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the art of hiding (from the arms that held you) by couldyoublameme
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009)
29 Mar 2025
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Summary
“You’re alive,” is what Wayne settles on, voice oddly tense and clipped compared to the light tone of a minute ago.
Neal's face does something weird as he passes, filtering through emotions too fast for Peter to name before settling on something cold and harsh. Not Neal-like at all.
“Despite your best efforts,” Neal says, and Peter can hear the anger hidden beneath the words. “Yes.”
Series
- Part 3 of The art of finding home
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the art of hiding (from the arms that held you) by couldyoublameme
Batman - All Media Types White Collar (TV 2009)
Summary
“You’re alive,” is what Wayne settles on, voice oddly tense and clipped compared to the light tone of a minute ago.
Neal's face does something weird as he passes, filtering through emotions too fast for Peter to name before settling on something cold and harsh. Not Neal-like at all.
“Despite your best efforts,” Neal says, and Peter can hear the anger hidden beneath the words. “Yes.”
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Ch1
the art of hiding (from the arms that held you)
couldyoublameme
Summary:
“You’re alive,” is what Wayne settles on, voice oddly tense and clipped compared to the light tone of a minute ago.Neal's face does something weird as he passes, filtering through emotions too fast for Peter to name before settling on something cold and harsh. Not Neal-like at all.
“Despite your best efforts,” Neal says, and Peter can hear the anger hidden beneath the words. “Yes.”
Wayne’s eye twitches, but he remains still. “I never tried to kill you.”
“No?” Neal hums mockingly. His tone is cruel, bitter and full of resentment. Something Peter hadn’t heard since Vincent Adler. “Sorry, the slitting my throat thing must’ve given me the wrong idea, somehow. Silly me.”
The what ?
Wayne’s face darkens, jaw clenching and fists curling into his side. “I couldn’t let you kill him.”
Neal snorted. “Evidently. No qualms about killing me, though. Obviously.” His eyes train on Wayne with startlingly precision, dangerous and cold. “Why would there be? I never mattered as much as he did, anyways.”
“Don’t say that,” Wayne hisses, shoulders taunt, face twisted up into a snarl. “Don’t you dare say that. You were so much to me .”
“Wasn’t enough to avenge,” Neal shot back, and Wayne jerked back like he had been struck. “Wasn’t enough to choose over a murderer. Wasn’t enough to save.”
What the hell .
Wayne stood up, more graceful and dangerous than Peter had seen in most of the criminals he had apprehended, fury etched onto his face. “I tried to save you. You didn’t want it.”
Neal’s eyes lit up— literally, poisonous green bleeding into his irises and almost shining— and he steps forward to stand off against Wayne.
“It was much too late by the time you decided you needed to save me.”
Peter has never considered Neal dangerous. Never felt an ounce of fear whenever he stood too close, whenever Neal was in his blind spot, whenever his fists clenched together at his sides. Not even when Neal had a gun in his hand, filled with anger and pain, and pointed it at Fowler. There was always this voice that whispered Neal is non-violent. Neal is harmless. Neal wouldn’t hurt anybody. I know Neal.
Peter feels stupid for that, now.
There’s something fundamentally dangerous in the way Neal moves— stalks, really. There’s a violence carved into his muscles that sends a chill down Peter’s spine, and Neal isn’t even looking at him. He straightens, shoulders back, stance wide, jaw clenched, and Wayne’s body tenses, like he’s fighting the urge to step back, to retreat. He doesn’t.
Neal is almost as tall as Wayne, Peter notices with a start. Standing at his full height, pushing intimidation Peter had never known he was capable of, Neal looks every bit like a criminal capable of death, like the ones Peter is sworn to protect people against.
He’s between them before he knows what he’s done.
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“Neal—” he says, the name tumbling out of his mouth worried and pleading, instead of firm and commanding. Neal’s eyes snap down to him, that twisting electric green fading slightly back towards the light teal Peter’s come to recognize as family.“Peter,” Neal answers, and then he slumps, folding back into Neal like an actor switching masks. He seems to shrink, almost, curling that danger back into his core and taking a step back. “Don’t— fuck—”
Wayne’s eyes narrow, and Peter tries not to flinch at the suddenly harsh glaze. “Jason–“
“Don’t, B,” Neal cuts off, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “Just don’t. I don’t want to deal with this. With you.”
Jason. B. Peter notes these names with the same clinical analysis he uses undercover.
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“I’d like to think he is,” Peter says carefully, not sure where to tread. “He has his struggles, but he’s come a long way. We’ve come a long way. He’s important to me, Mr Wayne. And I am very protective of those important to me.”He knows it’s a risk, a mistake, slipping a threat like that into the end of his sentence, but he can’t help it. Every time he looks at Wayne, he sees Neal’s pained eyes and shaking hands. It makes something dark and angry curl in his gut.
Wayne glances at him oddly, something analyzing and curious, before he nods. There’s something like respect in those grey eyes.
“I’m glad he has someone to fight in his corner, then.” He paused, mouth twitching down. He turned to watch Neal slip into the elevator. “I want him to he happy. He’s faced so much. I just— I’ve made so many mistakes. I just want him to be happy.”
“He is.” Peter offers a smile, as tight and small as it may be. “He must mean a lot to you, then, huh?”
Wayne’s head tilts, and a small, genuine smile touches his lips. “The most. Every son is the world to his father, no?”
Oh.
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