Fic: Bounty (SPN/Castle)
Chapter 6
Blurriness gave way to a white ceiling. Castle shifted slightly in the hospital bed, his whole body protesting every movement. For a moment, confusion swirled in his head, and then he was hit with the sudden, joyful realisation that he was alive. He’d got out. He’d survived. The image of Kate’s concerned face looking down at him, slightly blurry, passed before his eyes. He’d known she would come.
“He’s moving!” That was Alexis. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to hear her voice.
“Richard!” His mother’s face hovered above him, quickly joined by his daughter’s.
“Hi,” he croaked.
It didn’t take long after the hugs and tears of relief stopped for the telling off to begin. Castle agreed never to investigate on his own again, and this time he meant it. He was just a writer. Dean had died and Castle hadn’t been able to help, because he was just a writer who liked to play cop, and shouldn’t have been investigating at all.
“I’m sorry,” he told his family, his voice cracking on the words. If he hadn’t made it back, if Alexis had been left without her father, he would never have forgiven himself. Or possibly he wouldn’t be able to do that, because his brain would have stopped working. He wasn’t sure what happened after death, but he decided not to think about that right now.
“Detective Beckett wants to talk to you,” Alexis informed him.
Castle pressed the button to raise his bed until he was almost sitting up. His body was starting to feel better, all just slightly achy except for his head which throbbed painfully and his arms which felt liked they’d been ripped into several pieces and re-assembled by a sadistic five-year-old. There was a drip in his arm, re-hydrating him and supplying him with some kind of painkiller that made him feel groggy.
Beckett came in, and Castle’s mother not-very-subtly ushered Alexis out to give them some time alone. Beckett looked different to usual. Castle couldn’t quite put his finger on what the difference was. Her hair was a little messy, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t the slight bruising that was starting to show on her face, or the redness of her knuckles, although those were obviously worrying. No, it was the look in her eye.
He tried to formulate what he was going to say to her in his head. He would apologise and thank her and then set to work convincing her that the demons were real. Beckett would be sceptical, of course, but if he just put it in exactly the right words he was sure he could convince her.
The painkillers must have done something to his brain, because what came out was: “Beckett! Demons!”
Nice one. Way to make her think you’re crazy. He waited for the inevitable soothing voice offering to call the doctor and reminding him that he’d just undergone a serious trauma so it was understandable he was imagining things.
To his astonishment, Beckett didn’t react that way at all. As he waited for her to reply, he saw a familiar smirk (Should it be called a smirk? The word didn’t seem to convey the beauty of it.) appearing on her face. The one that said I know something you don’t know. And then she said: “Way ahead of you, Castle.”
“What?” Castle shook his head to clear it. He must be hearing things.
“We can’t talk about this here.”
“You know about the…”
“The doctor says you should be able to go home today,” Beckett told him. “We can talk about it later.”
“But,” Castle began.
Beckett drew a chair across to sit beside his bed. “It’s taken care of for now,” she stated firmly.
Beckett refused to talk to him about the previous night after that, but it was just as well because Alexis and Martha wouldn’t be kept out of the hospital long enough for them to really discuss it with the amount of freaking out it deserved. His family crowded around him, watching re-runs of Temptation Lane on the television that hung over the foot of his bed. Castle just couldn’t seem to concentrate on it, now that there were so much bigger problems to think about. He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but every now and then he would have to sneak a peek at Beckett. She still had that strange look in her eye, a mixture of excitement and terror that she was trying her hardest to bury. Even a marathon of Temptation Lane, which would usually shake even the worst mood off Beckett wasn’t working.
Angela Cannon’s ex-husband’s stalker was just setting her dogs on Angela when Castle’s lunch was delivered.
“Ooh, pudding!” Castle exclaimed, reaching for it and wincing as he moved his wrenched arm too fast. He looked at Beckett hopefully.
“I’m not feeding you, Castle,” Beckett said, but the spark of humour was back in her eyes for a second.
The doctor came to check him out after lunch, removing the drip from his arm and checking his arms, as well as the cuts on his body from hauling himself through the broken window and the bruising on his hands and knees from falling on the concrete floor. There was a cast on his hand. Apparently his inexpert attempt at dislocating his thumb had actually resulted in a broken hand. Despite all that, his doctor, an efficient man with a strong Indian accent gave him permission to leave the hospital that afternoon on the condition that he took it easy and did okay without the painkilling drip for the next few hours.
Martha eventually left for a rehearsal and Beckett left to return to work, assuring him that she would return to pick him up at five O’clock. They would go back to her place to discuss in more detail what had happened.
“We’ll get this guy,” Beckett assured Alexis as she left.
“I know you will,” Alexis replied, and Castle made up his mind right then that his daughter was never going to find out what had really happened.
Castle and Alexis sat together, watching Temptation Lane and eating hospital pudding. He put his arm around her as they watched Alfonso shoot his stalker to save Angela and get arrested for attempted murder. He thought about how much he loved his daughter and how glad he was to be back with her, and tried really hard not to see the image of Dean Winchester, who knew The Princess Bride and probably wasn’t a serial killer, hanging mutilated in chains beside him.
XXX
Alexis gave him a last hug and left for home when Beckett came to collect him. The doctor discharged him with a prescription for heavy duty painkillers, instructions for caring for his cuts, and a suggestion to seek trauma counselling. Beckett wouldn’t be persuaded to help him dress, but did wheel him out of the hospital in a surprisingly comfortable wheelchair that kept attempting to veer to the right.
The sky was heavy with cloud when they made their way into the parking lot. There was a strange, eerie quality to the light where the sun’s rays leeched through the blanket of grey, shafts of yellow and orange spreading out in the sky. The air was damp and muggy. They left the wheelchair with an orderly in the reception area and walked slowly across the lot to Beckett’s car. The ground was wet, but warm, and steam rose from the tarmac as they approached the car.
“Strange weather,” Castle commented as Beckett helped him get into the car without using his arms.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Beckett replied, closing his door and walking around to climb in the driver’s side. “You won’t believe everything that’s happened.”
Beckett’s new apartment building thankfully had an elevator. Castle thought walking up five flights of stairs probably didn’t count as taking it easy.
Beckett began acting strangely as they approached her apartment. She seemed to tense up, nodding to the few neighbours they passed in the corridor. It was quite a nice building, although not as nice as Castle’s. He smiled at the neighbours. It was good to be on good terms with the neighbours. Not that they would be living here when they finally got together, but there would probably be some period of dating…
Beckett knocked on her own door. Castle was sure it was her apartment. He’d been there before. Not often, but a few times. He checked the number. Yep, definitely Beckett’s apartment. The door was solid wood, with heavy duty locks on it. Beckett wasn’t taking any chances with this one. No-one was getting in to blow it up. Beckett knocked on her door again, three hard knocks. She waited a few seconds and knocked twice and then three times quickly.
“Who is it?” A male voice asked through the door.
Castle couldn’t help feeling an unbecoming twinge of displeasure at the fact that there was a man in Beckett’s apartment.
“Detective Beckett and Richard Castle,” Beckett replied.
The door opened a crack, the chain still in place. A large hand snaked through, holding out two shot glasses filled with a clear liquid. “Drink this.”
Beckett took them, handing one to Castle. Castle stared at her. “You’re doing this?”
“I’ll explain later.” Beckett tossed hers back without even a grimace.
Castle shrugged. “Okay,” he said, lifting the glass and tipping the… water… down his throat. He looked quizzically at the glass. “Huh.”
There was a quiet clinking as the man behind the door removed the chain and opened the door, stepping back to let them in. As soon as they were inside the apartment, the man closed the door behind them, securing all the locks and double-checking them. Castle pulled out a chair and sat at Beckett’s kitchen table, looking around him.
Whoever the man who had taken over Beckett’s apartment was, he had certainly started up an interesting decorating scheme since taking up residence. There were patterns painted on the ceiling, walls and floor in red spray paint. Castle recognised some from the research he had done for Devil’s Storm - devil’s traps on the ceiling above the door and windows - but some were completely unfamiliar. A thick layer of rock salt coated the windowsills, and laid out on the table was a collection of weapons very similar to the one they had found in the wall at Probably Frank’s apartment.
The man who had opened the door stood up from where he had been restoring the salt line in front of the door. He was tall, broad shouldered and made of solid muscle. It made Castle feel like a somewhat inferior physical specimen, despite the fact that he was in pretty good shape for a writer. His face was familiar. It took a second for Castle to place it, but then he remembered. His research for Devil’s Storm had brought up mug shots for both Dean Winchester and his brother Sam. Sam was older and heavier now, but it was undoubtedly him.
“Sorry about the holy water,” Sam Winchester said. “We just have to be careful, given the situation. Sam Winchester.” He held out his hand to shake Castle’s.
Castle looked at him. All the reports he’d studied about the Winchester’s had described them as dangerously close and protective of each other. So why was he just holing up in Beckett’s apartment, calmly telling Castle there was a situation? From all the stories about them, Castle would have thought he’d be out seeking revenge for his brother’s death.
Castle shook Sam’s hand. “Richard Castle.”
“Richard Castle?” A voice drifted through from Beckett’s bedroom. It was tired and hoarse, but even through that Castle could hear the note of excitement that ran through it. He’d heard that note from hundreds of people at hundreds of book signings and chance meetings with fans on the street, and he never got tired of hearing it. “Dude, why didn’t you say something?”
Slow footsteps sounded and then a man appeared in the doorway from Beckett’s bedroom. Castle turned to look, and there was Dean Winchester, grinning at him like he’d never been dead at all.
“I love your stuff, man.” Dean said, smacking his brother’s hands away as Sam tried to help him cross the room to the couch.
Castle blinked dumbly. He was vaguely aware that he should probably say something, but he was too busy fighting off the wooziness that threatened to overcome him. Passing out twice in three days was understandable under the circumstances, but three times would just be ridiculous.
As his shock passed, his vision cleared and he became aware of Sam eyeing his brother curiously.
“What?” Dean asked irritably from his new position lying prone on the couch.
“Do you secretly read while I’m asleep or something?”
“Just because I don’t spend my spare time reading ancient Latin texts it doesn’t mean I can’t read, Sammy. And Nikki Heat’s hot. Ooh…” He sat up, looking at Beckett speculatively with big green eyes that Castle vividly remembered being gouged out. “That makes you Nikki Heat.”
Beckett came out with her stock answer for every time that particular detail was mentioned. “Kate Beckett. I’m just the Detective she’s based on.”
Castle finally found his voice. “You were dead,” he said dazedly. Dean looked exhausted and behind the excitement on his face was a pinched looked of pain, but he didn’t have a mark on him.
“Dean was only mostly dead,” the messy-haired man in the trench coat informed him mildly. Castle’s brain exploded. That man definitely hadn’t been in the room two seconds ago. Castle had thoroughly observed the changes to Beckett’s apartment. There had definitely been only four people in it and nobody had come through the door from the bedroom or the bathroom. Yet now there was definitely a fifth person in the room. He was standing beside the couch, staring down at Dean.
Dean tore his eyes away from Beckett to look at the man. If Castle hadn’t still been recovering from Dean’s sudden return from the dead and the appearance of a man out of thin air, he probably would have been annoyed at how long his eyes had lingered, but he just couldn’t find the mental capacity to register it right now.
“Maybe you should start zapping into the next room, Cas,” Dean suggested, a fond smirk on his face.
“Are you recovered?” Cas asked.
“No, no he’s not,” Sam broke in. Castle could hear the protective younger brother he’d read about coming through. “He nearly died. He needs to go back to bed while we take care of this.”
The smile fell away from Dean’s face and he suddenly looked tired but determined. “I’m not going back to bed, Sam.”
“Well, okay then,” Beckett diverted the conversation away from the impending argument. “We need to fill Castle in on what’s going on and then formulate a plan.”
Castle breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe being filled in on what was going on would do something to reassure him of his own sanity.
XXX
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Blurriness gave way to a white ceiling. Castle shifted slightly in the hospital bed, his whole body protesting every movement. For a moment, confusion swirled in his head, and then he was hit with the sudden, joyful realisation that he was alive. He’d got out. He’d survived. The image of Kate’s concerned face looking down at him, slightly blurry, passed before his eyes. He’d known she would come.
“He’s moving!” That was Alexis. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to hear her voice.
“Richard!” His mother’s face hovered above him, quickly joined by his daughter’s.
“Hi,” he croaked.
It didn’t take long after the hugs and tears of relief stopped for the telling off to begin. Castle agreed never to investigate on his own again, and this time he meant it. He was just a writer. Dean had died and Castle hadn’t been able to help, because he was just a writer who liked to play cop, and shouldn’t have been investigating at all.
“I’m sorry,” he told his family, his voice cracking on the words. If he hadn’t made it back, if Alexis had been left without her father, he would never have forgiven himself. Or possibly he wouldn’t be able to do that, because his brain would have stopped working. He wasn’t sure what happened after death, but he decided not to think about that right now.
“Detective Beckett wants to talk to you,” Alexis informed him.
Castle pressed the button to raise his bed until he was almost sitting up. His body was starting to feel better, all just slightly achy except for his head which throbbed painfully and his arms which felt liked they’d been ripped into several pieces and re-assembled by a sadistic five-year-old. There was a drip in his arm, re-hydrating him and supplying him with some kind of painkiller that made him feel groggy.
Beckett came in, and Castle’s mother not-very-subtly ushered Alexis out to give them some time alone. Beckett looked different to usual. Castle couldn’t quite put his finger on what the difference was. Her hair was a little messy, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t the slight bruising that was starting to show on her face, or the redness of her knuckles, although those were obviously worrying. No, it was the look in her eye.
He tried to formulate what he was going to say to her in his head. He would apologise and thank her and then set to work convincing her that the demons were real. Beckett would be sceptical, of course, but if he just put it in exactly the right words he was sure he could convince her.
The painkillers must have done something to his brain, because what came out was: “Beckett! Demons!”
Nice one. Way to make her think you’re crazy. He waited for the inevitable soothing voice offering to call the doctor and reminding him that he’d just undergone a serious trauma so it was understandable he was imagining things.
To his astonishment, Beckett didn’t react that way at all. As he waited for her to reply, he saw a familiar smirk (Should it be called a smirk? The word didn’t seem to convey the beauty of it.) appearing on her face. The one that said I know something you don’t know. And then she said: “Way ahead of you, Castle.”
“What?” Castle shook his head to clear it. He must be hearing things.
“We can’t talk about this here.”
“You know about the…”
“The doctor says you should be able to go home today,” Beckett told him. “We can talk about it later.”
“But,” Castle began.
Beckett drew a chair across to sit beside his bed. “It’s taken care of for now,” she stated firmly.
Beckett refused to talk to him about the previous night after that, but it was just as well because Alexis and Martha wouldn’t be kept out of the hospital long enough for them to really discuss it with the amount of freaking out it deserved. His family crowded around him, watching re-runs of Temptation Lane on the television that hung over the foot of his bed. Castle just couldn’t seem to concentrate on it, now that there were so much bigger problems to think about. He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but every now and then he would have to sneak a peek at Beckett. She still had that strange look in her eye, a mixture of excitement and terror that she was trying her hardest to bury. Even a marathon of Temptation Lane, which would usually shake even the worst mood off Beckett wasn’t working.
Angela Cannon’s ex-husband’s stalker was just setting her dogs on Angela when Castle’s lunch was delivered.
“Ooh, pudding!” Castle exclaimed, reaching for it and wincing as he moved his wrenched arm too fast. He looked at Beckett hopefully.
“I’m not feeding you, Castle,” Beckett said, but the spark of humour was back in her eyes for a second.
The doctor came to check him out after lunch, removing the drip from his arm and checking his arms, as well as the cuts on his body from hauling himself through the broken window and the bruising on his hands and knees from falling on the concrete floor. There was a cast on his hand. Apparently his inexpert attempt at dislocating his thumb had actually resulted in a broken hand. Despite all that, his doctor, an efficient man with a strong Indian accent gave him permission to leave the hospital that afternoon on the condition that he took it easy and did okay without the painkilling drip for the next few hours.
Martha eventually left for a rehearsal and Beckett left to return to work, assuring him that she would return to pick him up at five O’clock. They would go back to her place to discuss in more detail what had happened.
“We’ll get this guy,” Beckett assured Alexis as she left.
“I know you will,” Alexis replied, and Castle made up his mind right then that his daughter was never going to find out what had really happened.
Castle and Alexis sat together, watching Temptation Lane and eating hospital pudding. He put his arm around her as they watched Alfonso shoot his stalker to save Angela and get arrested for attempted murder. He thought about how much he loved his daughter and how glad he was to be back with her, and tried really hard not to see the image of Dean Winchester, who knew The Princess Bride and probably wasn’t a serial killer, hanging mutilated in chains beside him.
XXX
Alexis gave him a last hug and left for home when Beckett came to collect him. The doctor discharged him with a prescription for heavy duty painkillers, instructions for caring for his cuts, and a suggestion to seek trauma counselling. Beckett wouldn’t be persuaded to help him dress, but did wheel him out of the hospital in a surprisingly comfortable wheelchair that kept attempting to veer to the right.
The sky was heavy with cloud when they made their way into the parking lot. There was a strange, eerie quality to the light where the sun’s rays leeched through the blanket of grey, shafts of yellow and orange spreading out in the sky. The air was damp and muggy. They left the wheelchair with an orderly in the reception area and walked slowly across the lot to Beckett’s car. The ground was wet, but warm, and steam rose from the tarmac as they approached the car.
“Strange weather,” Castle commented as Beckett helped him get into the car without using his arms.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Beckett replied, closing his door and walking around to climb in the driver’s side. “You won’t believe everything that’s happened.”
Beckett’s new apartment building thankfully had an elevator. Castle thought walking up five flights of stairs probably didn’t count as taking it easy.
Beckett began acting strangely as they approached her apartment. She seemed to tense up, nodding to the few neighbours they passed in the corridor. It was quite a nice building, although not as nice as Castle’s. He smiled at the neighbours. It was good to be on good terms with the neighbours. Not that they would be living here when they finally got together, but there would probably be some period of dating…
Beckett knocked on her own door. Castle was sure it was her apartment. He’d been there before. Not often, but a few times. He checked the number. Yep, definitely Beckett’s apartment. The door was solid wood, with heavy duty locks on it. Beckett wasn’t taking any chances with this one. No-one was getting in to blow it up. Beckett knocked on her door again, three hard knocks. She waited a few seconds and knocked twice and then three times quickly.
“Who is it?” A male voice asked through the door.
Castle couldn’t help feeling an unbecoming twinge of displeasure at the fact that there was a man in Beckett’s apartment.
“Detective Beckett and Richard Castle,” Beckett replied.
The door opened a crack, the chain still in place. A large hand snaked through, holding out two shot glasses filled with a clear liquid. “Drink this.”
Beckett took them, handing one to Castle. Castle stared at her. “You’re doing this?”
“I’ll explain later.” Beckett tossed hers back without even a grimace.
Castle shrugged. “Okay,” he said, lifting the glass and tipping the… water… down his throat. He looked quizzically at the glass. “Huh.”
There was a quiet clinking as the man behind the door removed the chain and opened the door, stepping back to let them in. As soon as they were inside the apartment, the man closed the door behind them, securing all the locks and double-checking them. Castle pulled out a chair and sat at Beckett’s kitchen table, looking around him.
Whoever the man who had taken over Beckett’s apartment was, he had certainly started up an interesting decorating scheme since taking up residence. There were patterns painted on the ceiling, walls and floor in red spray paint. Castle recognised some from the research he had done for Devil’s Storm - devil’s traps on the ceiling above the door and windows - but some were completely unfamiliar. A thick layer of rock salt coated the windowsills, and laid out on the table was a collection of weapons very similar to the one they had found in the wall at Probably Frank’s apartment.
The man who had opened the door stood up from where he had been restoring the salt line in front of the door. He was tall, broad shouldered and made of solid muscle. It made Castle feel like a somewhat inferior physical specimen, despite the fact that he was in pretty good shape for a writer. His face was familiar. It took a second for Castle to place it, but then he remembered. His research for Devil’s Storm had brought up mug shots for both Dean Winchester and his brother Sam. Sam was older and heavier now, but it was undoubtedly him.
“Sorry about the holy water,” Sam Winchester said. “We just have to be careful, given the situation. Sam Winchester.” He held out his hand to shake Castle’s.
Castle looked at him. All the reports he’d studied about the Winchester’s had described them as dangerously close and protective of each other. So why was he just holing up in Beckett’s apartment, calmly telling Castle there was a situation? From all the stories about them, Castle would have thought he’d be out seeking revenge for his brother’s death.
Castle shook Sam’s hand. “Richard Castle.”
“Richard Castle?” A voice drifted through from Beckett’s bedroom. It was tired and hoarse, but even through that Castle could hear the note of excitement that ran through it. He’d heard that note from hundreds of people at hundreds of book signings and chance meetings with fans on the street, and he never got tired of hearing it. “Dude, why didn’t you say something?”
Slow footsteps sounded and then a man appeared in the doorway from Beckett’s bedroom. Castle turned to look, and there was Dean Winchester, grinning at him like he’d never been dead at all.
“I love your stuff, man.” Dean said, smacking his brother’s hands away as Sam tried to help him cross the room to the couch.
Castle blinked dumbly. He was vaguely aware that he should probably say something, but he was too busy fighting off the wooziness that threatened to overcome him. Passing out twice in three days was understandable under the circumstances, but three times would just be ridiculous.
As his shock passed, his vision cleared and he became aware of Sam eyeing his brother curiously.
“What?” Dean asked irritably from his new position lying prone on the couch.
“Do you secretly read while I’m asleep or something?”
“Just because I don’t spend my spare time reading ancient Latin texts it doesn’t mean I can’t read, Sammy. And Nikki Heat’s hot. Ooh…” He sat up, looking at Beckett speculatively with big green eyes that Castle vividly remembered being gouged out. “That makes you Nikki Heat.”
Beckett came out with her stock answer for every time that particular detail was mentioned. “Kate Beckett. I’m just the Detective she’s based on.”
Castle finally found his voice. “You were dead,” he said dazedly. Dean looked exhausted and behind the excitement on his face was a pinched looked of pain, but he didn’t have a mark on him.
“Dean was only mostly dead,” the messy-haired man in the trench coat informed him mildly. Castle’s brain exploded. That man definitely hadn’t been in the room two seconds ago. Castle had thoroughly observed the changes to Beckett’s apartment. There had definitely been only four people in it and nobody had come through the door from the bedroom or the bathroom. Yet now there was definitely a fifth person in the room. He was standing beside the couch, staring down at Dean.
Dean tore his eyes away from Beckett to look at the man. If Castle hadn’t still been recovering from Dean’s sudden return from the dead and the appearance of a man out of thin air, he probably would have been annoyed at how long his eyes had lingered, but he just couldn’t find the mental capacity to register it right now.
“Maybe you should start zapping into the next room, Cas,” Dean suggested, a fond smirk on his face.
“Are you recovered?” Cas asked.
“No, no he’s not,” Sam broke in. Castle could hear the protective younger brother he’d read about coming through. “He nearly died. He needs to go back to bed while we take care of this.”
The smile fell away from Dean’s face and he suddenly looked tired but determined. “I’m not going back to bed, Sam.”
“Well, okay then,” Beckett diverted the conversation away from the impending argument. “We need to fill Castle in on what’s going on and then formulate a plan.”
Castle breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe being filled in on what was going on would do something to reassure him of his own sanity.
XXX
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