Neal wasn't so much of a coward that he snuck in through his bedroom window. No; he simply walked through the front door. The Burkes were sitting at the kitchen table, but he ignored them and went upstairs to his room.

He sat on his bed for a moment, and then picked up a paintbrush from the ground. He opened the paint cans and dipped the paintbrush into a few of them. He decided to paint on the wall with the window, and in moments, a picture came to life. It was a dark picture, with browns and blacks and grays, but in Neal's mind, it made sense. It all made sense. Suddenly, there was red added, and purple – bright purple, almost blue, and a bit of white. Neal wasn't totally aware of what it was he was painting, but he painted it, almost mechanically, seeing it clearly in his mind's eye.

He finished the image in about an hour, and around then was when El came in. He didn't notice her at first, sitting on the ground and staring up at his work of art, but then she cleared her throat. He tensed a little, but otherwise didn't acknowledge her presence.

"Neal," she said, coming over and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tensed even more, but she ignored it, saying, "I hope you know that Peter wasn't trying to be judgmental or harsh. We don't think you're a bad kid, but Peter can jump to conclusions pretty fast. He's sorry that he accused you of being a criminal."

Neal laughed hollowly, but didn't say anything. After a moment, El asked, "Are you okay, Neal?"

"'m fine," Neal answered.

"Tell me about your dad," El said when he didn't say anything else.

Neal abruptly stood, grabbing the lid to the can of white paint, going over to the can and pushing down on it to put it into place. "There's nothing to tell," he said, seemingly very focused on getting the lid on the can right.

"Of course there is," El said. "He's your dad. He's one of the most special people in the world that you will ever know. You've got to know something about him."

"Not mine," Neal said, picking up the lid for the black paint can. El was silent, expecting him to continue, and after he put the lid on the can, he did. With a sigh almost of exasperation, he got the lids to the blue and red paint cans, saying, "My dad was a cop. His favorite color was gray, and when he got home from work he liked to have a can of beer and talk with me. He hated sausage and spaghetti sauce, and his favorite ice cream was rocky road. He always noticed everything, and when we went on road trips, we always played the ABC game. He liked to have barbecues with his friends and family on his birthdays. He was strongly against abortion and strongly in favor of gay marriage. He liked to go shooting at the range on Saturdays, and sometimes he took me with him, even when I was too young to even know what a gun was. He doesn't believe in conspiracy theories, but he likes to know about them because he finds them amusing." Forcefully he pounded the yellow paint can lid onto the top of the can and said, "But even after all of that, he is, in short, a hypocrite and a fucking asshole."

Neal turned and looked at her, and El was startled to see that Neal was just barely containing livid rage in his eyes. She had been completely fooled throughout his description of his father, and hadn't been able to see his face as he sounded perfectly content, but when she saw his expression and he completed his description, she had realized just how pissed off at his father he actually was. It was clear that he hated him, though why, she wasn't completely sure.

"Is that enough description for you?" he demanded, sounding a bit sarcastic. "I only knew him until I was five, so I can't give a full, police-detailed description."

El knew that there was more to the story than Neal was letting on, but she was wise enough not to push it.

"Neal, I'm not trying to be the bad guy here," she said. "I just want to get to know you better. I mean, there's got to be some reason your painting is so amazing! There has to be someone who taught you to paint like a genius." The last part was true, but really El only said it to try and get him to smile and ease up.

But it had the exact opposite effect. Neal tensed even more as he said, "No. I taught myself."

El turned around and walked over to the wall where Neal's first painting was.

"Well, either way, it's pretty amazing." she said, studying it. She pointed to the group of faces on the right, where they seemed to be shouting or singing. "Who are those people?"

Neal walked over to the wall and pointed to one of the faces, a woman with stringy brown hair and a sharp, angular face.

"That's Janice," he said hollowly, then pointed to a balding man with a double chin. "That's Albert." He pointed to several other faces, listing off their names as he went. "That's Olga. That's Eddie. That's Dee. That's Renee. That's Larry. That's Carla. That's Felicia. That's Diane. That's Jerrod. That's Quinn. That's Malcolm. That's Cody. That's Hugo. That's Xina. That's Marie. That's Caryn. That's Oswald. That's Geoff. That's Viola. That's Barry. That's Jacob. That's Wilma. That's Alfred. That's Nina. That's James. That's Geralde. That's Aimee. That's Celeste. That's Rebekah. That's Lacey. That's Natalie. That's Zack. That's Jim. That's Sabrina. That's Kristine. That's Beverly. That's Mike. That's Stacey. That's Nancy. That's Ted. That's Frank. That's Antoine. That's Michelle. That's Melanie. That's Sierra. That's Rhonda. That's Rachel. That's Carolyn. That's Sarah. That's Susan. That's Jessica. That's Britney. That's Clint. That's Cory. That's Bryn. That's Alexander. That's Trenton. That's Lynn. That's Barney. That's Liz. That's Bess. That's Harvey. That's Louis. That's Conrad. That's Don. That's Robert. That's Corbin. That's Tim. That's Kenn. That's Chad. That's Erika. That's Curt. That's Amanda. That's Christie. That's Doug. That's Andrew. That's Mark. That's Antonio. That's Morgan. That's Laura. That's Suzanne. That's Meghan. That's Steven. That's Kathy. That's Jason. That's Krista. That's Tony. That's Norman. That's Isabel. That's Manny. That's William. That's Collin. That's Theresa. That's Jacques. That's Andre. That's Jennifer. That's Madison. That's Marshall. That's Noah. That's Elijah. That's Griffin. That's Dakota. That's Anne. That's Heber. That's Spencer. And that's Grant."

"Who are they?" El asked. "Why did you paint them?"

"They're some of my foster parents," Neal said, staring at the wall of faces.

El rose her eyebrows. "Some?" she clarified. If fifty-four couples was some, how many had he actually been through?

Neal shrugged. "That's three-quarters of them. I didn't have enough space for the other eighteen."

El blinked, and then said, "Why so many?"

Neal glared at the wall and answered, "No one wants to raise trouble. I never stayed in one place longer than a couple of months."

El was so surprised and sorry at the same time that she didn't know what to say. She stared at Neal's expression, which remained in its stony glare for all of three seconds. Then suddenly, his face crumpled into one of frustration and despair, and he whirled around, grabbing the one open can of white paint, about two-thirds full, and hurled it at the wall. Paint splashed up onto the faces, covering a few but not all. Neal, forgetting that El was even there, started to use his hands to smear the paint all over them. But because the paint was darker underneath, it couldn't be covered - it was still seen through the white. The paint dripped down the wall, gathering in a pool at the sheet on the ground.

El had been surprised at first, but then she followed her instincts, not trying to stop Neal but instead grabbing the closed can of blue paint and a couple of rollers. She quickly poured the blue paint into a tray and swiped one of the rollers through it, and then starting to roll it over the wall, covering the painting underneath. When Neal saw what she was doing, he stopped, seemingly realizing where he was and who was with him. He looked embarrassed for a moment, but then he watched El rolling the paint over the wall.

After a few moments, he took the other roller and joined her.

~WC~

So...sorry this chapter took a bit longer than I originally intended, but I kept writing and rewriting it, because I wanted to get it just right without it seeming like it was being rushed through or anything.

Did you guys like this ending? Cuz I've gotta tell you, I came up with about a hundred different endings for this chapter that would've taken the story in a hundred different directions, some of them including guns...:/ But I finally decided that all this one really needed was Neal to start opening up, and him joining El was a symbol of that, I guess.

So...in the future, do you guys want more of this kind of angsty stuff, or do you want danger and action? Maybe some Neal whump? Let me know, cuz like I said, I can take this in about a hundred different directions! :)