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Prompt: Multiple Personality Disorder of the government sanctioned variety.

Sometimes Neal wondered, despite the fact that he knew deep down inside that it was dangerous for him to wonder the things he did. To wonder why he never told anyone that he didn't remember anything before waking up in an empty New York apartment all those years ago. Why he didn't remember having a mother, a father, or siblings. Why he had no clue where he was from, or where he should be. Why it was so easy for him to fall into the con life, to thrive in it. Why he could slip into an alias so fast. Why he didn't like guns, or violence, yet was so capable of using both with ease. Why running was like breathing, it was so natural. Why something about the government alphabet agencies made him shiver. Why he woke up screaming in the middle of the night in his cell, broken fragments of blood and muzzle flashes passing across his vision like a dvd that skips the most important parts. Why even getting out of the small cell to work with Peter Burke made that itch to run return. Why he felt torn in two working with the FBI. Why the idea of stability made him cringe. Why he got flashes of people he didn't recognize, names he didn't know, and things he didn't remember learning.

He wondered why the name Neal Caffrey didn't feel right. Why it didn't feel like him. Why none of his aliases did. Why every time he saw it or heard it he got this niggling feeling in the back of his mind, a building pressure of something. Why there was this black cloud that seemed to perpetually hang over his thoughts, obscuring his vision. Why he woke up with bruises and cuts he didn't remember getting. Why he knew how to use concealer like a professional makeup artist. Why he avoided certain books in his bookshelf. Why he felt so tired and on edge during the day sometimes. Why he felt like bursting into tears every time Peter or El mentioned concern for him, or when they invited him over for dinner. Why El reminded him so much of someone, but he couldn't think of who.

And that was just the thing. He couldn't remember. There were blank spots in his memory, pieces that just weren't there. He'd fall asleep at the table, and wake up gasping in the bathroom, draped over the bathtub, muscles aching like he'd just been in a fight. It terrified him. Kept him awake at night, waiting for something, though what, he didn't know. But then, he'd end up closing his eyes-

-and Bryce would wake up.

AN: I'm back in the game. For fans of Cascade, I'm doing a reread right now, and I'm gonna start writing it and this one again. :)