A/N - This will be a series based on Neal's childhood, all based on my musings and imagination. I hope you enjoy it. There will be angst and drama, some good times, and future appearances from other characters such as Mozzie etc. Please feel free to leave any feedback - it would be much appreciated. I haven't written in a while so I hope it's not that rusty haha. There may be some swearing and sad scenes.

1.

Squinting through slanted eyes at the emblazoned scenery before him, James Caffrey exhaled a cloud of smoke and dangled his arm over the wooden railing. In the aftermath of the latest row the taste of cigarettes and whiskey hit just the spot. Leaning there, on the porch, he felt exhausted from the weight of dissatisfaction upon his mind

He sighed as he watched the last of the dusty trails flare off in the distance from the pickup truck speeding towards town. The bitch won't be back tonight, he thought bitterly. James stumped the cigarette out on a porch beam, adding another black dot to the collection.

"Daddy?" The tentative voice made him stall before he turned, to see the little boy hiding behind the doorframe and dark waves. The boy had seemed surprised, as if he was expecting it to be his father who sped off that week.

"Hey champ," James smiled tiredly and went back into the house. Ruffling the boys hair as he shut the door behind himself, he surveyed the wall where glass and amber liquid pooled on the wooden floor. "You stayed away from that, like I told you right?" he found himself checking the boys hands with surge of paternalism even as the boy nodded. Sobered up enough to make the boy kick up his sock clad feet as well for good measure, and gently tugged up the sock which had slid down the boy's left heel. James picked his son up and carried him over to the faded green armchair, sighing once more as his back cracked when he deposited the boy onto it.

He frowned and decided he needed a distraction from those doe-eyed baby-blues staring at him with anxiety. Baby blues… "hey, fancy listening to some Sinatra, Neal?" he slurred slightly and headed over to the record player to rifle through the small collection. He remembered when he had first brought it home and the kid was fascinated, wanted to watch it spin and prod its various mechanisms out of curiosity, but soon learnt it was best to only let James handle it.

"The moon song?" Neal smiled excitedly.

"Why not," James found it and slid the record out of its casing and into the player. With some fiddling and muttering profanities at the machine it finally kicked out the tune. "Aaah," he swung around to beam at his son before picking up the bottle of whiskey from the nearby cabinet. To hell with the glass - he swigged from the bottle and put it down. "Fly me to the moon…. Play among the stars," he sang softly under his breath.

Neal smiled from where he sat on the sofa, bouncing his feet childishly at seeing his father smile again. Heard him singing rather that shouting. The rat pack were their mutual friends; their special thing between father and son. When times were good jazz, cigarettes and whiskey tainted the air. With all of these things in check, the boy knew things were going to be okay again for a few days.

"In other words, hold my hand," James crooned, picking up the boy and spinning him around. They both laughed at the sheer silliness of it all, stumbling as James set the boy down. Neal bounced giddily around the swaying man. He shyly sang along with his father and they danced, forgetting about the broken glass and dust trails in the distance.

Rolling over in the dark and rubbing his eyes, Neal started as something thudded loudly downstairs. Judging from the barely muffled shouting, it sounded like his mother had returned. Shoving the covers aside he fumbled for his soft toy rabbit in the tangled sheets before slipping his sock clad feet over the edge of the bed and onto the threadbare carpet.

"Don't tell me how to live my life! I'm not taking advice from a man wasting his own, drinking night and day, barely able to support his family!"

"Oh so just because you drink at night that makes you what, less of an alcoholic than me? Spending every weekend with some guy who takes your fancy isn't wasting your life?"

"They can sure as hell offer a lot more than you can! I gave up school for what? For what huh? For this? Some low life bum - raising your damn kid when I could have been doing law by now"-

"Don't give me that crap lady, you're barely here to raise the boy! Why'd you come back tonight huh if you got it so good with your damn fancy city men? Is it for money, for kicks of torturing me? - cos it sure as hell isn't about the boy!"

"Daddy?" Neal sobbed standing on the staircase in his old pyjamas, clutching the rabbit to his chest. He didn't like the shouting.

Both adults stopped their slinging match to throw their gaze towards Neal. Nancy's dark curls bobbed over her shoulders as she looked at her boy with blue eyes mirroring his own. She was young and pretty, but there was a curl at the corner of her red lips that marred her pin-up girl quality. James, being older than her, just always looked haggard and tired.

"Neal, sugar," his mother's angry face instantly melted to one of concern and worry, whilst his father scowled and looked like he wanted to punch something. "Why are you out of bed, baby?" she whirled around the banister and bustled up to the boy.

"Why'd you think, you damn woman, coming back here at this time, guns blazing!" James scowled.

Nancy knelt down two steps away from her son and put her hands on his wet face. "I'm sorry baby," she kissed his cheek, trying to hide the hurt on her face when he turned his face away coldly. "Momma's sorry, she and daddy have finished talking now. Come on, I'll tuck you back in now."

"Daddy," Neal grabbed onto a banister railing and turned his face away from his mother's hold to look pleadingly at the worn out man. "I can't sleep."

"I'm coming Neal," James sighed, but his sigh sounded smug and victorious to Nancy. Their son had chosen him over her. He bounded up the steps, shoving past Nancy who sat on the stairs facing the front door, chin and bottom lip trembling. He picked the boy up, hugging the boy against him. Neal sniffled into the crook of his father's neck, dangling the rabbit by its ear over his father's shoulder.

Nancy swayed the tea towel between her hands, leaning against the sink as the drain gurgled and ate the last of the bubbles. She watched her boy drawing at the kitchen table, silently and solemnly staring at his work and refusing to look at her. Chucking the cloth onto the side, she wiped her hands on her apron and sat down on the chair beside Neal, putting on a smile which he couldn't see.

"Did you miss me baby?" she asked, "even a little bit?"

He faltered and chewed on his lip before continuing to shade in the scenery of his picture.

Nancy's smile waned a little. "I'm sorry I went away sugar, but sometimes grown ups need some space from each other… a bit like how you go to your room when you're upset? It's kind of like that." She reached out putting her hand on his arm gently. "I get mad at daddy sometimes but it doesn't mean I'm mad at you… you know I love you, that's why I come back. You're my sunshine, aren't you Neal?"

He stopped, gripping the pencil in his little fist anxiously as he looked up at her.

"You do love your momma don't you?" she smiled at him.

The boy seemed to read her face for a long time before he nodded, and she seemed relieved. But then he asked "Mommy… do you love daddy?"

She hesitated, dark curls bobbing as she looked down at the table for a long moment. "She put on one of her smiles instead. "You know what we haven't done for a long time," she spoke softly, watching as he looked back thoughtfully, unsure. "We haven't baked your favourite cake. How about it hm? Our world famous chocolate cake." she took his hand and squeezed it.

Neal's smile faltered. "That's… that's not my favourite."

"What?"

"It's not… I like lemon. Daddy bought some the other day…" Neal trailed off as he saw her crushed expression. There was something that flickered in her eyes and he felt awful. He had ruined it. "I mean, I like both. I like making chocolate cake with you." he added and smiled at her. "That's my favourite thing we do."

Nancy smiled back at him but something wasn't quite right with it. "well… you clear the table and I'll get the ingredients out." She squeezed his hand once more and let it go. "I'll always love you sunshine, no matter what."

The warm scent of chocolate still lingered on his skin, and the muddy texture of cake still clung around his mouth and chin. Neal was all tears and crumbs, dusty hair shadowing his watery eyes as he curled up under the kitchen table. The shouting was at the worst it had ever been. He had curled up and balled his hands into fists, covering his ears. He even squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for it to stop. It had all ended with a shocking silence after two loud smacking sounds.

Then it was all clambering, packing, and slamming the front door. His father swearing, another smashed glass and whiskey stain on the wall, shouting and the crashing of objects… the young boy cried for god knows how long, filling an angry and mournful silence before James Caffrey was crouched down between the table legs in front of him.

"Neal, son?" James reached out for him and it was barely took a moment for the boy to scramble out from his hiding place and crush against the grown man's chest. James could taste blood on his lip, smell chocolate on his son and heard the sound of sobs filling the silence for a long while.

A mumble against his neck made him frown and try and face his son. "What was that Neal?"

The young boy sniffled and shuddered with sobs. "Sh-she didn't try the cake." he said mournfully, and beat his small fists against the man's chest, staining his shirt with cake. It was a weak and childish burst of anger, but enough to drain him straight away. "She didn't try the cake," he mumbled, shoulders shaking as his father cradled him and he cried, somehow knowing it was the last one they would ever bake together.

For the first time ever after his mother left, there was silence. There was no jazz. It seemed like before they could entertain themselves knowing it would all blow over, she would come back, and the routine would go on again. Not now.

James tried to make it seem all right and like they didn't need her anyway, but he struggled to keep up with the housework, the boy, and life. He began to frequently tell Neal to go upstairs and play for a while, so he could drink and smoke in silence and glare at memories from the armchair. He had turned all of the photos of her to face the wall, unable to stand her smile.

He tried to cheer up the boy by getting him lemon cake, which he had said he liked before. He stared dumbfounded after Neal burst into tears and refused to eat any of it.

It was hard for him to deal with his own emotions, as well of those of the younger Caffrey. Neal was a shy boy by nature anyway, often hiding behind his own hair, or rabbit, or doorframes. But sometimes his silence was downright worrying to James. Even worse was when he kept finding the boy sitting on the front porch staring into the distance, as if he expected the pickup truck to shine in the distance and come back again. He would scoop the boy up in his arms and carry him back inside. For a long time Neal would be curled up on his father's lap on the armchair, listening to his father's heartbeat as the older Caffrey stroked his hair and stopped the tears.

For some reason, it was being in the kitchen when Neal missed his mother most. He knew he would always associate the smell of baking and chocolate with her. It just seemed that they always talked at the kitchen table; usually he would be drawing, or helping her to wash and dry up. Sometimes she would chase him around the kitchen and they would have an impromptu water fight which would end up in bubbly hugs and her kissing him all over his face, saying "I love you sunshine." He forgave her each and every time she came back because he knew she meant it.

But she hadn't come back to say she loved him. This time she had truly left them. Without hugs and kisses to forgive her, he grew angry. He woke up at night in screaming fits, sobbing for his mommy as he hit at his father's chest weakly until he tired himself out.

James was exhausted, but through the whiskey and cigarettes and punching walls, he was managing. He dealt with Neal as best he could, managed to get the boy clothed and fed and pretty much to school when he remembered, and chose to ignore the state the house was getting in and the bills piling up.

Then, the divorce papers came.

For a long time, Neal just remembered his father sitting in that crappy old armchair, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, all glares and mumbles. It was fine when he was like that, when he didn't react to anything. It was when he reacted that Neal worried.

"Daddy… daddy?" Neal stood in front of James, who had become a shadow of the man he was before. He stank, hadn't shaved in ages and was nothing but an image of a bitter man. It had been a while now and he still seemed so static.

Neal chewed on his lip.

His father had been too out of it to notice Neal hadn't been to school in ages, preferring to stay near his father instead. Sometimes he left the house, got just outside the porch, then found himself turning and running back, just in case. Most of the time he stayed in his room, but sometimes went downstairs with his blanket and his rabbit and slept on the sofa, just to be near his father.

"Sinatra?" he asked, with a hesitant smile. He had remembered how it seemed to make things better before. He also missed it and wanted music back again, to bring the house back to life. With no response from his father he went to the record collection himself and searched for the case of their favourite, even though he knew he wasn't allowed to touch any of it. Pulling it out from the shelf he gasped as the large disc fell from the casing and hit the floor, cracking right down the middle. It had all been so fast and so slow at the same time, but the sound of the breakage was shocking. James winced.

Freezing in horror, all the boy could do was hold the case against his chest as he stood amongst the debris of their music and their memories and whisper "S-sorry."

James slowly turned his gaze towards the boy, his grip tightening on the whiskey glass. It was so slow and sinister Neal was sure he would wet himself from fear. Slowly, James rose, slamming his glass down on the side table - making Neal flinch. He strode over and Neal backed up against the bookshelf, whimpering and shutting his eyes.

The last thing he expected was for his father to pick up their beloved record player and hurl it at the wall. "TO HELL WITH THAT BITCH!" James screamed, grabbing the records and throwing them across the room as well, "TO HELL WITH HER! DAMN HER!" he shouted, blind to the little boy crying and curling into the corner between the wall and the bookshelf. "I DON'T NEED THAT FUCKING TART IN MY LIFE!" he panted as he watched the last of the shards fall flat onto the floor. Still breathing heavily and tense from rage, he turned to look at his son.

"Neal, we don't need her!" James fell to his knees in front of the boy, ignoring the pinch from shards of their favourite record cutting into his knees. "It's just you and me boy, just you and me, right? Us against the world! Neal! It's you and me, you hear me?" he rambled as Neal stared back scared and nodded stiffly.

James put his large hands on Neal's shoulders and turned him away from the corner, shaking him a little as he spoke. "We don't need her, we've managed just fine right? She sure as hell doesn't need us, or want us… to hell with her!"

Neal sobbed, "But I miss her daddy."

"Damn it she doesn't miss you, that's why she hasn't come back!"

It was at that moment, with a shocking sharp clarity, that the young boy concluded that Nancy hadn't come back because she didn't love Neal anymore. She had said before that it was because she loved him that she had always came back, and her silence about his father said everything about that. He wasn't her sunshine anymore. It was because of him that everything had broken. Covering his eyes he let go, giving away all of his tears.

"I'm sorry, Neal…shit, I'm… I'm sorry son," James seemed to realise what his anger had created and pulled his son close. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it." It was too late though, he had said it and it had been an arrow into the young boy's heart. It didn't matter that he knew deep down Nancy did miss and love the boy. "Look, I'm still here - I got you, and you got me. That's what's important right?"

Neal nodded and clung to his father.

Later the shards were cleared and although there was still silence, there was a release of tension from the air, as if their mourning period had uttered a sigh.

A month later, James brought home a record player using the money he was supposed to have paid the bills with. It was worth it to see the boy smile for the first time since Nancy had gone. With jazz, cigarettes and whiskey tainting the air again, it wasn't the same as before, but Neal knew he had his father and that somehow they would manage.