

[sunwarmed-ash]

23 for the number WIP game 😚

WHOOHOO! HALFWAY DOWN LET'S SEE WHAT WE GOT HERE!!!

oooooooooooooooo White Collar, the angsty A/B/O rewrite 😈

TW: mentions of child abuse/gun violence

“You know, youve never told me why you hate guns.” “Peter, please don't push this.” “What! Why not!” Peter chuckles, not picking up on the not so subtle clues.  In a frustrated huff, Neal stands up and yanks the front of his pants down, exposing the long healed burn mark just above his pelvis in the shape of a guns muzzle.  Peter’s mouth drops open and its more than a little obvious Peter wants to ask more questions about it. Neal doesn’t really want to answer them.  “Could you have a lousier poker face? Jesus Peter, just ask.” “Who-” Peter starts before he has the good sense to stop it. Because honestly, its none of his business.  “My father. After he caught me making out with my best friend. Said he wanted me to think about what he could do to me if I ever thought about letting a boy touch me again.” Peter’s mouth drops impossibly more open in shock. His eyes beg Neal’s lips to tell him he’s kidding.  Neal really wished he was.  “Neal…” Neal stiffens.  “There. Aren’t you happy you know agent Burke? I sure am.” Neal snaps before walking out of the van and home.  - He should have expected Peter to show up not even a full two hours after their fight. Neal could smell his guilty sweat the second he entered the building.  He’s on his second glass of Merlot. Loose enough to forget how shitty their morning interaction was but not nearly drunk enough to block out this uncomfortable, impending conversation.  Neal sets his glass on the table before answering the door.  “I’m a complete jackass.” Peter’s hands are up and he’s tumbling through an apology before Neal can say anything.  “Good start,” Neal agrees, opening the door another inch and turning back towards his apartment.  “Neal,” Peter follows him into the apartment, “I’m so sorry-” Neal’s hand is up, stopping him before he can continue.  “Don't say you're sorry. Unless you're apologizing for your behavior. I don’t need your pity. It was a long time ago.” Peter nods his agreement.  “It was your news to tell, and I shouldn't have pushed you.” “You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” “Let me make it up to you.” “Not sure you can.” “Please, let me try?” “Alright. What do you got?” Peter smiles, looking a little relieved as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out three tickets, though to what Neal can’t tell. At least until he turns the tickets over. They were for the White Bored exhibit.  “I know you wanted to go to this a while ago and I was a hard ass about it. Well, they are having another showing in Jersey, I thought maybe we could go. You, me, and El-” Before Peter can finish his offer Neal is running to him, wrapping him up in a tight hug.  “Okay, you're forgiven,” Neal says into Peter’s neck. The older man chuckles warmly. 

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Return to the Shadows of Gotham

by Youikina Neal Caffrey, a clone of Damian Wayne, finds his world turned upside down when he runs into people he wasn't expecting on an assignment. This is why he hates working with organized crime! Words: 7461, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Tim Drake (DCU), Jason Todd Additional Tags: Young Neal Caffrey, Neal Caffrey is a Batfamily Member, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Neal Caffrey Gets a Hug, Clones, from my brain to you, no beta we die like jason todd via https://ift.tt/OogivKL

[xxatlasxx]

Ok so the whole neal never makes original art because he basically doesn't value himself or thinks he's worthy of it thing got me thinking about Peter calling Neal over late one night. Telling him it's off the books case and he needs Neal's artistic abilities so bring his sketch book and supplies. Only for neal to show up and walk into a room he didn't know existed in the burke residence to find El in a silk robe on a single chair, carefully lit.

"paint me like one of your French girls" Elizabeth barely gets out with a straight face.

Neal is clearly confused.

"no, actually, I'm serious. Make me into an original Neal Caffrey master piece. Made from your own desire, you're own character." She says.

"we want to help you Neal, help you find your worth." Peter says, grabbing a chair next to an easel while pointing to it.

And he does it and it's beautiful. There's crying, hugging definitely kissing... Lots of coddling Neal too.

[ao3feed-sladedick]

Asleep

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/mjOHXug by Sosi_here Dick has been undercover as Neal Caffrey for almost two years now. When he finds himself doing an undercover operation on about six hours of sleep in the last four days to find a stolen Vermeer, and gets interrupted. Multiple times. Not all of them welcomed and most quite rudely accompanied by breaking windows. Or, How the League of Assassins crashed Dick's accidental date that wasn't actually meant to be a date. Words: 5594, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: White Collar (TV 2009), Nightwing (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Peter Burke, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson Additional Tags: Neal Caffrey and Dick Grayson are the Same Person, Identity Reveal, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Literal Sleeping Together, The Bats need to sleep more, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, The romance of cooking for someone, Unspoken Promises, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Fights, Confused Peter Burke, Jason Todd Being a Little Shit, He's barely in this but when he is he is a menace, no beta we die like jason todd read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/mjOHXug

[a-taupe-fox]

Sub Frenzy (pt. 6)

Intro Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 The arc where PETER FINDS OUT.

- Peter finds out during the episode when Neal gets drugged to fuck. [EP 10] Peter steals the security tape, and brings Neal back to the Burke house, and like, on the ride over, Neal kinda keeps talking about El? Like, that he hopes she won’t mind that he’s there, and like, all this stuff, and Peter is like ‘...do I need to be worried here, buddy?’ and Neal gets SO OFFENDED like ‘I would NEVER DO ANYTHING to try and break up your marriage, you love her so much, she deserves that, what in the world is fucking wrong with you????????’

and Peter is amused by this and also like ‘Correct, my wife IS perfect and I DO love her more than anything else in the world’. and then he kinda gives Neal the eyeball  and is like ‘So don’t be any more obnoxious to her than you absolutely have to be, do you understand?’

and Neal kinda gets a little bit weird at that, but like, whatever, by that time, they’re at the house, so Peter takes Neal in.

El is home though, and so like, they get inside, and she’s like, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED, and Neal, ENTIRELY OFF HIS FUCKING FACE, is just like ‘Nithdem El!!!’, and then stumbles over, kinda trips over himself, and ends up like, on his knees at her feet, and is just like ‘Yeah, okay, whatever, this is fine’, and leans over to kiss her shoes, and then hugs her leg.

and El is ABSOLUTELY HORRIFIED, because Neal just did something he can never fucking take back and there is NO switch explanation for that, let alone trying to pretend it’s the behaviour of a fucking DOM.

and Peter is just like. WHAT. THE FUCK. IS GOING ON.

and so, his first response is like, kinda sharp, and he’s like. ‘HOW IS NEAL A FUCKING SUB’, which of course makes Neal freeze up, and then kinda realise what’s happening, but, by this point, El knows him well enough to be able to tell when he’s about to lose his shit, so she’s just like. ‘Peter, be QUIET.’, and then like, lifts Neal up off the ground, and like, walks him through getting out of his like, shoes and jacket and tie and stuff, and then she sits on the couch and has him sit on her lap, and close his eyes, and his head is against her heart, and they breathe for a bit, and she gets him to like, drink some water and shit and then she’s like ‘I want you to sing for me, okay honey?’

and Peter is like ‘Are you sure about that?’ because of hospital antics, but El just glares at him, but Neal just like, starts up his little soft singing that he does, and El pets his hair and tells him that he’s doing it perfectly, and then after not very long he pases out.

She knows if she leaves while he’s sleeping, he’ll spiral so she’s like, ‘okay Peter, come over here and let’s discuss this.’

so then they kind of go over everything, and like, El explains how it all started, and like, the cover story of brunch where she was helping a friend, and Neal’s fear, and her promise not to tell Peter, etc.

and Peter is like, ‘How the fuck did you figure it out, and HOW THE FUCK DID I MISS THIS’, and then she’s explains her theory, that Neal was focusing so much on performing for Peter, that he lost track of her, and Peter agrees that probably does make sense, but still, how did she know?

and El is like, ‘Peter. Remember how this all started? He lost his Dom and then proceeded to do CRAZY SHIT? and then she reframes like, breaking out of prison, daring Peter to come talk to him about a deal, fucking BREAKING IN TO THEIR HOUSE (or - at least, planning to, but El was up and let him in), and then the whole breaking into the warehouse so they could catch the Dutchman thing, and she’s about to continue, and Peter is like.

‘Oh, fuck. Neal was in fucking Sub Frenzy.’, and El kinda gives him a face, like ‘YUP’, and then Peter gets this kind of awful look, and he’s like. … ‘Neal was in sub frenzy the first time I caught him, too.’

and then he has this HORRIFYING realisation that he has accidentally and unknowingly fucking COLLARED NEAL.

and El is like. ‘Uh, EXCUSE YOU????’ BY WHAT METRIC?????????’, and Peter kinda looks fucking sick with himself about it and is just like.

I LOCK HIM INTO AN ANKLET., and he thinks about how fucking intense he is, every single time, how CONSTANTLY he says shit, like ‘Yep, that’s right, I have the fucking key, and you can’t get out’, and ‘I am the only person who can take this off of you’, and ‘I have control over your entire life’, and shit like that, and he turns to El, and he’s like ‘Look, there are REASONS why it isn’t fucking legal to have Subs on fucking GPS monitering.’

and El is like. ‘Guess we’ll just have to deal with the fallout of that, because it sure as shit isn’t like we’re going to fucking let ANYONE know that he’s a sub.

and Peter gets a look on his face for like. HALF A SECOND that maybe he’s gonna disagree with her on this, and she just raises a fucking eyebrow, and doesn’t even start to open her mouth to fucking argue him down when Peter just. Thinks about what would happen to Neal if anyone were to find out he’s a sub, and is just like. ‘Fuck. Yeah. Okay. You’re right.’

and then he just kinda fucking stares at Neal and is like. ‘He is SO lucky I like him, because he causes SO MUCH TROUBLE’, and El just kind of laughs, and is like.

‘Honey, Please. You married me. If he wasn’t trouble, you would not like him half so much.’

And Peter just kinda sighs, because IT IS TRUE, and El is ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.

Previous - Part 5 Next - Part 7

[aragarna]

White Collar rewatch (104/?) 4x01 Wanted

[stan-of-many]

Reblog to give Neal Caffrey a hug that he so desperately needs.

[oeldeservesthenorris]

Inside the Avalanche’s Cup celebration: ‘All these champions skating around’

From The Athletic

TAMPA, Fla. — Standing on the ice at Amalie Arena, soaking in sweat and tears and the emotions that come with reaching hockey’s peak, Gabriel Landeskog harkened back to his draft day, back to when he was a clean-shaven kid with a full NHL career ahead of him. He told reporters at the time that he had a photo of Peter Forsberg and the 2001 Avalanche Stanley Cup team hanging from his bedroom wall in Stockholm. His goal — his dream — was to be in a picture like that one day.

On Sunday night, he got his wish.

After Colorado’s 2-1 victory in Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Final, Landeskog looked around him, surveying his jubilant teammates.

“I’m just so happy to see all these champions skating around,” he said.

As captain, Landeskog was the first to hoist the Stanley Cup. And as much as he’d longed to touch the trophy, he couldn’t wait to give it away. He’d made a promise during harder times — before Cale Makar and Presidents’ Trophy contention — to teammate Erik Johnson, his close friend and the longest-tenured Avalanche player. Be ready, he had said. Because whatever day the Avalanche won the Stanley Cup, he’d hand Johnson the trophy first.

“If that doesn’t give you motivation, I don’t know what does,” Johnson said. “Who would’ve thought? Five years ago, dead last in the NHL. Now we’re Stanley Cup champions.”

As the final horn sounded, Johnson and Nathan MacKinnon met, tackling each other away from the rest of the main group. They rolled around, embracing one another. Both were on the 2016-17 team that had one of the worst seasons of the NHL’s salary-cap era, logging only 48 points in the standings — more than 20 worse than the next-closest team. And in the post-win celebration, the remaining players from that roster — Landeskog, Johnson, MacKinnon, Mikko Rantanen and J.T. Compher — gathered for a picture near center ice, finally as victorious as could be.

“It’s special no matter how you win this thing,” Compher said. “But in the few years since that season, seeing all the work that’s gone in…”

MacKinnon, who scored the game-tying goal in the second period Sunday, found his parents, Graham and Kathy, as soon as they walked onto the ice. He cried in his dad’s arms. “I kind of get flashbacks to my whole childhood, my whole life,” said the center, who finished second to Makar in Conn Smythe Trophy voting. “It feels amazing.”

Nathan MacKinnon lifts the Stanley Cup. (Geoff Burke / USA Today)

Makar, the defenseman who moves the puck like a yo-yo and skates like a gazelle, completed a rare combo with the Norris Trophy and Conn Smythe this season. And he had help: His mom, Laura, had ditched her lucky outfit after the Avalanche’s Game 5 loss, and she ate kale salads ahead of games 4 and 6, both Colorado victories. A mother’s touch works wonders.

Laura wasn’t alone in attendance. Cale’s dad, Gary, was there, too, as well as Taylor, Cale’s younger brother and a 2021 Avalanche seventh-round draft pick.

“Growing up, playing mini-sticks when we were little kids, getting in fights, stuff like that,” Taylor said. “It’s everything he’s always wanted, what our family has wanted.”

Around the ice, players FaceTimed with loved ones who couldn’t make the trip. Andre Burakovsky shared a moment on the phone with his dad, Robert, and Bowen Byram grinned into a screen at his sister, Jamie. “I’ll drink your share of the beer,” their dad, Shawn, joked.

Johnson accidentally knocked Sportsnet contributor Ken Wiebe’s recorder out of his hands while reaching for a family member’s phone. He apologized as Wiebe jokingly called for a two-minute roughing penalty.

Darren Helm cried while holding his daughter. Makar stood arm-in-arm with Devon Toews, his defensive partner. Andrew Cogliano’s mom pulled Jack Johnson in for a hug. Erik Johnson said he needed a beer. (And there was plenty to come later in the evening.)

There was Nazem Kadri, his thumb still bandaged. He broke it in multiple places but found a way to turn a six-week recovery into two. Burakovsky battled through a broken ankle to play the first two Stanley Cup Final games but was finally kept out by a thumb injury. Cogliano, who has played 1,140 regular-season games, waiting and hoping for this moment, played with pins in his broken middle finger. Worth it?

“Fuckin’ right,” he said.

To reach their goal, the Avalanche had to knock off the two-time-defending Cup champion Tampa Bay Lightning. And after taking the lead in the second period, Colorado executed a clinical third, limiting Tampa Bay to only two shots on goal and generating a plethora of scoring chances the other way. With a clear at the final horn, the game ended. The Avalanche had won.

“We went out there and probably played one of the most perfect clinching third periods in the history of hockey,” Byram said.

Added goalie Darcy Kuemper, who finished the night with 22 saves: “That was some of the best hockey I’ve ever watched. To have the Cup on the line and come out like we did and not give up everything, it was a special effort.”

General manager Joe Sakic, the team’s architect, posed for pictures with his family, and he said hello to Toews’ parents, Werner and Tammy, who thanked him for taking on a chance on their son in a 2020 trade from the New York Islanders. It’s a deal Sakic would do a million times over: He paid only two second-round picks for Toews, and the defenseman has finished 11th and eighth in Norris Trophy voting the past two years, respectively.

“I don’t know if it’s really soaked in yet,” Werner said. “It’s incredible. It’s a hard road.”

A little before 2 a.m. Eastern, the Cup left the building in the hands of a jubilant Landeskog, whose mood was perhaps buoyed by a couple of drinks. A procession of teammates walked with him, including Josh Manson, carrying an NHL championship belt over his shoulder, and Makar with Oakley goggles — champagne protection — on his forehead. “Post that on Twitter!” Byram yelled, wearing an unbuttoned shirt and suit jacket while double-fisting champagne bottles. Landeskog showed off the trophy to the media members still at the rink working, with one message to share.

“We’re taking it back to Denver!”

Valeri Nichushkin and MacKinnon were among the last to leave. Nichushkin, dealing with a suspected foot injury, got a ride from a stadium worker on a flatbed dolly usually used for transporting crates, a bottle in his left hand. MacKinnon walked behind him, laughing at his teammate, victorious at last.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Left Alone

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/90dPADm

by Taxi_Cab_To_Slowtown

Bruce makes Dick fake his death and go undercover in the FBI. No one likes that.

Day 3 "Something To Die For" : Undercover | Presumed Dead | “Where were you? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

Words: 1591, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Taxi's Batfam Week 2023, Part 30 of Taxi's White Collar/DC fics

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

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Peter Burke, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Bernard Dowd, Duke Thomas

Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Batfamily Members & Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Neal Caffrey and Dick Grayson are the Same Person, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Fakes His Death, Dick Grayson Loves His Family, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Undercover Dick Grayson, No beta we die like everyone thinks Dick did, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain, Minor Bernard Dowd/Tim Drake

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/90dPADm

[ao3feed-jaytim]

i've run myself to the ground

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41501016 by CrystalWaters72 Jason's running on nothing but adrenaline nonstop these days. It really shouldn't have been surprising when they end up crashing. Words: 2037, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 3 of genderqueer jason and tim au Fandoms: White Collar (TV 2009), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Other Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Reese Hughes, Peter Burke Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Gonna be real, i wrote this cuz i was feeling burnt out, so it's not that good, but - Freeform, Burnout - Freeform, that should be a tag, Depression, Self-Destruction, this whole fic is about jason having self destructive behaviour, cuz he's burnt out, So yeah, Neal Caffrey and Jason Todd are the Same Person, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, POV Jason Todd, Genderfluid Jason Todd, Nonbinary Tim Drake, please tell me if i'm forgetting any tags, i'm too tired to really pay attention read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41501016

[cas-kingdom]

Bad Blood

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

Title: Bad Blood

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

Words: 2310

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have the treasure!”

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

“Peter, can we talk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thatredheadedfangirl]

I just really need peter burke to give neal caffrey a hug and maybe a kiss on the forehead like the father figure he is and tell him he's proud of him 😭