The Color of Rust

By: RavenHeart101

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: A series of one shots about a world where Neal Caffery lived next door to the Burke's his whole life that is NOT in chronological order.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, family, friendship, OC's, possible slash.

A: N – It's been bugging me.

According to the law, Peter wasn't legally a parent and neither was Elizabeth. But Neal had been coming to their house after school since he had started school and staying there until long after dinner since he was ten so Peter sometimes really felt like he was a parent. Peter helped Neal with homework and when the kid broke his arm that one time it was Peter and Elizabeth that brought him to the hospital. When they took that family vacation out to Vermont they took Neal with them.

It was just according to the law that they weren't a family.

According to the law, in fact, Neal's family lived right next door. Peter had only stepped into the house a handful of times, and he had it on good authority that Rebecca Caffrey wasn't the best mother around. One of the times Peter had to set foot inside was to call an ambulance because she had overdosed. He still wasn't sure why Neal was still living with her, but he wasn't exactly unhappy that the kid hadn't gone into foster care.

As it was, Neal was a difficult enough child without adding that into the mix, and he loved his mother very much even if there wasn't much of a mother left to love. Peter didn't know what happened on the days before Peter and Elizabeth moved in, and he didn't doubt that Rebecca loved Neal on a very primal level. But Peter wasn't sure how much love the woman could give, especially to someone who needed so much of it.

Neal wore his heart on his sleeve, even though it wasn't obvious that he did. Peter still remembered Neal's reaction when his first girlfriend broke up with him, and Peter definitely remembered what Kate's suicide had done to the poor boy. Peter didn't like to think of those days.

But Neal was better now. He was doing a lot better. He was doing good in school – great in school actually – and he had made some friends aside from that odd boy, Mozzie.

Peter was actually, dare he say it, proud.

But he knew there would be bad days. He knew he couldn't expect good days and smiles all the time. Yet, Peter did. He was surprised, to say the least, when he came home from work that day to Elizabeth standing in the kitchen with a trembling hand to her lips and a torn up piece of paper in absolute shards on the floor.

Peter knew what the paper was just by looking at the corner of it. How could he not? Neal had only been slaving over the thing for two months. He had around forty drafts until he had finished one that he was proud enough with to turn it in. It was to be his piece for a competitive art final the school was hosting that would end in an art show and a scholarship for classes over at the Art Institute.

Peter figured he knew enough about art from working with White Collar (and Neal being a huge art buff and Elizabeth being just a miniscule step down from him) to know that it was a really good piece. It was magnificent, even, and Peter had been willing to bet anything that Neal would have won that scholarship.

Which was why he was so confused upon walking into that sight that Thursday evening. "El, hon, what happened? Are you okay?" He asked slowly and stepped over the pieces to place his bag on the table.

His wife didn't look at him, though, and her lower lip trembled and her eyes shinned. It took her a long while to answer, and she bent down to gather the pieces as she did. "I'm fine, Peter." Her shaking voice told him differently, but Peter didn't press. He knew she would say more if she wanted to.

"Where's Neal?" He picked up a piece of paper before he could step on it, gently turning it over and over in his hands.

"He's outside." Elizabeth took the piece from his hand and arranged them into a neat little pile before collapsing into one of the chairs. Peter looked up and, indeed, there Neal was, staring almost wordlessly at the ground beneath his feet with his arms crossed over his chest tightly.

"What happened, El?" Peter asked again.

"It wasn't his fault." She muttered into the palms of her hands and her shoulders shook for a moment before she regained herself. She sat up a little bit straighter and ran a hand through her hair, clasping it at the top of her head for a moment and plastering on a smile for the world to see. "I'm going to go have a word with his mother."

Elizabeth and Rebecca always had words for each other. Always. There was never a time when they didn't. If Neal was upset chances were Elizabeth would go have a word with Rebecca to get the woman to fix things. As it was, Neal had a room at the Burke's house for the times it didn't work out, or for when he didn't want to go home. Most of the time Neal felt like a member of the household and Peter had caught himself for five years in a row now accidentally adding Neal to a member of the house on the tax forms.

Elizabeth walked by and patted his shoulder, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips before walking out, wiping at her cheeks as she did so. It was only then that Peter noticed the spilled coffee mug and the broken water glass on the counter. Like someone had shoved them across the surface in anger.

Neal had a lot of anger, and sometimes he was prone to act on it. It used to be a problem when he was younger that would result in him throwing things but Neal had gotten that under control for the most part. Today must have been a spectacularly horrible day for him to act out like this.

Peter resigned himself to be the one to talk to him. He was usually good with dealing with Neal's emotions, and Peter prayed the boy wouldn't start crying. Not just because Peter hated seeing him cry, but because Peter was hopeless at comforting people when they cried. More so with men than women. He at least knew how to deal with Elizabeth if she started. And he had learned, for the most part, how to deal with Neal, but still it sent a chill through his very being to see the tears glittering in the blue eyes.

Neal looked a lot like Elizabeth, oddly enough, but then again Elizabeth and Rebecca could be sisters (or possibly cousins) in their looks. His eyes were a shade darker and his hair was curlier but they looked enough alike that they were constantly mistaken for being family. Not that either of them bothered to correct the people that mistook them. Elizabeth had been added to Neal's emergency contact list long before Peter was and everyone at Neal's school's assumed that they were his aunt and uncle.

Neal was pacing but he stopped when he heard the door shut behind Peter. "Hey kiddo." Peter called out as not to startle him, though startling Neal was a difficult thing to do.

"Hey Peter." His voice didn't sound particularly rough, but Peter knew that Neal was a fantastic actor when he wanted to be.

"What's with the mess inside?" Peter was never one to dance around things, he always had to jump straight to the point.

Usually it worked and Neal would just spill. Not today apparently. "I'm sorry." Neal winced but didn't turn to look at him, standing with his back to Peter and looking out over the top of the hedges. "Can you tell Elizabeth I'm sorry and I'll clean it up in a few?"

Peter frowned. "No can do, kid. She's gone to talk with your mom." Sometimes it felt like Rebecca wasn't Neal's mom and the only way Peter could remind himself that Neal wasn't theirs was by repeating the words.

Neal flinched at the words. "Mom's not home." Sometimes Neal stumbled over the word "mom" in reference to Rebecca. Peter told himself not to pay attention to those times.

"Neal…" Peter paused and sighed. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid while he could. "What happened?"

He didn't hear anything but the wind for a long moment before Neal took in a shuddering breath and answered. "It wasn't good enough."

He shrugged casually as though that was a good enough answer. If he wasn't going to be outraged Peter surly would be. "What?" Because that drawing – that piece that Neal had done was spectacular. It was definitely above all the other shit the other students would spit out. And Peter wasn't just saying that as a fathe-neighbor. He was saying it out of complete and honest belief.

Neal laughed a little and his shoulders shook. "Actually, it was… too good."

"Too good?"

Neal nodded. "Yep. They didn't… They wouldn't put it in."

"Because… it was too good?"

"Because they think I stole it."

"Did you?" Neal used to have a habit of stealing things and Peter had seen his notebooks and had brought him to the art museum a number of times. He knew the kid liked to draw things that had already been done. He had a whole pile of sketchbooks dedicated to it. Monet, Degas, Van Gogh, and many more. But the difference was that Neal knew those weren't originally his and he wasn't slapping his name on them. It was a habit. One that would have scared Peter if he hadn't drilled it into the kid at a young age how bad it was to take credit for something that wasn't his own (originally, because Neal had needed him to make that distinction when he was five and sometimes he still needed the reminder). But he was better now. He was better.

"Why do you always ask me that?!" His voice took on an annoyed edge – a hurt edge, actually.

Peter was a bit startled to hear it. Neal knew better. He knew Peter didn't actually think he did.

But he had to be sure, didn't he? Just in case. "Neal-"

"No I didn't copy it! You saw me-!"

"I know, Neal. I'm sorry for doubting you." Peter placated and walked so he was standing in front of him. But Neal just turned away, but not fast enough for Peter to miss the tears, nor the startling black and blue on his chin.

Peter grabbed at his chin and turned his face back towards him, gently. "What happened, Neal?"

Neal didn't just get into fights. Neal wasn't a fan of violence. "I ran into Ron's fist." Ron. It was always Ron. Ron, Rebecca's terrible on again and off again boyfriend. He despised Neal and Neal despised him. If Peter had any evidence that Ron was more than an asshole he would have called the police on the guy more than the five times he already had. He would have arrested him himself.

"That's not what I asked."

Neal made a noise and ripped his face from Peter's grip turning away from him and hunching his shoulders. The kid was clearly overwhelmed. Clearly frustrated.

And then Peter remembered what he said before he had seen the bruise and he stiffened. "They think you stole your piece?"

Neal's answer was to kick, hard, at the wood of Satchimo's dog house. The wood didn't break or splinter but Peter was sure Neal's foot stung from where he had kicked. Peter winced for him.

He was thrown off guard, however, when Neal suddenly clutched around his stomach and kicked again, tripping over his own feet and catching himself on the wood. It seemed like it was too much for him, just then, and he slid forward, barely kneeling into the mud and… crying.

"Shit." Peter swore to himself and dropped down next to him, not caring about the stains that were bound to show up because of it. Neal tried to shrug him off, but he stopped when Peter grabbed his arms and held him tight. Neal was still facing away from him, but the tears were hard and heart breaking.

He had gotten so angry, Peter supposed, that he couldn't find any other way to let it out without hurting someone else.

Elizabeth did it sometimes, if she had a particularly bad day at the office. She would just start crying.

But it was different with Elizabeth then it was with Neal. Neal wasn't just angry, he wasn't just frustrated. He was hurt. And he had every right to be.

He had slaved over that piece of work, Peter had seen it, he had poured his heart and soul into that piece of paper until there was nothing left to give. And he was told that it was too good. Too good. Whatever that meant.

Peter wanted to have a word with the teacher but he trusted Elizabeth to fix that. He knew it was unfair. He knew Neal had been trying so hard this past year to fix himself. He knew it was a lot to ask from the kid.

And Peter felt his agony too. He felt his sorrow and his pain and Peter just held him tight.

"I'm trying, Dad. I'm trying so hard."

"I know." Peter could count the number of times Neal called him 'dad' on one hand, and each time it made his heart jump into his throat. He was only Dad when Neal didn't know how to deal with things. He was Dad when Neal was hurting. He was Dad when Neal needed Dad the most.

He may not legally be Neal's parent, but that didn't stop him from being his Dad.

A: N – Want more from the universe? Idk what will happen, honestly. Enjoy it for what it is?