FROM THE DUST OF ANOTHER WORLD

Summary: There was a reason why Neal found it so easy to be a con man, and it had nothing to do with growing up in WitSec. AU.

A/N: Written as a gift for nywcgirl during fandom-stocking. Wing!fic.

He inherited them from his mom.

Danny first discovered his own when he was eleven years old. Something to do with puberty, his mom explained after she heard his terrified shriek and found him standing in the middle of his bedroom, wearing just his pajama bottoms and crying; his wings flapping awkwardly and out of control. She let him see hers then, and Danny stared in tear-eyed awe at the mass of black, white and dark blue feathers that naturally sprouted out of his mother's back as if they had always been there. Then they sat on the bed together, and his mom talked to him in a gentle, soothing voice until Danny finally managed to calm down and pull his own wings back into hiding.

Afterwards Danny rarely saw his mother's wings again, and even then she never let them spread fully, never tried to fly.

"It's for our safety," his mom explained, and then she told him horror stories about the ancient age, about the Middle Ages and "angels" who were brutally murdered after accidentally revealing their nature. "People you thought you knew will betray you, so you have to be careful; you have to keep it a secret. Promise me you'll be careful."

"Did you tell Dad?" asked Danny curiously.

"I did," his mom answered. "I trusted him. He kept me safe."

"Because he was a hero," said Danny knowingly and smiled at her, even as he felt a pang of longing.

His Dad was a hero who had kept his mom's secret. Danny didn't know how he could ever measure up to him.

He never revealed his wings to any of his friends; not even to Ellen. At first he used to climb out of his window and sneak into the park at night. For weeks he would go flying there, until the night when a dog without a leash saw him and chased him all the way up a tree. Scared out of his mind, Danny cracked a bone in his left wing and lost half a row of feathers, barely managing to hide his wings before the dog's owner showed. When he finally got home that night, his mom gave him a vicious dressing down even as she tended to his injuries.

Once again, she made him swear not to do something so dangerous again, but then she said she understood how hard it was to suppress his nature, especially while he was still so young. In the years that followed, they spent plenty of weekends and vacations in the wilderness where Danny released his wings and his mom watched him fly for hours. And at night he would often sit at his bed, spread his wings over the pillows and dream about high mountains and deep valleys, the exhaustion in his wings as he aimed for the sky, the rush of the wind in his ears as he soared through the air.

It was a good life, until Danny turned eighteen and discovered that it was a lie. That day, Neal Caffrey packed his things and left the door without waiting for a farewell.

'Goodbye, mom.'

o - o - o

Sometimes, Neal wondered whether his wings were partially the reason why he was so reckless. Base jump from three hundred feet? Sure, why not! Use hooks and ropes to climb to the room on the seventh floor – cool, count me in! Not that he really used his wings for his crimes – no reason to risk becoming a guinea pig in some shady underground lab when the conventional options worked just as well. His mother's lessons had sunk in; even though it turned out that she had lied to him for years.

He still missed her fiercely. The Marshals had moved her and Ellen, but they split them up and Neal never got a new contact for his mom. He had been a fool to not at least give her a proper goodbye.

On the other hand, all those years of hiding had prepared him perfectly for the career of a con man.

Where Danny Brooks had once been subtle, Neal became flashy, with his dazzling smile, fast hands and a sincere, honest look that became one of his best weapons. Still, while he might have broken more laws than he could count, he remained mindful of his mom's warning. Don't tell anyone unless you're absolutely sure about them – better yet, don't tell anyone.

He broke the rules for Kate, and only Kate. They learned to sleep in each other's arms, with Kate enveloped in Neal's wings; they discovered a new favorite pastime, with Kate grooming Neal's feathers while they planned epic heists together; Kate took on a new hobby of finding the perfect world locations with epic heights and views that were still mostly unoccupied by tourists. For a short while, their life was perfect.

Then came Copenhagen and their breakup and finally prison; losing almost everything in a short spam of several months.

The absolutely worst thing about prison was not being able to let his wings free, not even for a moment. On the other hand, probably the only advantage of Maximum Security was that Neal got his own private cell. When the lights turned off at night, Neal sometimes laid with his back towards the wall. As the guards passed his cell, he would let his wings appear, closed at his back, hidden by his blanket and the dark. He would touch his feathers, caress them and imagine he were somewhere else, but he never really dared to close his eyes, because he might miss someone coming and then they could see.

In those four years, Neal thought he began to understand his mother as never before.

Kate was both his salvation and his agony. She showed up every week, and she would always tell him stories about mountains and dark clouds and sky so blue that it begged to be tasted, begged to be conquered. Sometimes her words were so sweet and unbearable that Neal could almost feel the fabric of his jumpsuit ripping and his wings breaking free. But they never did.

He often replayed her words in his mind when he lied under the blanket, touching his cock with one hand and his wings with the other; aching, longing, yearning. And so days and nights passed and Neal kept dreaming about the softness of Kate's lips and struggling against a powerful wind as they fought to reach the stars.

o - o - o

Neal had known when he proposed the anklet that he wouldn't be able to spread his wings much and really fly. What he hadn't known was that he wouldn't be able to let them free at all.

In the past, magical beings had been much more common than nowadays. Apparently the precautions had carried into modern days, because once Neal did a deep research (something he should have done in the first place), he discovered that there were enchantments on his tracker that prevented a general range of charms and spells. Unless he cut the anklet, he literally couldn't release his wings. The power that had been hidden within him since his birth – the strange, mysterious force that had manifested nearly twenty years ago and hadn't left him since, not in sickness nor when he had been locked up – that power, that connection, was now restrained and bound.

The first night at June's, Neal had tried to force them out until he made himself sick; gasping, heaving and crying from the terrible punishing pain, until he finally half-fainted, half drifted off on the cold bathroom floor. He woke up shortly before dawn; shivering and dizzy; feeling helpless and utterly violated. Despite his exhaustion, he nearly threw up again.

His wings were gone.

o - o - o

He didn't know how he had made it through the first week – scratch that, the first day after that. It had to do with Kate; her and the stories she told him at prison. They would fly again, Neal thought and ignored the dull pain in his skull, chest and shoulder blades. Soon they would be free and they would soar through the sky. He only had to find her – and help Peter catch the Dutchman in the meantime, of course.

The one thing that helped was that Peter (probably) didn't know. Neal had carefully dropped a hint, a specific choice of words; waiting to see if Peter would notice. The lack of reaction from the Agent's part meant that his secret was most likely still safe.

He thought about cutting and running. He would be able to fly. He would be hunted by the FBI and other agencies. He would have to give up Kate.

Only one out of three – that wasn't the way Neal Caffrey was supposed to live. It was unacceptable.

When Mozzie found him at June's, Neal decided to wait until he had the resources and information to find Kate.

In a coincidence that was frankly hilarious, he first cut the anklet for a case. It just proved that Peter was wrong – the Bible was a healing tool, if only because by getting stolen, it let Neal be whole for a little while. As he cut the wires and the suppressing magic snapped, Neal felt his wings screaming to be released. But there were always eyes on him – Kate, his secret, his mom's words – he couldn't.

He hated Peter Burke for putting the anklet back – at least for the rest of the day. His loathing for the FBI and the System lasted long beyond that.

o - o - o

It was ironic, but being framed for the diamond theft – being back at prison, without the tracker – gave him the first chance in months to really think clearly. And to plan.

"Moz, I need you to liquidate some assets. I need money."

"Why?"

"I want you to buy a bakery." Neal paused. "And I'll need a place with free space. A lot of it."

Mozzie frowned. "What do you have in mind?"

o - o - o

"Impossible. Hallucinations. They've drugged me!"

Laughing freely, Neal made a somersault in the air. With joy, he touched the floor; then reached the ceiling in four powerful sways; gliding down, he swept his wings again and made a small circle around the empty hangar. Finally he landed next to Mozzie and folded his wings at the back. "Wow, I really needed this. You're really the best, Moz. Thanks so much for arranging this place!"

Mozzie was staring at him in shock.

Behind his calm expression, Neal's insecurity swirled. He flapped his wings awkwardly. "It's okay, Mozzie. I'm still me. See?"

"You have wings," said Mozzie flatly when he finally found his voice. "You can – did you just fly around here?!"

"I should have shown you sooner," said Neal with a sheepish smile. Suddenly he felt all itchy and he had to stop himself from picking at his soft feathers.

"No, it's impossible. How did this happen?! Don't tell me that the Suits–"

"No, of course not. My mom has them too. I think I was born this way," Neal admitted with a shrug.

Mozzie frowned at him. "Neal, I've known you for years and I've never seen you like that!"

"I can hide them." Taking a deep breath, Neal concentrated and slowly let his wings disappear again. He then turned around to show Mozzie his pristine, unmarked back. "See?"

Mozzie swallowed and swayed on his feet. "I – I have to sit down."

Neal caught his friend before he could fall and led him to a lone chair in the corner of the hangar. Suddenly glad that he had given Mozzie very specific instructions as to what he should bring, he found the small flask that Mozzie had discarded earlier and unscrewed the lid. "Need a drink?"

"Please."

Gulping down some alcohol, Mozzie took several calming breaths before looking at Neal again.

With his upper body bare, Neal suddenly felt cold. Suppressing a shiver, he cleared his throat. "Hey, do you mind if I…" he touched his shoulders vaguely.

Mozzie shook his head. "Just… do your thing."

With a small but genuine smile, Neal brought his wings out again and enveloped them around his arms and chest as he had done hundreds of times before in the past.

Tilting his head to the side, Mozzie looked at him with small wonder. "So… wings, huh?" Suddenly, he frowned. "Hey! The Antioch manuscripts – the story with the carrier pigeons–"

"Well, it sure wasn't a mere pigeon," said Neal with a chuckle. Then he turned serious. "Things went wrong and I had to get out fast, so I jumped out of the window. Someone saw me. Luckily the man was drunk, but… I never used them for a heist after that."

Mozzie raised his eyebrows. "Well, at least this clears up why you suddenly decided to learn parachuting."

Neal grinned.

Finding a nearby box, he settled it across Mozzie and sat down. "So, what else do you want to know?"

They ended up talking for hours, and when the sun rose, Neal felt better than he had in years.

And he realized he had another choice to make.

Finally he stood up. "Well, time for me to go back."

"Go back? Neal, what are you talking about?"

"I want to clear my name," he tried to explain, but it wasn't only that.

He needed information and his (relative) freedom to look for Kate. He didn't want to go on the run. And then there was Peter Burke and the FBI team.

If the man hadn't bound his wings, Neal would have liked him. In fact, he did like Peter, as much as you could with someone who did that to you. He would have to betray Peter one day – he wasn't staying on the anklet for four years, so there was just no way around it – but he wouldn't do it until he found Kate. Certainly he wouldn't do it over some stupid diamond, and he would prove that to Peter.

So, yes. He was going back to the anklet and back to Peter.

Taking a deep breath, Neal extended his wings and enjoyed the feeling of them fully spread; strong and free.

Then he started to plan how to sneak into the Burkes' house and persuade Peter to prove his innocence.