Disclaimer: Sadly none of this is owned by me.

This is unedited, so please let me know about any errors that may be.

"Neal, what the hell have you been doing in here? June is going to lose it." Peter said as he stood in the living room and turned around. Every inch of clear wall, was now no longer painted cream. "I got bored, not being allowed to leave the house, and being left with no artist supplies I got creative. June knows anyway. She passed on the felt tip pens to me. Since you weren't cooperating." Neal replies as he steps out of the terrace and looks at the drawings on the walls. "I was on holiday, so sue me." Peter says as he walks next to the walls and looks at the scenes that Neal has drawn across the wall.

"It's my life." Neal says as he sits at the table and watches Peter learn about Neal all over again. There was so much emotion in these simple images. He recognises everyone in these drawings, Neal from baby to man, his family, and the few friends he's kept growing up. There's one there of June and her family and Peter, pauses and smiles at the drawing of him, Elizabeth and Satchmo. Neal comes up behind him, hands tucked in his pockets.

"The only way I can hold memories is in pictures. I draw and paint and create. Then they're there, for when I don't remember anything." Neal admits, his throat constricting. Peter takes a breath and turns back to him, pulling him into a hug.

"There's no need to worry about anything like that yet." Peter says gently pulling the younger man away and eyeing him cautiously. "The doctors think it's probably caught early enough, that it can be treated and you'll get better." Peter said but Neal just looked to the floor and sighed.

"Yeah and what if they're wrong, I'm not wasting what I remember. I'm getting it down, while I can." He says and Peter sighs, sadly and turns to the holdall he brought with him. He rummages around it for a few moments and then pulls out a pad and a pack of pencils. "Show me." Peter says putting them on the table and Neal looks at him and then at the pencils. He takes a few hesitant steps and sits at the table, pulling the paper and utensils towards him.

He opens it all carefully and watches as Peter sits next to him and then he closes his eyes, for a few seconds and when he opens then, he starts drawing. He spends the next two days, drawing everything his mind can think of. He goes through every inch of paper that Peter brought with him and then some.

Neal finally collapses into sleep, leaving Peter the job to clean up. He takes every piece of paper and sticks them to every available surface around the flat. Every door and cupboard has a memory attached to it now. They just have to hope, this will help Neal deal with it, so that everyone else can help him.

A/N: Thanks for reading.

Hope you enjoyed, if you're interested in becoming a beta, I'm looking for one for a folder of stories I've got written.