Warning: This AU fic looks at dealing with death, therapy and contains spanking of a teenager so if any of these issues are a concern, please do not read.

Author's Note: I will be away for five days at Easter at a place that doesn't have internet access so please be warned that there will be no updates during that time. In other words, angry reviews asking 'Where the hell is the next chapter?' are not allowed! LOL You've been warned! :) Besides, what would the family say if I told them I couldn't go on holidays with them because I'd much rather stay at home to finish my story?

This is a sequel to the fic My Son Neal so many parts will not make sense if you are unfamiliar with that story. And while on the topic, I had never intended on writing a sequel and consequently used up all my good ideas for this already. But then, some really sweet people made several requests for the story to be continued and well, who could refuse them? So, this has been written especially for the sweet sequel seekers. Enjoy! I hope!

My Dad Peter

"Have a seat, Neal." Janice always asked but in all the time the young boy had been coming to see her, he never had. For sure he'd sit on the arm of the couch, lean against the back of the couch or even slouch the length of the head rest, sometimes he'd lounge on the plush rug between her chair and the couch, occasionally he'd sit on the window sill, and once he even sat in her desk chair and spun around in circles. But in six weeks, he had never once put his butt on the couch that was designated for all her clients. And today was no exception. The young boy paced around her office like he was warming up for a long distance race. "Neal?"

"Yes, Janice?" Always such an indignant tone. He only got away with it because he knew that whatever he said, however he acted, remained in this room. "How long till you get your cast off?"

"You know Janice you ask me that same question every week and the answer hasn't changed...Well, actually, no, that's wrong. It changes every week. It's actually a week less than the answer I gave you seven days ago."

Oh, how the boy hated answering any question directly. "So, that would be two weeks to go?"

"Correct. I may not be able to come in that week. I might be too busy having my cast taken off." The boy actually looked hopeful like there really may be a chance he wouldn't have to come.

"Neal, I want you to have a seat now please."

"Fine." The boy sat down on the floor in front of the couch and leaned back so his head was on the seat.

"Are you still having nightmares?"

"No. I'm all good. Sleep like a baby. Feel better than I ever had."

Janice knew from Neal's mom that it was far from the truth. The kid was continuing to wake up every other night either screaming, or in a ball of sweat and that hadn't changed in the past week. "That's very pleasing to hear."

"So you can sign me off?" From out of nowhere, Neal produced a blue piece of paper instantly recognisable to Janice as the forms her office used to clear clients of mental health issues purely related to return to work procedures.

The first week, well you couldn't really call it the first week because she never actually made any contact with the boy, the first week Neal had forged a copy of the release form saying he wasn't suffering any ill effects of a recent ordeal and he would no longer be required to attend any sessions. The young boy's scam fell through the following day when Elizabeth Burke had called to say thank you but at the same time was a little confused and surprised to learn that his issues had been resolved so easily. Janice had responded by saying that her office had received a phone call from Peter Burke, the day before the appointment saying sorry for the inconvenience but that his son would no longer be requiring the assistance of her office.

The following week, Janice had not been at all surprised when Peter personally walked his son in, standing him before Janice and informing the doctor he would wait for the boy out in the reception waiting room.

Every week since, Neal had produced the sign off form in the hopes of being released from 'this ridiculous waste of time and resources'. Neal's contempt at being forced to attend therapy sessions was blatantly obvious.

Janice ignored the blue form and continued with the session. "Just because your nightmares have stopped, doesn't mean we still don't need to talk a few things through."

"What things?" Neal stretched his legs out across the rug, his feet just about touching Janice's shoes.

"Well you still haven't told me how you broke your wrist?"

"You know how I broke my wrist, Janice." The tone was dripping with insolence.

"I want 'you' to tell me what happened?"

"Look Janice. I have a plan. How about next week I bring a good book to read, I'll sit on your couch for an hour and you can catch up on some paper work. It's a win, win. You still get paid, my parents can rest easy knowing I'm 'getting help' and I no longer have to think of creative ways to not answer any of your questions. What do you think about that for a plan?"

"Neal," Janice leaned forward so her face was right in the boy's personal space. "You can tell me today, or you can tell me a year from now, but the longer you take to start talking to me, the more times you'll have to come. You're a smart boy so connect the dots and then work out for yourself which plan is going to be in your best interest. I'm a very patient person, Neal. Take your time working it out."

Neal glared at Janice. Crap this was such a waste of time. For sure he was still having nightmares but during the day he was fine. Almost fine. He didn't think the flashbacks were too much of a concern. They'd go away sooner or later and besides, he'd stopped shaking for no reason, pretty much. So instead of being outside, enjoying doing just about anything else, one hour every week he had to suffer through this preposterous exercise. Where was the justice in it? Shouldn't he just be allowed to tell the doctor that he didn't want the help? Wasn't he intelligent enough to decide if he would benefit from therapy sessions? Didn't his parents trust him enough to allow him to make up his own mind? For sure they hadn't been at all happy that first week when he had forged the form and had Mozzie ring up pretending to be Peter. They certainly had something to say about that! But what had they expected him to do, just sit back and play along.

Then again, perhaps he should just play along. Janice appeared to have patience in spades and her point seemed to make sense. If he didn't start playing ball, this game could go on forever. Neal took a deep breath and sighed. "Look. It's a long story and I wouldn't really know where to start."

"Okay, let's start from the beginning."

"The beginning of what? The beginning of this session. The beginning of this week? The beginning of my life? Throw me a bone, Janice. The beginning of…?" Neal held out his hand, palm up, gesturing for the doctor to give him some type of clue.

"Alright Neal. Start small. Start from the beginning of this year. That was six months ago. Tell me something that happened at the start of the year. What did you get up to during the first couple of weeks in January? Anything you can remember?"

Neal chuckled but it was void of humour. "Yes Janice. I can do one better. I can tell you exactly what happened in the first hour of this year."

"Okay. That's a perfect place to start. I'm impressed Neal. I think I'd have a hard time remembering what I was doing six months ago with that kind of accuracy. That's pretty impressive?"

"It's kind of hard to forget, Janice. The first hour of this year I was busy getting my butt kicked."

"By whom?"

"My dad, Peter."