Notes: Welcome to the long awaited Erasure sequel where we find out what happened to Dick after he erased himself and ran away (Erasure is a one shot, go read if you haven't because it's the foundation of this story). And wow, I did not expect the direction this story went in. So, it is a crossover where Dick became Neal Caffrey and it's not the first time I've done a story like this (see 'Seven Years Running'). However, it's a little different to White Collar fanfic as it starts at the beginning of Neal Caffrey. There'll be familiar characters to people who have watched White Collar and familiar plot.

I haven't figured out how closely it's going to relate to White Collar events. So far it's used information we know about Neal before Mozzie but that doesn't mean I won't make plot changes further long.

I'm hoping to write this so that you don't have to have seen White Collar or know anything DC if you're a White Collar fan. But if there are any questions, I can answer them if you review (or comment on the story on AO3, I can respond to anonymous/guest comments over there).

Now, having erased himself, I have made some writing choices, especially when it comes to Dick/Neal. Some DC fans might find the lack of DC presence in these first few chapters disappointing. I plan to sprinkle them at the start. There will be a reveal! This is the only promise will can make for this story. The family will find Dick. I don't know when it'll happen but I do hope you can stick around long enough for the DC characters and plot to come in.

Chapter 1

A man without a name sat in the airport waiting area. He was sitting at the cafe, just out of sight of the cameras, humming to himself as he drank his third cup of coffee and pretended to read a book. Dark hair covered his blue eyes and his grin was bright and welcoming. He finished his coffee and ordered another one.

"...Nealy Caffrey..."

He froze as the server spoke. He had only been half listening. "What?"

"Sorry," the server responded, looking down and blushing a little in embarrassment. "I said, you look really carefree."

'Really carefree'... he had heard it as 'Neal Caffrey'.

"I guess," he responded with a grin, encouraging the server to talk more.

"Where are you travelling to?"

"Why do you think I'm travelling?" he asked her kindly and with a playful grin.

She gasped. "Did you just arrive? I'm sorry...no, wait. You've been here since before the planes started landing."

He laughed a warm laugh. "I know. I've kind of been trying to decide where to go. I'm the kind of guy who just can't stay in one place for long." He picked up his bag and put his book away. "Tell me, if you could go anywhere, where would you like to go?"

The server thought for a moment, twirling her long brown plait in her fingers as she did.

"Paris," she decided. "I've always wanted to go and see The Louvre."

He hummed. Sounded interesting enough. Honestly, he didn't really care where he ended up.

"Sounds nice. I hope you get to go there one day."

She nodded but didn't really have much to add. He smiled at her one last time before moving away.

A nameless man left Gotham.

Neal Caffrey landed in New York. He smiled and made conversation with the other travellers before catching a flight to Paris.

Neal decided to try going out to meet people. However, he couldn't do gymnastics or any kind of martial art as he didn't want to attract attention. It was time to try something else.

Somehow he learnt about art lessons held for English speakers. A place to meet people while learning a new skill.

Neal flashed back to a normally abrasive young boy shyly showing him some of the pictures in his art book. It was probably a little too sentimental of him; they always thought he was a little too sentimental, but Neal couldn't just ignore the memory or the way it felt like recapturing a piece of himself to draw and paint.

He was good at it. Neal imagined it was the time he spent as a kid and later a police officer, taking witness statements and creating a picture of the criminal. Sometimes, often when he was younger and in training, it involved making an actual picture of what he thought the criminal looked like. He had also learnt how to reconstruct crime scenes in images, track crimes on maps and try to build a small or big picture.

Those skills translated to painting well. As for the stuff which he didn't have any skills for, there were a lot of hours in the night. After years of tight, minimal sleep schedules for a nightlife lifestyle, Neal often either couldn't get to sleep at the same time as others or was awake long before the sun.

The former was more common than the later. Neal spent long hours at night just practising painting and art to help calm the jitters under his skin which wanted to be out on the rooftops.

Neal didn't have much money. He did whatever jobs would take him. He tried to make some money off his art.

That didn't go well. People bought a couple of pieces and he only made one commission towards the end of his time as a 'starving artist'.

His first commission was to recreate a painting hanging in an art museum. They supplied the paints, all the information on the painting he could ever need and even gave him some pointers on how to recreate the artist's style.

Neal wasn't raised an idiot, despite what people in his past life might have thought. He had been commissioned to make a forgery to either be sold as the real piece or used to replace the real piece in a robbery. Considering the real piece was hanging in a museum, it was probably the latter. He was smart enough not to confront them on his thoughts. They had guns. He hadn't brought any weapons with him to Paris.

Neal painted their picture. He listened to their conversations, they didn't seem to realise he was fluent in French, and he profiled them. They were the kind of criminals who would do the crime the moment the painting was finished. That made his plan easier.

He found the real painting and scouted the place. Since there were already people planning a break in, he only needed to be able to piggyback off their plan.

When the painting was finished, Neal was paid and allowed to go on his merry way. Neal set up surveillance on the criminals, followed them to the museum and emerged from the shadows to knock them out. It was liberating to stand there with the three 'criminal masterminds' unconscious and tied up at his feet and two paintings resting against the wall.

Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was just him giving way a little after months away from his family but Neal looked at the two paintings and had an idea.

He pulled a piece of paper out from one of the criminal's pockets, the pockets of the guy who hired him for that little bit of extra irony, and scribbled a message which he stuck into the frame of the painting.

'Real or not?' It even looked like the criminal's handwriting.

Neal grinned and left with his fake. He made sure the person he was selling it to knew it was a stolen painting. Neal made off with enough money to keep him comfortable for a while, before the museum could confirm that they had the real one. The only sad part is that he missed the look on the rich, corrupt businessman's face when he realised he had bought a forgery.

After the rush to leave Paris, Neal made his way around Europe. He learnt new things and ended up honing his forgery skills along with some of the other skills he had learnt when younger. He chose to stay in the lower class areas which were also places where criminals lived and worked. He saw the kinds of criminals his brothers would like to hit.

However, Neal also met another kind of criminal. The one who did it because it was the only life they knew. It was a way to put food on the table and make sure their families were kept warm, fed and safe. They stole for their mothers, fathers, wives, sons and daughters. Not everywhere was like his home city, where someone who really wanted to make honest work had support to do so if they knew where to look. That wasn't to say it was easy back in his home city but it was easier than being stuck as a career criminal. These were otherwise nice people. Neal often babysat the kids for some guys he made friends with while travelling.

Neal wasn't sure when exactly the tipping point was. He did a job stealing jewellery with a man whose invalid mother Neal had made friends with. She had asked him to look after her son and Neal had already broken one family and he didn't want to see that happen to another. He spent a lot of his time hanging with people who admitted to stealing and breaking other laws. They bragged and Neal scoffed and they asked him if he could do better.

He didn't think his mentor intended for his pickpocket skills to be used whenever he needed a little of the local cash but Neal didn't take from anyone who couldn't afford it. Plus, most of the larger scores he made from less than legal means were put away in case he needed to run, not for little things like food and temporary lodgings.

He needed to run in Spain when he caught wind of Red Hood gunning his way through one of the gangs. Apparently the boss had done something overseas to make Red Hood mad and the anti-hero hunted him and his gang down.

Neal was out of there, hightailing it back to France and making his way down to Monaco. While he didn't hold ill will towards those from his past life, he still didn't want to go through the awkwardness of seeing them again.

Sometimes he had nightmares about meeting his family again. In some, they scoffed and insinuated that it was better now that he was gone. In some, they killed him. It was either by accident, like that one dream that ended with him getting between Red Hood and someone he was shooting, or they pushed him off something because they didn't want him around.

The ones he thought most likely though? Those were the ones where they didn't even recognise him. His previous self had been erased after all so they probably just forgot he even existed.

Avoiding them was the best option. Besides, he had heard about a good way to kill some time in Monaco.