The Ward family was not close.
As a result, the first time Grant met his uncle Peter was after his parents, sister, and younger brother died.
The adult looked eerily like a much older version of his older brother, and that was enough to ensure Grant was skittish around the man. Peter was clearly not too comfortable around children as well, and he spent time when they were first introduced awkwardly trying to befriend the two surviving Ward boys, but when it was clear Christian wasn't interested and Grant was too shy, Peter stopped trying.
He took over the investigation of their house's burning, however, and Grant hoped he'd find that Christian did it.
But at the same time, he had a feeling the blame it on him somehow, from some miniscule piece of evidence pointing to him.
So when Uncle Peter asked him about the fire, Grant said he didn't know what started it.
When their uncle mentioned he would take them home with him to take care of them now, Grant planned to run away, but Peter always seemed to be around when he tried. And so, he found himself trapped in a FBI car with his brother and an uncle he'd never known, on their way to New York City.
---
When Uncle Peter walked them into his home, Grant wasn't sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn't the warm, brown-haired woman who opened the door and hugged him and his brother.
She introduced herself as Aunt Elizabeth and then had to pull their dog ("Satchmo, down!") off of Grant when the dog leapt on him to lick his face.
To Grant's delight, the dog didn't seem to like Christian.
That wasn't enough to make him change his mind about running away, however, and as soon as he could tell his aunt and uncle were asleep, he was out of the window of the room he'd been given with Christian (who was awake but pretending not to be - Grant knew Christian wanted him gone, anyway).
By the time the sun rose, he was miles away, waiting for a train. When it arrived, he managed to get on without a ticket by claiming his parents were already on board, and the harried ticket man let him through.
The train was about to start moving when a man dressed in a suit sat down next to him.
"Nice move with the ticketmaster," the man said, and Grant froze. "I wouldn't have thought a member of Peter's family would be so good at skirting authority."
Grant shrank down in his seat, and the man laughed. Grant quickly looked over at him. Good-looking. Well-dressed. He seemed like someone who knew how to get what he wanted, like Christian, but without the intimidating air around him.
"Hey kid, it's okay. I approve. Your uncle had to chase me for years before he could catch me."
At that, Grant looked up.
"Did he send you? Is he here?"
The man smiled again, although it was more triumphant this time.
"No, I bet Peter you'd run. I told him I could find you first when you did, too. Thanks for proving me right, kid."
"But you're going to bring me back there now, aren't you?"
The man lost the smile.
"Why don't you want to go back? Peter is a good guy, even if he is a fed."
Grant shook his head.
"He seems nice, but...my brother..."
The man's eyes narrowed, as the train began to pull away from the station.
"Your brother's name is Christian, right?" He asked.
Grant nodded.
"Did he have anything to do with the fire?"
Grant's eyes shot up again, and he winced when the man gave him an understanding look.
"Peter said something seemed fishy about how the fire started. He wouldn't guess one of his nephews started it, but we know better, don't we?" The man said, knocking his elbow against Grant's side.
Grant drew his legs up and buried his face behind his knees.
The man let him hide in silence for a few minutes, and around his legs, Grant noticed him examining something on his ankle, which had begun flashing red. A tracking anklet, Grant realized, but the man didn't seem concerned, but Grant realized this man was more like him than his family, or his uncle and aunt. He'd already admitted he was some sort of criminal, if an FBI agent had been chasing him.
"They won't believe me," Grant muttered into his knees, and the man didn't turn to look, but kept watching the red blinking light. It helped, not being watched. "They never believe me."
"They don't believe you about what?" The man asked.
"Christian tortured our brother, Thomas, because Mother didn’t. And...he started the fire. Christian did it."
Saying it gave him hope, but at the same time, he was terrified. If this man didn't believe him, he didn't think anyone would. And he could guess how Christian would react if he said anything.
Grant didn't look to see the man's reaction, and it was quiet for several minutes. They could hear sirens slowly approaching, probably responding to the anklet’s alert, Grant guessed. It still felt like they were coming for him.
"Peter will believe you," the man finally said, quietly.
Grant looked at him, his stubborn disbelief and doubt plain on his face.
"And if he doesn't, I'll help you. Deal?" The man held out his hand.
Hesitantly, Grant shook it.
"Neal Caffrey, alleged thief, forger, and con man," the man introduced himself. "You can call me Neal."
"Grant Ward," Grant replied quietly, eyes growing wide.
The sirens were louder, and the train had stopped.
"I think our ride is here," The man - Neal - said, sounding unbothered. "Then we'll go see Peter about your brother. You're going to be okay, kid."
Grant tensed when policemen came to get his new (and only, thanks to Christian) friend, but Neal didn't stop smiling throughout the whole thing, and Grant managed to persuade the cops to let him ride in the front of the car taking Neal away.
His smile made Grant feel like maybe, he actually would be okay. His promise to help if it didn't comforted him even more.
Besides, if a con man and an FBI agent both believed him about the fire, no one else would question which Ward brother set the fire.
No one would ever understand that he’d just been trying to escape Christian again. It had been an accident.
---
When Neal was done explaining things to Uncle Peter, it was Grant’s turn. He repeated his story, and then Peter talked to a lot of other agents, some of whom also talked with Grant again, until Neal finally came back and told Grant that they were done. Neal took him to his uncle again.
“Hey, kid,” Peter said, bending down somewhat to be closer to Grant’s height. Grant didn’t come out from his place behind one of Neal’s legs. “You’re going to be okay. Christian won’t be there when we get home. He’ll be -”
Grant shook his head quickly to cut his uncle off.
“I don’t want to know,” he mumbled quickly. “Please,” he added.
Peter nodded understandingly.
“I’m sorry you went through this, Grant. If I’d have known, I would have helped sooner.”
Grant mumbled something again, about how Uncle Peter couldn’t have known, and then he was being packed away in the car again.
This time, when they stopped at his aunt and uncle’s house, when the front door opened and Aunt Elizabeth stepped out, Grant ran to her and hugged her, hiding his face.
She murmured soothing platitudes into his ear while Peter got out of the car, and Grant could feel Neal’s gaze, kind but sharp, on him for most of the night.
Grant wasn’t sure if Neal knew, but if he did, he never said anything, and didn’t push Grant away.
---
Peter walked in on them sitting on the living room couch. Neal had been teaching him how to pick pockets.
"Neal, stop teaching him how to be a criminal!"
Grant flinched slightly, but Neal was already answering with a grin.
"But Peter, he's a natural! I would never have guessed your side of the family would be so naturally gifted at being on my side of the law." Neal slapped Grant on the back supportively. "I mean, my old side of the law. Which I am no longer a part of," he added, still grinning, as Peter glared at him.
"First you were teaching him to pick locks last week - what, you thought I didn't know about that? And now picking pockets. Stop corrupting my family, Neal!" Peter exclaimed, but Grant could tell, now, that there was no real heat behind it.
Neal could obviously tell too, and didn't stop needling him until Peter chased him out of the house, the door shutting on Neal's still-cheeky grin as he winked at Grant.
It was only once the door shut that Grant realized he had a similar grin on his face.
He wasn't sure exactly when he'd started thinking of Uncle Peter's as home, but he had. He was even starting to make friends at school, thanks to Neal's card tricks that he'd taught Grant.
---
"What are you doing?" The girl said, walking up to him as he practiced, sitting against the wall of the school at recess.
"Card tricks," he replied, only a little nervously. "Want to see?"
She nodded and sat down next to him, tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind an ear.
He showed her the latest trick he'd learned, making the card she picked disappear from his hand and then he had her pull it out from the right pocket of her jacket. She smiled, and he had to smile back.
"My name's Skye," she said, handing him back the card.
"I'm Grant," he replied.
"I think I'd like to be friends with you, Grant," she said, and then got up and offered him a hand as the bell rang.
He took it, following after her.
Maybe now, he had two friends.
---
A couple years later, Neal pulled his last con in New York and disappeared. Even before Uncle Peter received the bottle in the mail and then found Neal's storage container, Grant never believed Neal was dead. Afterwards, they hung some of Neal's original paintings from the container in the house, and when his aunt and uncle named their new son Neal, Grant was happy.
His friend was alive and free, and so was he. He spent his time when not in school with Skye or his other school friends or with Mozzie, getting into trouble around the city. (But never so much that Peter had to do more than scold the balding man again.)
Grant Ward was happy and safe. He’d been given a second chance.
(And if he'd developed a liking for fedoras, no one questioned why.)