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spooky-fm · 1 year

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Phantom Thief

Ao3. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

Part 8. Neal Caffrey has a bad time

They make their way into the house, Peter following just a few steps behind El.

He can hear muffled sounds of a conversation, voices speaking in light tones, laughter. Just before they open the door, a silence falls over them, and Jones calls Neal’s name in confusion. El throws the door open, and Neal is already halfway across the room, moving away from any breakable objects on the table.

She freezes up briefly when she sees him, a small oh falling from her lips, and then she is moving forward again, hands outstretched — hugs him tightly. Neal’s hands come up to rest gently around her back. She holds him like she holds Peter every time he gets home after a dangerous op. He holds her like she is something precious, a fragile piece of art, and Peter remembers the ease with which he lifted the heavy shopping cart. There has been no difference in his movements or the way he interacted with the world, no hesitance to touch things before El hugged him. How much control did it take for Neal to make the tea without crushing the cups or to close a car door without denting it?

She leans back slightly, and he drops his arms to his sides, but she doesn’t leave the hug completely, just takes Neal’s head in her hands, places her palms under his jaw, rubs her thumbs gently across his cheeks. Smiles up at him in wonder.

He draws in a sharp breath. “Elizabeth. Hi.” His voice is a little strangled, barely above a whisper.

“Hi,” she laughs, lightly tracing one of the glowing constellations. It twinkles brightly. Neal stills, looking like a marble statue. “Is that Ursa Major?” El asks. Neal gives her the tiniest nod in response. Peter is pretty sure that he has stopped breathing. And blinking. And moving in general.

El notices that too, because she murmurs, “Breathe, Neal,” and lets him go with a light pat on his shoulder.

That seems to be enough to restart Neal’s higher brain function but not enough to activate his brain-to-mouth filter because his answer is an absent-minded ‘don’t need to’ that causes Peter’s thought process to screech to a loud halt.

“What?!” Diana’s whisper-shout breaks the spell, and Neal blushes a deep green when he remembers the rest of the room is still there, judging by a small flinch and a frantic look around the room.

“Oh, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Jones and Diana snicker like a pair of actual school children after Neal turns his face towards them, his expression still set in a confused frown, and Peter herds them all to the couch, deciding that they need something more comfortable than chairs. Neal sends him a half-panicked look, and Peter steers him towards the middle, sitting down next to him and drawing the younger man into his side.

Neal leans into him slightly, a cool weight against his body, and lets El take his hand from where she has sat down on his other side. Diana sits backwards on a chair, crossing her hands on top of its back and resting her chin on them, and Jones ruffles Neal’s hair when he passes in front of the couch to get to the armchair. Neal ducks his head to hide his grin.

“Right,” he says when everyone has found their seat and had a moment to sip on their tea. “Guess I can’t stall forever.” His body is still relaxed against Peter’s, and his eyes are sparkling again. He doesn’t react in any way when everyone turns to give him their attention. Just clears his throat and keeps talking.

“I should start by saying that I have never actually told anyone about this before. The few people that knew about me back in my old world, they either knew from the start or figured things out on their own. So this will be a first for me. But you don’t have any actual context to my, ah, species, so I’m going to need to start with the basics.”

He stares into his cup, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “I should also mention that a lot of it is things I grew up with, things that became common everyday knowledge to us, so I am not entirely sure where to even begin. I might forget to mention some things, too.”

Peter squeezes his shoulder in reassurance.

“Nobody expects you to have a perfectly structured lecture prepared for us.” He catches Neal’s eye. “Are you actually unsure where you should start, or are you afraid of our reaction to the exact nature of your species?” Peter asks with a knowing smile.

Neal ducks his head down again and huffs. “Both, really. Honestly, it would be easier to just pretend to be an alien.” He grins. “I could totally pull it off.”

“You could have, if you didn’t already confirm that you aren’t one when you were trying to melt our brains on the way here,” Diana pipes up.

“Defeated by my own hubris,” Neal sighs dramatically.

“There are several starts to the story I could choose,” he continues, “and I am not sure which one is the best to take. And, well. You might already have opinions about people like me, so I am a bit hesitant to jump into it.”

“We promised to keep an open mind, didn’t we?” Jones reminds him. “That promise is still valid. Honestly, it’s not going to expire, ever, really, but it’s especially true in this conversation.” They all nod in support.

“If you want, Caffrey, we can help you along with some questions,” offers Diana. “Like Peter said before, this isn’t an interrogation, and we are here as your friends, but we are not too bad at asking questions and figuring out complex situations. It’s kind of our job.”

“I might take you up on that offer. But, I think I should start the story with the nature of the universe and our place in it.”

He pauses to take a sip of his tea and Diana grumbles, “This is going to be another one of Caffrey’s ‘3 truths, 1 existential crisis’ games, isn’t it?”

El shoots her a curious look, but Neal starts talking again and she doesn’t interrupt.

“Right, so we don’t need to go into the physics of it too much, but there is basically an infinite number of worlds, some like ours, some completely different, some similar enough in one regard, but completely different in others. Some of the similar ones run on a different time frame, their passage of time slower or faster than others.”

He says these things like they are the most obvious facts, like someone explaining the existence of gravity and the Sun to a preschooler. Peter thinks of a world where he is a businessman, a pro baseball player, a gangster. A world where Neal shot Fowler and a world where he finished serving his first sentence and disappeared from Peter’s radar forever. A world with no Neal at all.

His hand on Neal’s shoulder tightens, and Neal leans further into him, providing silent comfort. He looks like he understands what Peter is thinking about.

“All of these worlds are connected to this … place, let’s call it. A world between all other worlds. Its inhabitants usually call this place ‘The Infinite Realms’, for obvious reasons. It’s pretty much infinite, and it’s not uniform, but has some vaguely distinct areas that keep somewhat stable. They can work a bit like our countries, to an extent, even have their own communities and civilizations. Some of them interact, some don’t. Most of them move around in the Realms, in migratory patterns or just because they feel like going somewhere new. I’m not going to go into details unless you want a ten-hour lecture on quantum physics and my theories on semi-sentient planes of existence.”

They stare at him. “Neal,” Diana whispers. “When in the world did you become a theoretical physicist?”

It’s clearly rhetorical, but Neal grins and answers anyway, “Pretty much at birth really. My parents were very dedicated scientists, and very enthusiastic. They also had no real understanding of what constitutes child-appropriate reading material, so I learned to read from college textbooks and built a working model of a space shuttle for an elementary school science fair, complete with rocket thrusters and analysis probes. My sister and I used it to check our neighbors’ roofs for holes and bird nests.”

Before any of them can ask questions about that goldmine of information, Neal gets back to his explanation.

“So, Infinite Realms. World between worlds, with its own inhabitants, people of mostly the same species, though the definition is a bit stretched and fuzzy because of the variety of different modes of existence. But everyone has some version of the base makeup and the same vital component. It’s a, let’s call it substance, though it can be a material, a wave, solid or liquid, and any number of other states of matter. It’s pretty much what the Infinite Realms are made of.” He takes a deep breath, suddenly tense. “In the part of the Realms I most commonly interacted with, this substance was called ectoplasm.”

The word seems familiar to Peter, something he’s heard before, maybe in a film or read in a book. It was definitely fiction, not a physics textbook or a scientific journal.

Jones makes the connection first. “Like the stuff ghosts are made of?” He grins. “From Ghostbusters?”

Diana snorts in amusement and exchanges a smile with El, but Neal doesn’t look like he shares their mirth. He’s even tenser than before, head hung low, shoulders slumped inwards, hands fisted in his slacks, wrinkling the expensive fabric. Trying to make himself look smaller, Peter realizes. His chest tightens anxiously.

“Yeah,” Neal’s voice cracks on the word, drops into a whisper. “Exactly like that.”

His words plunge the room into complete silence. Jones and Diana are mute with horror, mouths opening and closing, but unable to say anything. Peter feels like a bucket of ice has been dropped onto his head. His hands are too hot and too cold, head spinning. The room suddenly looks blurry. His limbs refuse to move.

They are brought out of their shocked stupor by El, who sniffles and whispers ‘oh, sweetheart’ in a voice full of emotion.

Diana finds her voice next, eyes still wide. “You are a ghost?!”

Neal seems to shrink even further into himself. His eyes are squeezed shut and the freckles are so dim they are almost invisible on his skin. “Half-ghost, yeah. Not all the way yet.”

He is shaking, Peter finally notices, violent tremors running through his whole body. That just won’t do. Peter can have his moment later, when his conman is not in the middle of a panic attack. He forces his chest to expand, orders his arms to unfreeze, and puts his free arm around Neal’s front. Then, with some effort, he draws the man into his lap, so that his face is nestled in the crook of Peter’s neck. It’s a good thing Neal is shorter than him, especially in his upper body, or it would have looked a bit ridiculous.

The sudden change in position startles Neal, and his eyes fly open in surprise, dry but slightly glassy with shock. His hands snake instinctively around Peter’s back. When Peter looks down at him, Neal avoids his gaze, closes his eyes again and hides his face in Peter’s shoulder. Peter accepts the unspoken request and leans his cheek against Neal’s temple, puts his arms on the other man’s back, and lets him breathe through the panic.

Then he realizes that Neal’s chest isn’t moving and almost slaps himself for his lack of situational awareness.

“Hey, Neal,” he says casually but quietly, mindful of the sensitive ear right next to his mouth. “I know you said you don’t need to breathe, but could you do that for me anyway?” Small nod against his shoulder and Neal’s chest expands slowly. “That’s it, you are doing great.” His own breathing is still a bit erratic, and he quickly surveys the room. El is crying silently, one hand pressed against her mouth, the other on Neal’s thigh, rubbing small circles into it. Jones is still mostly frozen, gaze locked onto Neal’s form, barely blinking, like the man is about to disappear. Diana’s mouth is set into a grim line, eyes somehow full of anger and sadness. She is breathing in a careful pattern — her favorite meditation technique, Peter recalls. Bingo. He catches her eyes and mouths keep going. She frowns in confusion but obediently doesn’t change anything about her actions.

“Good job, Neal. Thank you. Now, I’m not the best role model here, but can you hear Diana breathing?” Peter speaks evenly and keeps his eye contact with Diana. He is relieved when understanding shines in her eyes, and she just keeps breathing in the same pattern, slightly over-exaggerating it. Peter smiles in approval.

There is another nod against his shoulder. Peter’s smile widens.

“That’s great. Let’s both try to match her, can you do that for me?” Ok, he is starting to sound like a broken record — time to dial it down a bit. Neal nods anyway, and dutifully follows Diana and Peter’s now synched breathing. El and Jones soon join in, though it seems that Jones is not entirely aware of his actions.

Slowly, the atmosphere in the room lightens. El wipes her face with a tissue, Jones blinks back to reality, and the shadows in Diana’s eyes recede into the background. Peter shifts in his seat, and moves Neal — who seems a bit too light for an adult man of his build — into a more comfortable position. His CI doesn’t resist, doesn’t make any attempt to move at all, really.

For the second time in the same day Peter has his arms full of slumped conman, with a consistency slightly above that of jelly. He rubs a hand across Neal’s upper back, cards his fingers through the strands of white hair. Neal sighs tiredly and relaxes further into the touch.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I think I overestimated my readiness to talk about this. Kind of thought the main freak-out was behind me.”

Peter just tightens his arms, verbal resources dried up for the time being. He’s been talking a lot about heavy emotional topics in a very short time, so it stands to reason that his tongue would check out on him sooner or later.

Thankfully his wife is a perfect angel who always knows when to step in.

“Neal, sweetheart, if you’ve never told anyone before, it’s understandable you wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing. And considering what Peter said to me before, I’m incredibly impressed you actually managed to tell us about it at all. That was very brave of you.”

Peter hums in agreement.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” Neal says softly.

Peter smiles at his wife. El’s answering smile is a little wobbly, but she winks at him when she realizes his predicament.

“It seems that Peter’s voice has checked out for now,” he sends her a light glare, but she just grins wider, “and we all could use a moment to collect ourselves, so why don’t I get us some more tea and something to nibble on. I have some absolutely divine goat cheese stuffed dates left over from work.”

Jones perks up at the mention of food and offers his help, but El waves him off. Diana looks at Peter in concern. “Boss?”

Oh, right, they haven’t really witnessed him like this. He sends her a reassuring smile and waits for El to come back inside.

Surprisingly, it’s Neal who answers. “He’s fine, Diana.” His voice is muffled by Peter’s shoulder, but it sounds steady. “Peter’s been doing a lot of emotional heavy-lifting today, so his talking muscles need to rest for a bit. He doesn’t usually have to be the anchor of the room’s feelings for so long, and it doesn’t affect him as much when he is in his worksona, so you haven’t gotten to see him go non-verbal before.”

Jones chokes on his tea. He wheezes ‘worksona’ when his airways clear up, and Peter pokes Neal's side gently in admonishment. “Sorry, Jones,” comes from his shoulder, “didn’t see you drinking.” Peter notes with amusement that he says nothing about hearing or knowing.

“Caffrey, your metaphors are still terrible,” Diana complains.

Jones gets a hold of himself and pipes in, “Peter has been especially empathetic today. I don’t think we would have been doing so well otherwise.”

Neal snorts. “I’d be either catatonic or halfway across the galaxy already.” Peter reflexively cuts a panicked glare at Neal, who nudges him with his forehead and huffs. “I’m not going to run, relax. It’d be a bit silly to go through all this to just disappear, wouldn’t it?” He presses closer to Peter, somehow. “But also thank you, for stepping up like this.” Peter smoothes his hand across Neal’s back in response.

“Wow, you got some sort of sixth sense for Peter’s glares.” Jones is grinning, evidently delighted about their exchange.

“His heart rate spikes every time the word ‘run’ is said by me or in relation to me. Sometimes just in the same room as me. It runs like a clock.” Neal snorts. “Case in point,” he says drily. Jones snickers.

“You do realize you are the only one who can hear his heartbeat, right,” Diana reminds him.

Neal shifts like he wants to attempt a shrug, but it seems to be a bit beyond his abilities at the moment. He settles for another huff instead and, just as El comes into the room with her appetizers and a fresh pot of tea, says “Not my fault your puny human ears cannot detect your friends’ micro emotions.” His words startle a surprised laugh out of Diana. Jones seems to be making a valiant effort to drown in his teacup.

Peter sends an exasperated smile at El, who beams at him and ruffles first his, then Neal’s hair.

Peter feels a bit like a teacher in an elementary school classroom.

AN: I am maybe a bit mean to the characters. But it's ok. They get hugs.

I don't have immediate stuff written down, but there are some chapters that I already have for stuff happening down the line.

#dp x wc #danny phantom x white collar #spooky stories #phantom thief #formerly known as #unnamed dpxwc reveal fic

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