The Playlist Is Magic

In which I hear Matt Bomer playing Blaine’s brother and can’t resist making a Glee/White Collar crossover.

I suppose I can classify this as Nealangst? (It runs in the family lol.) Head!Canon has Neal 10 years older than Blaine, he ran away from their parents when Neal was sixteen and Blaine was six. This drabble takes place shortly after Neal is released to Peter’s custody. Now it’s your turn, Claire! *grabby hands*

- - -

Both agreed that it leaving behind their pasts was for the best. But Mozzie knew his friend better than that, knew he cared too deeply for those he loved and those he lost, which is why he stood in front of the New York FBI headquarters building holding an unlabeled envelope, waiting for Neal Caffrey.

Every year on the first of November, Neal would go about his business as usual, after all, he was very good at keeping his personal life, well, personal. Mozzie would give him a package, usually no bigger than an envelope, and no words were exchanged. No words were needed.

But today was different because Neal wasn’t in prison this year and that FBI agent, Peter Burke, had Neal running off on some case and that changed everything. Mozzie wasn’t sure if he’d even see his old friend today, wasn’t certain he’d get him his annual collection of news and notes and photographs and CDs. 

Here was a year in the life of Blaine Anderson. And Neal always got it on November 1st.

Mozzie rocked back and forth on his heels for lack of anything better to do, checking his watch one more time. The envelope tingled, burning his hand, and Mozzie hailed a cab guiltily. He’d give it to Neal later tonight.

- - -

Neal finally comes in around quarter to midnight. At least it was still November 1st.

He practically melts when he sees Mozzie, revealing a wide, tired smile. “Moz! Thank… everything. I thought you would have given up by now.” He expectantly eyes the envelope in Mozzie’s hands as he hung his coat at the door.

Mozzie frowns, Neal has never spoken to him before regarding this tradition, never openly expressed how much he looked forward to what it was Mozzie brought him. Selfishly, he had hoped he’d give the package to Neal and leave, but Neal had to go and talk about it and Mozzie knew what the package contained and he couldn’t just leave his friend because he knew. 

“He’s been…” Mozzie began nervously. Neal raised an eyebrow, but Mozzie continued, “Neal. Before you open this… you know you can’t ever go home, right?”

The former conman gave his friend an inquisitive smile, but his eyes darkened as the weight of Mozzie’s words fell on him. “Of course I know that. What is this about Moz?”

Mozzie pushes the envelope towards Neal and looks out the window. 

The eager anticipation in the conman’s eyes was replaced with anxious trepidation. He picked up the envelope lightly and stalked over to one of the arm chairs in the room.

“It’s a bit thicker than normal,” Neal joked as his letter opener ran along the envelope’s spine. He pulled out a manilla folder, and froze as he recognized the letterhead for Westerville Regional Hospital.

“Moz…”

“It was only a few weeks ago, when I was there to finalize the package. Apparently, there was this dance when these older guys jumped him and his date.” 

Neal twitched, his eyes drinking in every detail the hospital pages contained. Every cut, every bruise…

“He was in a coma for two weeks, but he woke up and the doctor’s said he’d make a full recovery with time,” Mozzie continued quietly.

Mozzie hadn’t included a picture this time. He hadn’t wanted his friend to see the boy in a hospital dressing gown, florescent lighting garashly highlighting the red gashes on his face and arms and the purple and green bruises littering the rest of his body.

He regretted it as he watched Neal’s face, because the handsome young man only looked more broken as he tore through the papers. Neal hadn’t seen his brother in person in years - whereas Mozzie could clearly see the thirteen-year-old, Neal could only picture those same injuries on the six-year-old brother he had left behind.

Neal bit his lip, “I need to go to Ohio.”

“You can’t leave New York,” Mozzie reminded him, looking pointedly at the ankle bracelet. 

“New York, Rome, London…” the reformed conman shook his head with a mirthless laugh, “All the art, architecture, music, and wine I had always wanted with my life… and now…” He swallowed thickly, leaning back in the arm chair and allowing the envelope with all its photos and papers to slip haphazardly to the floor, “I can’t ever go back can I?”

“No.”

“I want to.”

“I know.”

“I could ask Peter. He would, if I told him… he’d probably fly to Ohio and arrest those boys himself.”

Mozzie didn’t reply.

The younger man slipped off the chair to the ground, gathering the strewn pages back into the envelope. “No, you’re right. Peter doesn’t have to… can’t know about them. Neal Anderson is too far gone, six feet under, to come home. I can’t be the son they always wanted, and I will never be the big brother B needs.” 

The conman seemed to shrink, clutching the envelope tightly and lost in his own nostalgia. “I knew that when I left and I still left anyway. I’ve never won the Best Big Brother award before so why start now?” he concluded bitterly.

“I’ll make sure the boys responsible learn their lesson.”

“Could you do one more thing for me, Moz?”

“Perhaps.”

“You forgot the picture this year.”

“I did.”

“Can you bring me a new one?”

“Of course.”