Title: Those You've Known

Rating: T

Warnings: Little blood, minor swearing.

Spoilers: S3 up to 'Taking Account'. This would take place before that episode.

Ships: Neal x Kate, Neal x Sara

AN: Couple of quick things. This will be a two shot. I'd planned on making it a one-shot, but I felt it worked better splitting it up. Another thing, there was quite a bit of freedom as to what happened immediately after season one, so this is partially one of my takes on it. It's also not beta-ed, but I revised and edited it until I was happy with it. So, I hope you guys like it! (By the way, I highly recommend you check out the song below. It's hauntingly beautiful, and the theme relates to the story a lot.)

Those you've known
And lost, still walk behind you
All alone
Their song still seems to find you

~Spring Awakening, Those You've Known

Those You've Known – Part I

He had to. The urge to look back just once more was so strong that the intensity of it caused his breath to hitch in his chest. He paused, frozen halfway between the plane and his soon to be ex-partner, staring up at the grey clouds and closing his eyes. In front of him was the opportunity for a new life with a woman he loved. Behind him was a life with a man he both despised and, in some ways, loved. The choice was absolutely agonizing, tearing him in two directions and deep down he honestly had no clue if what he was going to do was even the right choice. But he had to choose, and it wasn't fair. Life never was.

The man's sharp gaze practically drilled into his as soon as he took a deep breath and turned to face him. Neal knew the smile on his own face was bitter, and he felt the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and he could see the same reflected on Peter's face, and it just hurt so much for some reason but he had to say something, anything, to the man who taught him so much.

"Peter-"

He was violently cut off as a sudden wave of sound and heat exploded from behind him, the blast causing him to stagger and fall forward onto the tarmac. Disoriented, it took a second before he realized what had happened. When he did, he turned, eyes wild as he took in the sight behind him. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"No," he whispered, trying in vain to deny reality."No."

"Neal!" He vaguely heard Peter's shout as he pushed off of the ground and tried to move forward, but so absorbed was he in the vision before him that it just didn't register until arms were thrown around him and he was pulled back.

"Kate. Kate!" He desperately trying to slip out of the restraining hold and get to her and help her and save her and tears streamed down his face as he watched flames consume her. And him. The roar in his ears was getting louder, and he screamed. "Kate!"

"Neal! You- you can't! Stop! Neal!"

He fought, and shoved, and finally landed a blow that caused the arms to release him. Then he was off, throwing his bag away as he sprinted across the tarmac towards the burning plane. There was no thought for his own safety anymore. All he knew was that she was in there and she wasn't dead. She couldn't be. She couldn't be!

"KATE!"

The plane exploded in front of him, the fire from the first one having finally touched the plane's full fuel tank. This time he was literally knocked off his feet, the force of the blast throwing him through the air like a rag doll, and a tearing pain ripped through his chest. Hitting the ground hard, his head slammed into the tarmac. He tried to move to get up, but his body wasn't cooperating and his vision was blurry and blackness was creeping at the corners of it as the world shifted to grayscale. Sound was muffled, his senses were dull, but he recognized the face suddenly looming over him as Peter. He missed the worry and terror shining clearly in the brown eyes though.

The man was saying something. His name maybe. He blinked as Peter's face swim in and out of focus, unable to understand what he was being told. The back of his head hurt, and his chest burned. It was suddenly getting harder to breath than it had been moments ago.

"Pe'ter." He coughed violently, and knew something was wrong when a metallic taste hit his tongue. The sight caused the man's eyes to widen and a frantic look crossed his face. Hands were suddenly roaming his body, searching for something. He tried to keep his eyes open but he was so tired."Ka-Kate-"

"-eal. Neal. Hey, Neal!" Someone slapped his face gently, and he groaned in pain. "Neal, I need you to stay awake! Don't do this to me damn it."

Cool air hit his bare chest, causing him to hiss, but also waking him up a little more. Peter's reaction wasn't good, and Neal watched motionless, as the man pulled away a red covered hand. Blood. His blood.

"Shit," Peter muttered, before leaning over him and meeting his eyes, trying to convey his desperation. "Neal, I need you to stay still. Just don't-" the man choked for some reason "don't move. Help's almost here, just… stay awake."

That was easier said then done. His thoughts were becoming more disjointed as the seconds past, and he knew he was fighting a losing battle. There was a part of him deep down that wanted to lose, because he just knew. He knew. And it hurt.

"Wha's wrong?"

A look of hesitation crossed Peter's face, but he answered shortly, "Shrapnel. Don't move."

Shrapnel. From the explosion. So that's what he had felt. He opened his mouth to say something, but all thought flew out the window when he caught sight of a figure behind Peter. A achingly familiar figure.

Her blue eyes flashed as she met his over the oblivious man's shoulder, and she put a finger to her lips to indicate he keep quiet. Why, he didn't understand. She was right there. He had to say something, anything. She was alive!

But the next second she was suddenly by his side, leaning over him. She gave him a sad smile that had no place on her beautiful face. He saw a glint from a piece of metal in her hand and he wondered what she was doing. And why Peter wasn't acknowledging her. Something was wrong.

"I'm sorry Neal," she whispered, lips twisting into a grimace, before raising the hand that held the piece of what looked like metal. He realized it wasn't really metal at all, but a knife. This wasn't right.

He tried to scream, but before he could her hand moved and the knife whistled through the air as it plunged downward-

Neal awoke with a gasp, jerking up in bed and glancing around the room wildly, confused as to where he was. He was breathing heavily, and a strangled sob escaped his throat when he recognized the familiar surroundings of his bedroom, and that he was not lying on the tarmac about to be killed by Kate.

Hastily, he pushed the covers off, then slid his tangled legs out of them and over the edge of the bed. His body was sticky with sweat, and he knew he was shaking. Sucking in a deep breath he put his head in his hands and tried to control his breathing. In, and out. In, and out. In, and-

"Neal?" A quiet voice startled him, as did the gentle hand suddenly running up his bare back, but he wasn't so out of it to not realize who it was. Her voice was rough with sleep, yet alert enough that he guessed she had been up for a while. "Ya'll right?"

"'m fine. Go back to sleep Sara." It came out harsher than he intended, and when he felt the hand pause, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. Damn it.. "Need water."

It was a lie, and they both knew it. He'd used it before. Way too often.

"'kay," she said softly, sighing and letting her hand fall away onto the bed.

He didn't look back at her as he swiftly stood and walked through the dark living room into the kitchen, though he could feel her eyes on him. It caused him to shiver, and gooseflesh broke out along his skin as his wet skin adjusted to the chillier air and her gaze. He opened a cupboard and silently fished out a glass. Moving to the tap, he turned it to cool and let the glass fill before shutting it off, the resulting squeak echoing a bit too loud in the silence. Like every other time, he turned and strode for the balcony doors, ignoring his bedroom, and unlocked them before stepping out into the New York night.

A cool breeze greeted him like an old friend, wrapping itself around him in a mockery of a hug and ruffling his hair as he went towards the edge of the building. Looking out at the softly glowing skyline, he closed his eyes and really took a deep breath, before letting it out with a sigh and setting the glass on a nearby table. Continuing on, he leant his body against the ledge of the building and tiredly folded his arms on top of the rough concrete, placing his chin on them and blankly staring outwards. His gaze was a million miles away.

The dream. Or nightmare, really. Despite the fact that she was in it, it was certainly no dream. He'd been having them on and off since the explosion, but they had gotten progressively worse over the past months. He thought they would be easier to hide, he just hadn't anticipated anyone else sleeping with him. Sleep, sleeping that is.

But then Sara entered his life again, and things just changed, He remembered the first time it had happened while she'd been over. Apparently he had been thrashing around and woken her. In turn, she had quickly realized what had been happening and finally woken him, after many attempts and dodging of limbs. He'd felt horrible and apologized profusely, while she'd made some crack about whether she had to handcuff him to the bed again. However, despite her cool demeanor, he could tell the episode had positively terrified, and worried, her.

And him too. It had been the first time that he thought it really occurred to her how much baggage Neal Caffrey might be carrying. That she had only scratched the surface. The only other person, outside of his world, who had had the privilege so far was Peter. But that was Peter. This was Sara. The FBI agent couldn't leave him, but she could.

Honestly, he still wasn't sure why that thought bothered him so much. He knew he didn't love her. He couldn't. Not yet. He also knew why, and he didn't want to even begin to think about it. The problem was, his dreams had begun to do the thinking for him, and there was no way to pick the lock those seemed to have on him.

Two-sixteen, AM. The blue numbers glared out at Sara from the clock on the bedside table, as she stared at it, arms curled underneath her head for support. It was late. Too late. She was exhausted. She knew she needed to sleep. She knew she could try. But she had a feeling that she would fail miserably, if previous occurrences were any indicator.

It was a little sad that she had lost track the number of times Neal had woken her in the middle of the night, trapped in a horrifying nightmare. Not that it was his fault, because it wasn't. Having an upsetting dream is no one's choice, let alone their fault. Although, she supposed she could place the blame on one person, but he was dead so she couldn't exactly do anything to him anyway.

That didn't make it any easier watching Neal suffer. If anything, it made it worse, knowing that the man was still ruining his life even from the grave. He'd had everything ripped away from him, he didn't need his sanity taken also. Which was what the dreams seemed to be doing as the days went on.

There was no doubt in her mind that he wasn't just dealing with them while she was over too. It had gotten to the point where the other day Peter had jokingly commented to her to stop keeping Neal up because he'd actually fallen asleep on him in the van. She caught the concern glinting in his eyes though, and the frown that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he'd watched the man chat with his wife was enough for her. Even the man's partner had noticed the unnatural exhaustion that seemed to hang like an angry rain cloud over him.

Sure, Neal hid it well. He was a con-man after all. But there had been slips, and only those who really knew him would be able to catch them. She wasn't sure if she should count herself lucky that she was one of those few, or if she should be nervous that she was getting closer to him. They were a lot alike in that aspect. They were both wary about letting others in. And that was something that they mutually understood about each other.

Right now though, lying in his bed and waiting for him to come back and pretend to fall asleep for her sake, she wished with all her heart that he'd just open up to her. The ache in her chest begged her to do something, anything, to help him. Problem was, she was at a complete loss as to how to even think about broaching the topic with him. He wasn't known for being talkative. About his own feelings at least. She was getting more than a little frustrated with him, and had a really bad feeling that something would give soon. Whether he wanted it to or not.

But she knew that she would be there to help pick up the pieces. As much as they both liked to joke about it, she knew she really did care for the man. Somehow, he'd charmed his way into her heart. She could only hope that she'd done the same.