Title: Best Case Scenario

Contains:Non-sexual Bondage and spanking.
Food control, socially enforced power play.
Non-consensual humiliation and sexual contact.

Notes/Summary: A fill for collarkink Prompt: Total AU where Neal literally belongs to Peter. He's basically sold or placed into slavery/indentured servitude as punishment for his crimes, and he's not very happy about it. Peter and El take on the task of training him. They all bond, to whatever extent you want, but there's also friction. Bonus points for keeping them as much in character as possible, despite the crazy situation.

The end result was actually not very AU at all, it's been shined up a bit from the collarkink post, but it's still more a series of ficlets than a cohesively plotted fic. This 'verse will be the setting for several planned kink_bingo fills.


You knew this could happen, Neal reminded himself, tugging habitually against the bonds keeping his wrists behind his back. Locks he could pick, but the sheer physical barrier of the tightly knotted rope was something else. He could get out, but it would take time, and considering the way he was currently being stared at, the chances of him getting that time uninterrupted were slim at best.

He had been aware of this possibility, he just hadn't expected it to feel quite so ... dramatic.

They had him in loose cotton pants, no shirt, bare feet. His new owners would want to see what they were getting. The metal collar was warm against his throat, a touch tighter than was comfortable. There was pressure and a *snickt* as the lock was engaged. And then another as the leash was attached to a convenient D-ring.

He opened his eyes when a tug on the leash told him to start moving. He put a bit of a swagger in his walk, put on the smile. "Hey, do you-"

"Shut it." The thug holding his leash jerked it painfully and Neal stumbled. "Speak again and I'll put you on a choke chain. You'll want to behave for your new master."

Neal shut up and followed. He did want to behave, for now at least. Convicts were given away for training. Rehabilitation was the official language . If they weren't going to serve society they had no worth. If they had no worth, there was no point in keeping them around. The training would either provide worth or... sometimes people didn't learn fast enough. Either way they weren't a problem anymore.

Neal took a deep breath. He knew he could con anyone given the time. The trick to this would be figuring out how to play this one, and hope that his new master didn't maim or kill him before he could find the key.

Neal shuffled into the transfer room and dropped to his knees at the encouragement of the guard. He stared at his new owner's feet, not wanting to antagonize anyone quite yet. A hand fisted in Neal's hair, pulling his head up. "Is this the one you wanted?"

Neal blinked in surprise as his new owner's face came into view. Peter Burke? The man who put him in here in the first place. Peter was just standing there, barely paying Neal any attention, oblivious to his confusion.

"That's the one."

Peter quickly signed off on the paperwork then gathered up Neal's leash. Neal quickly came to his feet and followed the gentle pull on his neck as Peter lead him out, out of the Center and out into the daylight. He wanted to behave, he really did. But he couldn't help but stagger to a stop as they stepped out into the sunshine.

Peter looked back when his charge stopped moving. He saw Neal standing there, his hands still bound behind his back with his face turned up to the sunlight. Shaking his head Peter gathered the leash up closer in his hands and took a step back towards Neal.

"If you behave, sunshine won't be such a rare thing" Peter curled his hand around the back of Neal's neck and pushed him towards the car. Neal hesitated, feeling the warm pressure of Peter's hand over his collar.

"Why did you do this?"

"Because I think you're better than this." Peter's hand shifted down to Neal's shoulder. "Look. It's simple, I think you can be useful. You behave, you get privileges. You misbehave you, get punished. Your goal is to prove to me that you can obey orders and be productive. My goal is to give you structure and keep you busy and out of trouble. Understand?"

Neal nodded. This was good. The more explicit the rules, the easier they are to work around, to find the edges.

"Good. First challenge: don't speak until we get home."

The trip back was quiet.


It had been a long drive home. Neal had spent most of the trip dozing against the window and blinked groggily when they finally pulled up to a house. He opened his mouth when Peter opened the car door to take up the leash, but shut it at Peter's look. Instead, Neal slithered awkwardly out of the car, his hands still bound behind his back. Peter caught his shoulder as Neal stood and turned him to face the car. A slice of what must have been a pocket knife and Neal's hands were free. Step one, Neal thought

"It's late." Peter's hand on his shoulder guided him into the house. "I'll show you your space, you stay there tonight and tomorrow you'll get a tour."

First stop was a quick bathroom break, then he was taken to his room. From what Neal could see, the house was cozy and comfortable. Occasional splashes of colour caught his eye, but he didn't have time to examine anything as he was led directly into a small re-purposed storage room. On the floor was a foam mattress and bottle of water. There was an intercom installed on the wall beside the light switch.

"Stay here. I'll let you out tomorrow morning. Intercom's for emergencies only." Peter gestured vaguely as Neal sank down onto the mattress, "We'll do the whole... thing with everything else tomorrow."

Peter leaned down to - the leash, then left Neal alone in the room, locking the door after it closed.

Neal waited, quietly, for a good hour after the footsteps went up the stairs. It wasn't like he was intending on leaving, he just wanted to see what this place was like. And he was bored. Besides, if Peter had actually wanted him to stay in the room, he would have made more of an effort on locking it, using more than just the privacy lock that came with the door. This lock barely even counted as even a symbolic lock.

The door swung open silently, and Neal glanced down the darkened hallway. To meet Peter's eyes, staring at him over a newspaper. Oops.

Peter stood up from the chair he had set outside the door, and calmly smacked Neal on the head with his now rolled up newspaper. "No."

"What?" Neal blurted out, thrown off his game. "I just wanted to look-"

Peter didn't say anything, just snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor in front where he was standing. Neal closed his mouth with a snap and went, dropping to his knees as the paper came down again.

"I expected you'd try this" Peter began. "You're not used to rules. I get that. But there are always going to be consequences."

Well, this was round one. Neal let his shoulders slump, presenting what he knew was a very pretty picture of submission. He would explain how sorry he was, Peter would see that he could learn, and it would be a good start to getting under that gruff exterior. A minor, and apparently expected, offense to get a feel for the this game's particular playing field. He opened his mouth, only to have the paper stuffed between his teeth.

"I said no. You know full well what you were doing."

Peter picked up a small took kit that had been sitting behind the chair. Still clenching the paper between his teeth, Neal shuffled over to Peter on his knees and accepted the hasp and padlock while Peter marked the door frame. When Peter blindly stuck his hand in Neal's direction, Neal knew what was expected of him.

Breakfast the next morning was a perfectly healthy, absolutely tasteless breakfast bar, delivered by an unspeaking Peter, and 2 minutes in the bathroom.

He wasn't let out until lunch, and the leash was back on.


Neal had started his time at the Burkes' with a bare-bones room, and the pants he had worn in. After couple weeks of good behaviour he had earned a shirt and a second outfit, a spare blanket, a couple of books for his room. Peter and Elizabeth had taken to leaving him home with a list of chores through most of the day. Their random visits prevented him from getting into too much trouble, and the bit of jewelery added to his collar, a GPS tracker, meant that running required planning.

But it did mean that today, he was home and unobserved when the mail arrived. Which meant he was the first one to see the flyer: Pan'opt-out'ticon! Keep The Corporate Monoliths from Spying on You and Your Family! Learn How! Neal grinned. The flyer was 100% Mozzie. He was amazed at how much relief he that Mozzie knew where he was. He had backup.

He tucked the flyer was tucked away into the book he was currently reading. Hiding it would draw attention, but a piece of paper as a bookmark should blend in nicely. He started the dishes, the next chore on his list with a lighter heart when he heard the door open. "Location?" Peter called.

"Kitchen." Neal replied, with a sigh. He still wasn't allowed to talk unless asked a direct question. Peter wandered in, poking through the fridge and cupboards. Neal didn't turn away from carefully scrubbing baked on cheese off the pan from last nights lasagna. He felt a tug on his neck as Peter jerked his collar around to check the tracker. Neal bristled, but held his tongue. As if he'd still be here, ruining his hands in dishwasher if he had managed to get out of the tracker.

When Neal finally got the last of the cheese off, Peter wandered back into the kitchen dropping his glass into the dishwater, and the flyer on the counter. "What's this?"

"Junk mail."

Neal flinched when Peter flicked his ear "No, it isn't. What it it?"

Neal reached for a towel to dry his hands. Peter held up a warning finger. "Don't speak unless you're going to give me a proper answer."

Neal shrugged, "Junkmail. I was using it as a bookmark." He turned an accusing stare on Peter, "you better not have lost my spot."

"You'll find it again. Take off your clothes."

"What? Peter-"

"No talking. Take off your clothes. I'm not an idiot Neal, I know who this is from."

Neal skimmed out of his pants, the only thing he was wearing to save his t-shirt from dirty dishwater splashes. When his pants were neatly folded on the counter, he found his hands fluttering by his sides. There was nothing sexual in Peter's gaze, it would almost have been better if there was. That was something Neal could work with, some leverage. This impersonal stare just made Neal feel awkward.

"24 hours. No clothes, you will sleep on the floor in our room, you will not have access to your room. You're not going to be able to hide, that's the punishment."

Neal inhaled, Peter cut him off with a gesture. "Don't make me gag you. Hands behind your back, face the corner, nose to the wall."

Neal's eyes flickered to the sink full of unfinished dishes. "You can finish those later. Corner."

He heard Peter puttering in the kitchen behind him, heard paper tearing and he just knew it was the flyer. He closed his eyes against the anger and despair he felt welling up inside of him. It was a note from a friend, he felt like screaming, that's all. Just a note to say 'Hi, I'm thinking of you'. Couldn't he even keep that?

The leash was tied around his wrists, forcing his back to arch slightly to keep the pressure off his throat. "El will be home soon. Don't move."

Peter's hand in his hair shifted his head so he could place a piece of the flyer between his forehead and the wall. Two other pieces were put by his knees, and he spread his legs slightly to keep them pinned to the wall. "If the papers are not in this position when she comes home, there will be consequences."

Neal nodded slightly, shifting the paper up and down the wall.

Then Peter's warmth moved away from his back, the front door opened and shut again, and Neal was left standing there, willing the blush to fade away.

He closed his eyes, feeling the air currents on his bare skin. He could smell the sunshine scented air of their kitchen. It was warm at least, the position wasn't too awkward. The only problem was that eventually Elizabeth was going to come in. He couldn't get ahead, couldn't get a start anywhere with them, his best tool was taken from him by them not letting him talk, and they were so damned besotted with each other his second best tool was ignored. Even when he was naked in the corner, they just looked at him like a thing. A helpful and occasionally frustrating thing

It felt like forever and a day before he heard the door open again, and Elizabeth's shoes clacked into the kitchen. She stopped just behind him and ruffled his hair gently "Oh Neal." She sounded so disappointed. He waited for the 'what happened this time?' or even a 'will you ever learn?', anything that would give him leave to speak, but she just moved away again.

Neal barely kept back the protest. He had been good, stayed still and quiet, and he was bored and naked and suddenly feeling very exposed. How much longer would she make him wait? Maybe he could break position now and tell her Peter had said he could move when she got home. No, he dismissed that thought as soon as it crossed his mind. She'd tell Peter and he'd end up in even more trouble; he'd tried to play one off the other before, and ended up with 3 days of cold showers. He considered begging, sometimes they liked that but couldn't see her to read her mood, he didn't know how much Peter had told her.

Caught up in his thoughts, he jumped slightly when a warm hand rested on his shoulder. "You can come away now Neal."

He tried not to feel too grateful.


"He seems sad." Elizabeth snuggled into her husband's side. They were watching TV together in their bedroom. Typically late night TV watching was done in the living room, but their habits had had to change when Neal was introduced to their household.

"This isn't supposed to be a reward, you know."

"I know, it's just that... he is trying, but he's lonely. Yesterday I came home for a check and he was cleaning with the TV, CD player and the radio on. I didn't say anything and he looked embarrassed when he saw me. He's a social person Peter, without it he's wilting."

"You forget that exposing him to other people, also means exposing other people to him? He's a social person because he plays off of and uses other people."

"And because he likes people." El gently corrected.

"You know there's good reason to not let him talk."

"I know," El sat up slightly, muting the TV they weren't paying attention to anyway. "He's good at manipulating people, language is his weapon, we're preventing him from being able to gain any power, I know all that. But I don't think an hour of conversation with us over dinner will drastically alter the power dynamics in this house."

"Maybe you're right," Peter draped his arm over his wife's shoulders, pulled her in close.

They could hear Neal downstairs, water running in the downstairs bathroom. Then the bell-tone that indicated Neal's door had shut.

"He just put himself into that boring little room. Peter, you should go talk to him. The goal is to rehabilitate him, not break him."

"This could just be a ploy you know. You've seen him, he's been trying to play us with everything he's got, the only thing we've left him is his obedience."

"We'll that's something isn't it? It might be forced obedience, but he's still behaving. He baked a cake for me today."

"What?"

"You came home late," El poked at her husband's shoulder. "You didn't get any."

"You ate a felon's cake?"

"We shared his felonious cake, and it was very good, which is why there is no cake for you. The point is he was doing something nice for us."

"For you."

"Well, yes, for me, but I'm the nice one. We agreed on that before he came. Which is also, by the way, why you need to be the one to talk to him. Actually talk to him. If I do it, I'm just being nice. If you do it it's a reward and an indication we know he's trying."

"We'll talk to him tomorrow then." Peter turned off the TV, and rolled out of bed. "I'll just go lock him in for the night."