Title: What Dreams Are Made Of.

Summary: Peter finds a little kid alone in the park.

Characters: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey

Warnings: Mention of child neglect.

Notes: Set in season 5.

...

Peter looked away from where Jones was leading their suspect away in handcuffs and found his attention being drawn once again to the small boy sat in one of the park benches, far enough away to have been undisturbed by the FBI's mostly discreet work but still visible from where Peter was standing. He had been there for a while now, and there didn't seem to be an adult with him.

"Boss?"

He turned back to find Diana at his side, watching him with curious eyes.

"I'll be right back." Peter took off in the boy's direction before the other agent could say another word.

He approached slowly, pausing for a second once he was close enough to see him clearly. The boy couldn't be much older than six, his head ducked as he looked down at the notebook on his lap and his lightly curly brown hair gleaming softly under the sunlight. He was dressed in a pair of worn-off jeans, a long-sleeve t-shirt, and scuffed blue sneakers. He was too clean and not skinny enough to be homeless. The old but well-cared for green backpack at his feet confirmed that assessment.

Peter looked around one more time, but nobody returned to the boy's side or even seemed to be keeping an eye on him. He moved closer after a moment.

"Hey there," Peter called quietly, stopping a few feet away. The boy's head shot upward, and he was met with the biggest and bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. The boy looked ready to bolt, notebook hugged to his chest and his free hand reaching down for his backpack.

It was a good reaction, Peter supposed, in case he had been approached by someone with far more sinister intentions. It was also worrying, though. A boy so young shouldn't have reason to react like that- not if he had a happy and healthy life at home.

"It's okay," He said, offering him what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he reached for his badge and held it up. "I'm an FBI agent."

The boy cocked his head, his bright eyes staring at Peter's badge for a second before reaching to take it in tiny hands.

"You're like a cop?" He asked after a moment of looking at the badge in his hands, his gaze now on Peter.

"Something like that, yes." It was better to keep things nice and simple.

"My dad was a cop too," The boy told him, a proud smile flickering across his face for a second before he looked downward. "But he's in heaven now."

"I'm sorry," Peter offered awkwardly, wondering if he should have asked Diana to come with him- or maybe sent her alone. He didn't have much experience dealing with children, but he had it on good authority that he royally sucked at it. Even Elizabeth had been forced to accept he was hopeless after a couple of family reunions.

The boy only shrugged, handing him the badge back without a word.

"I'm Peter Burke- Just Peter is fine. What's your name?"

He looked up at him with a tiny frown, his notebook hugged tighter. When he spoke, Peter had to strain to hear him.

"Neal."

"It's nice to meet you, Neal," He said with a smile. "How old are you?"

Neal chewed at his bottom lip. "Seven."

"You're seven, huh? That's a nice age," Peter added awkwardly. Christ, he really was bad at this. He looked skywards in a silent plea for help. "Are you here by yourself?"

"No," The boy was quick to answer, but he very carefully kept his eyes averted.

Peter may be bad with kids, but he knew how to read people. "Do you mind if I wait here with you until they come back?"

Neal froze, but he admitted to nothing, only shrugging in response.

Peter held back a smile. "Is your mom here with you?"

Neal shook his head after a moment's pause. "She's working."

"Right." Peter took another discreet look around, but nobody seemed to have taken notice of the strange man approaching the boy. "Can I sit here with you?"

Blue eyes looked at him under furrowed brows, but in the end, Neal only shruged yet again. Peter hesitated, keeping his eyes on him as he slowly sat down on the bench, making sure to leave as much distance as possible between them. The little shoulders relaxed little by little as they sat together, the silence only broken by the usual sounds around the park.

Peter's attention was drawn to the notebook on the boy's hands as tiny fingers fidgeted with the spiral binding.

"You like drawing?"

Neal pressed the notebook against his chest again, his nod almost imperceptibly with his head ducked.

"That's nice. I'm hopeless at drawing stuff myself. The only thing I can draw is stick figures." Peter saw the corner of the boy's lips curl slightly upward for just a second and smiled in response. "I bet you're pretty good, huh?"

"Not really," Neal admitted with another shrug. "I just like to draw."

"Can I see?"

Neal's head snapped upward, wide eyes moving to stare at him. He looked surprised, almost as if he couldn't believe someone was interested in seeing his drawings. That detail did nothing to reassure Peter. He waited patiently until Neal pulled the notebook away from his body before holding it out to Peter with an apprehensive look.

Peter blinked in surprise as soon as he saw the drawing on the page. He had been prepared to smile and pretend he knew what it was he was supposedly seeing there. Instead, he found a drawing of a small pug lying on the grass with a bright red ball. It was far from being a masterpiece, but it was pretty good for a child's drawing.

"This is really good. You're very talented," He added with a smile.

"Thank you," The boy murmured softly, letting him catch the glimpse of a proud smile.

"You like dogs, huh?"

Neal's head bobbed up and down. "They're the best!"

"They are, aren't they?" Peter said with a small chuckle. The boy's enthusiasm was contagious. "I have one myself. He's a yellow lab called Satchmo."

"Satchmo?" The boy asked, small eyebrows knitted together.

"Yeah. My wife Elizabeth named him. She likes jazz music, so she named him after one of her favorite artists."

"I like that. Dogs should always have special names," Neal said with a firm nod as if that was a rule everyone should know. Maybe it was, Peter thought dryly.

"What about you? Got a pet at home?"

Neal shook his head, brown curls bouncing around his head. "No, but sometimes people let me pet their dogs here. And there's a street dog I see around the school that lets me pet him sometimes. He's nice," He added with a bright smile.

The image of a rabid dog attacking the tiny boy at his side flashed through Peter's mind, or even the possibility of him being infected with some awful disease. He forced a smile on his face as he nodded, hoping Neal hadn't noticed even a glimpse of horror on his face.

A couple of laughing kids on their bicycles raced past them, and Peter didn't miss the way Neal's bright eyes followed them until they were out of clear sight.

"So," Peter started, drawing the boy's attention back to him. "Are you planning to become a famous artist when you grow up?"

"No," The boy replied without hesitation. "I'm gonna be a cop just like my dad. He was a hero, you know?" Neal added with a proud little smile. "He saved lots of people."

"I'm sure you will be a great cop, just like your dad," Peter replied with a fond smile, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. "Your mom must be very proud to have a son as talent and brave as you."

Neal seemed to shrink up in himself in the blink of an eye, shrugging once again instead of offering an answer. The reaction only served to make Peter's worry grow, as well as confirm the gut feeling that made him approach in the first place. He wished El was here to comfort Neal, which was a ridiculous thought, really. He tried to bring the conversation back on track.

"You shouldn't be here by yourself," Peter told him gently. "It could be dangerous."

"I like to come to the park, but sometimes Ellen is busy and can't bring me, so I come alone," Neal admitted. He looked at him with wide, honest eyes. "I'm always careful, I promise."

"I'm sure you are," Peter agreed with a smile. "Who's Ellen?"

The smile was back on Neal's face almost instinctively as soon as he heard the name. "She's like my aunt, but not really. She's friends with my mom."

Peter made a mental note of that but decided not to press further. "Even if you're careful, you still shouldn't come to the park alone."

"I just don't like being home alone," Neal admitted with yet another shrug.

Peter was ready to follow that statement and inquire further about the boy's mother when Neal raised one of his fists to rub his eye, the movement pulling at the cuff of his sleeve just enough to offer a peek of the purple bruise contrasting sharply against the pale skin of his wrist.

"That's a nasty bruise," He commented with a nod, struggling to keep his voice even and not demand to know who hurt him. "Does it hurt?"

Neal frowned, following Peter's gaze. He didn't hurry to cover the bruise or acted suddenly nervous, which was a positive point at least. "Not really."

"What happened?"

"Matt was being meant," The boy explained simply.

"Who's Matt?"

"Matthew," Neal answered as if that answered the question. "We play together at school, but sometimes he's mean."

He barely stopped himself from sighing in relief. Neal was very likely being neglected by his mother and somewhat taken care of by that Ellen person, but at least it didn't sound like he was abused. Still, he needed to get a social worker involved. He didn't know anyone who could help, but Peter was sure if she asked her Diana could dig around and find someone good to take care of Neal.

Peter looked at the boy at his side again. For some reason, he had the feeling Neal would be gone as soon he tried to call someone. He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by an obnoxious little sound coming from somewhere close. He looked around with a frown-

.

.

.

Peter's eyes shot open, and he instinctively patted around his body until he found the ringing cell phone tucked somewhere on the couch with him. He answered the call before he had time to make sense of anything or even check the ID.

"Burke."

"Hey, Peter. How are you feeling?"

"What- Neal?" Peter asked with a frown. Hadn't Neal just been right here with him? And why did he sound so different? He looked around as he urged his fuzzy brain to work properly.

There was silence for a beat or two. "Yeah, it's me. Are you okay, Peter?"

Peter could only blink as he finally realized the Neal he knew -the real Neal, currently on the phone with him- wasn't a seven-year-old boy alone on a park bench with a notebook full of drawings, but rather an ex-convict he chased for years and then got released into his custody with a tracking anklet.

It was just a dream. All of it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a rough hand across his face. Everything had felt so real-

"Peter?" Neal called softly, a world of concern clear on that single word.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. I was asleep," Peter added after a moment's pause. He sat up on the couch and met Satchmo's dark eyes as the dog lay on the rug, tail slowly wagging.

"Oh. Sorry, I woke you," Neal offered quietly. "I just wanted to know how you're doing."

"It's fine. How are things with the Wolcotts?" He asked as details of the case came back to him. Elizabeth's 'friend' coming back home after years missing, Neal playing butler for the family while they learned if Patrick Wolcott was really Patrick Wolcott.

"Nothing worth mentioning yet. I'm outside walking the dog right now- that's why I took the chance to call you," Neal justified before Peter questioned him about that. "You sounded pretty bad last time I called you."

"I'm fine," Peter replied. He sounded a little rough even to his own ear, but he really didn't want to be speaking with Neal when the memory of that blue-eyed boy was still so fresh in his mind. "You should be focusing on the case and your buttling, not on me."

"Right," Neal said after a moment of silence. "I guess we'll talk later. Feel better, Peter," He added softly, ending the call without waiting for a response.

Peter let the phone drop somewhere on the couch and buried his face with his hands with a groan. Great. Now he needed to find a way to apologize to Neal for all that. Maybe he could ask El to make those little chickens he liked so much. Of course, that meant he would have to tell her what happen and most likely get scolded for the way he treated him, but so be it. He probably deserved it.

All of that was going to have to wait, though- at least until he got over this terrible cold. Hopefully, when that happened Peter would be able to look at Neal without seeing the boy from his dream, so full of innocence and clearly waiting for someone to notice him. Someone to care.

Peter let himself fall back on the couch and tried unsuccessfully to banish the image from his mind.

...

a/n: I'm sorry. I just had to do it. The muse demanded it. With a character like Neal Caffrey sometimes you just have to play around with the 'what ifs' a little, and you can just bet Peter's subconscious does the same thing as well, mixing what he knows with the things he has guessed over the years. Using a dream was the easiest and fastest way for me to do this without leaving a bunch of loose ends with such a short piece. I also picked this time in canon deliberately to use all the tension and animosity that existed between them as a contrast to Peter's view of Neal as young and innocent and in need of help in the dream. So, I hope you enjoyed this and please don't be too hard on me. I just wanted to write kid!Neal even if I still don't know how to write kids.

Also, thank you so much to the people who have taken the time to leave reviews. They really mean a lot.