A/N: So for the past couple of weeks I have been watching White Collar so much that I have had countless dreams about doing Cons with Neal and camping in the van with Peter. It's obsessive. And I really wanted to write something about Peter and Neal, because they make me smile. I love their relationship and the dynamics they play makes me grin.

This isn't going to be a very long story, maybe 5 parts at the most whilst I get used to writing them. I hope you all like this. Please let me know.

Thank you to Same Here for being this amazing person and beta and giving me the right amount of kicks up the backside to do something productive.

Part 1

Neal sat and waited. His whole body was burning with pain, he was sure there wasn't a part of him that wasn't bruised or bleeding. The metallic smell of blood was making his stomach turn. He had always hated the smell of blood ever since he was a child. Neal's body was screaming for him to close his eyes, to give in to the heaviness behind his eyelids and drift into nothingness. But he refused. Now was the time to be as stubborn as everyone believed him to be. He wouldn't close his eyes; he knew he would never open them again. And Peter was coming. Peter would find him, and he'd make him okay just like he always did.

"We need to find him!" Peter snapped, he knew his team didn't deserve to be snapped at. They were doing their best and none of this was their fault. No one had predicted the club owners to have security measures like this; one guy selling pawned jewellery stumbling across something worth millions of dollars without realising would never think to have bug detectors in the club. Peter slammed his fists on the table as he thought of how stupid they were.

"The undercover team can't see Neal or Cassidy in the bar, we know there's one locked door at the back but they haven't seen him go in or out." Dianna informed him. "There are two exits, the front and the back."

"If they'd come out of the front we would have seen." Peter said, trying hard to keep his voice calm when his heart was beating so hard. "So they would have taken him out of the back, but there's nothing there. Its a dead end."

"If Cassidy found out who Neal really is..." Jones said, not needing to finish the statement, the colour rushing from his leader's face told him that he knew what he was going to say.

"Right, we're going in. Now." The last word was a growl, and Peter was out of the van.

Getting from the van to the back of the cab was a blur. Peter remembered shouting that he was FBI, pushing through dancing couples and rushing towards the back door. The crippling pain in his shoulder told him that it must have been locked and he had forced it open. The blood on his hands told him that Neal was hurt. Peter knew that the image in his head would never be erased; Neal slumped in the corner, trash bags and alcohol bottles spilling around him, his face bruised, eyes barely opening and a large cut above his right eye.

"Peter." Neal's voice was weak, as if it didn't belong to him. "You came."

"I came." Peter crouched on his knees next to him, he told himself it was to check on Neal's injuries but he just needed to be close to him.

"You came." Neal repeated before it all went black.