Castle Fanfics ++

My contribution for #CastleFanficMonday!

A post ‘Boom’ oneshot inspired by a prompt from CastleFanficPrompts

#94 (continuation of #88)

—–

“Feel bad.”

Kate jerks her head up and falls forward into the hospital bed, so startled is she to hear words. “Rick?” 

His mouth works. A long sigh that sounds painful. “Bad.”

“Hey, babe, it’s okay,” she says quietly, rising to her feet. Her hands are shaking. “You’re in the hospital.”

His eyes open. Blink. “Oh.”

“Rick?”

A long moment where he seems not to hear her - and it’s a miracle he’s speaking at all, after his shattered jaw was wired shut for five weeks and the induced coma for swelling on the brain and-

“Oh, it’s you,” he slurs, lashes fluttering. 

“Rick,” she sighs, sinking a hip against the mattress, her heart sinking. They warned her he would be in and out mentally, that he would seem to wake but he wouldn’t remember or comprehend. “Yeah, it’s me.”

She cradles his hand between her own, the one not in a cast, stroking the swollen flesh around his fingers.

“Kate,” he breathes out. “Finally.”

Her eyes stutter back up to his face, and he’s watching her. Fixed on her. “Rick?”

“Stay.”

“Haven’t left,” she promises. Six weeks. She hasn’t moved. She’s done. It’s done. She’s not going anywhere. “Won’t. You rest.”

“Mm,” lashes fluttering again. “Think so.”

And then he’s dropped right back under again.

But her hope has feathers.

THANK GOODNESS FOR PART TWO

THANK YOU FOR PART TWO.

.

BUT

.

OMG I FEEL BAD FOR ASKING, BUT

CAN WE HAVE PART 3?

OR ANY CONTINUATION, O DEAR AUTHOR…?

PLEASE

PLEASE

PLEASE

.

I MEAN

“Kate,” he breathes out. “Finally.”

Her eyes stutter back up to his face, and he’s watching her. Fixed on her. “Rick?”

“Stay.”

“Haven’t left,” she promises. Six weeks. She hasn’t moved. She’s done. It’s done. She’s not going anywhere. “Won’t. You rest.”

THAT IS SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

MORE THAN GOOOOOOOOOOD, IT’S LIKE, I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE THIS STORY

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I WANT MOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

.

okay okay, it’s already a blessing that this author write part two (A BLESSING ALREADY THAT THIS AUTHOR WRITE THE FIRST ONE! *GUH THANK YOU FOR WRITING*)

so

i am going to just SEND SOME KIND OF VIBE FROM ACROSS THE OCEAN AND HOPING THAT THIS AUTHOR WILL SOMEHOW GET STRUCK BY INSPIRATION THAT WILL MAKE HER ITCHING TO WRITE CONTINUATION OF THIS STORY (and post it :))

*SENDING VIBE WHEN I AM HOME, WHEN I AM AT WORK, WHEN I AM WALKING, WHEN I AM DRIVING, WHENEVER WHEREVER*

continuatioonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

.

anyway

continuation beggin aside,

this story gives me all the feels

and i love it

and i am forever thankful that it get written

#88 (season 8 spoilers)

—–

As part of her new awareness of the very great scope of her captain’s duties, Beckett leaves the police scanner on low near her desk while she signs off on vacation requests, administrative aides, and parking complaints. The bureaucracy of a job that eats large holes in the actual good work in the field she used to do as a detective.

She’s not complaining; she’s just having to reorganize her workflow. 

And her secrets. It’s much harder to meet up with Vikram when she’s required to be at a budget meeting every other Tuesday, CompStat presentations at 1PP every Friday, and heads of departments staff meeting for the Twelfth once a month.

But she’s managing. Hanging on by her fingernails, but she’s doing it.

The police scanner is mostly white noise these days. She pretends it keeps her connected.

But today. This day, a late evening alone in the bullpen on a Monday, the police scanner is a surreal monster coming to life from one of her nightmares.

A hit and run. A pedestrian being tended to on scene. A BOLO for the vehicle, whom eyewits say maybe dark navy, maybe a Chevy Crossover, maybe a Ford… and her heart squeezes.

And then her phone is vibrating like mad across her desktop while - almost simultaneously - her desk phone burrs in the golden glow of the lamp.

Her heart leaps in her throat but she answers her cell, already noting two texts coming in and dulling the voice on the other end.

It’s Rick. He’s the hit and run. 

This is her fault.

—–

The Chevy Traverse was found abandoned, reported stolen merely two hours later by a family returning home form a long weekend train trip. Traffic cams get no clear image of the driver, just an outline of darkness behind tinted windows.

She slides into his hospital room after visiting hours, unashamed to flash the shield and receive preferential treatment, only somewhat ashamed that she’s avoiding his mother and daughter.

She sits in a chair close to his elevated bed, her elbows on the mattress and head buried in her hands, trying to slow her heart rate and swallow back the urge to be sick.

Deep breaths and the gun at her hip are her only coping mechanisms. Deep breaths and a prayer on repeat that isn’t even in words, just soundless fear pushed out into a vacuum.

He might wake up. He might never wake up.

Keeping her distance has done nothing but ensure his last few months were lonely and bewildering and sad. Rather than keep him safe, she’s only kept him ignorant.

She might have killed him.

He might not recover from this.

And neither will she.

ALKFSDJHLKASHDFHADFSLKJHSADFLKJHASFJDKHASFD

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD

AND THERE’S PART TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (BLESS YOU O AUTHOR)

.

ANYWAY

GAAAAAAAAAAHHH THAT FIRST SCENE IS SO GOOD

But today. This day, a late evening alone in the bullpen on a Monday, the police scanner is a surreal monster coming to life from one of her nightmares.

A hit and run. A pedestrian being tended to on scene. A BOLO for the vehicle, whom eyewits say maybe dark navy, maybe a Chevy Crossover, maybe a Ford… and her heart squeezes.

And then her phone is vibrating like mad across her desktop while - almost simultaneously - her desk phone burrs in the golden glow of the lamp.

Her heart leaps in her throat but she answers her cell, already noting two texts coming in and dulling the voice on the other end.

It’s Rick. He’s the hit and run.

This is her fault.

KASDHGFJKHSADFHASDFKLFSA MY HEART

THE WAY THIS WRITER WROTE IT IS SQUEEZING MY HEART

.

AND I LOVE IT

.

It was easier then. Before the lies and separation; before the truth and heartache. 

by: blue252

“Every heartbeat is a reminder that she’s still alive. Of how precious life is and how quickly it fades away. The scars are what motivate her to live.“ 

So GOOD

‘She normally works the New Year’s Eve shift; she’s used to spending this moment in solitude. She had just hoped this year would be different.’

A New Year’s Eve one shot set mid season 4.

(set during S8 - no spoilers unless you haven’t seen the first two eps)

She watches him through the window of the office she’s still not used to.  It’s easier, keeping her distance.  If she only stays far enough away, she thinks she may survive the hell of living without him.  

But he keeps showing up.  He’s at the precinct almost daily, forcing her to keep facing him - to keep battling the contradictions inside her.  Like he always has, she thinks to herself.

Everything about this feels foreign though.  He’s talking to Hayley, hands animated as he gestures to the stack of papers he’s been combing through most of the day.  The woman rolls her eyes at him, no doubt shooting down whatever ridiculous theory he’s just relayed to her.  She sees the playful pout cross his face and suddenly the familiarity of it all feels like a knife in her stomach - like she’s choking on air.   

She snaps the blinds shut and stomps back to her desk, lays her head in her hands.  She refuses to think about him working with someone else.  Refuses to think about him sharing theories, cracking jokes, trailing along after another woman.  Refuses to think about the possibility that when this is over, when she can finally be sure he’s safe, he may have already found someone else who deserves him far more than she ever will.    

But damn it, it hurts. 

And before she realizes what she’s doing she’s up and out of her chair again, stalking out of the office with the hard slam of the door echoing behind her.  If she doesn’t find something to hit soon, there won’t be anything left unbroken.

**

“Beckett!”

She ignores the sound of his voice, continues her steady assault on the bag.

“Beckett,” he repeats, and although she refuses to turn, she can feel his approach behind her.  

Two punches, a kick, a third punch.  She keeps on pounding until she’s breathless, til the pain inside is outweighed by the racing of her heart, the adrenaline coursing through her.

“Kate.”  He puts a hand on her shoulder and she finally spins, eyes blazing as she rips off her boxing gloves.  He just won’t stay away.

“What are you doing, Castle?” she snaps, taking a step back, out of his grasp, unable to bear the lightness of his touch without needing more.  

“I just wanted,” he starts and stops, runs a hand through his hair in frustration, changes gears. “I just…had a theory I wanted to run by you.”

She pauses at that, eyes narrowing.  “Well, that’s different,” she says, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I thought you’d already shared plenty of those with Hayley today.”  

The words taste bitter on her tongue.

He jolts a little, clearly not expecting her response and then stiffens.  “Is that what you think, Kate?! That I’d rather be working this case with her?  Is that why you ran up here…ran away?” 

He takes a step forward and she tries to move back, stumbles and feels her back hit the wall behind her.  And then his eyes are fire, boring into hers, indignance replaced by passion.  “Do you really, honestly think you have anything to be jealous of? That anyone else could ever compare to you?”  

He closes the rest of the distance between them, his whole body encompassing hers and she swallows, fights the hard sting of the tears that are threatening.  Tries to look anywhere other than him because her own anger and the jealousy are fading steadily, a poor mask for the all-consuming need to just give in to him. 

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she manages, and tear drips down her cheek.  “I wouldn’t blame you for hating me, for giving up.”

He moves a hand to her chin, angles her face so that she meets his eyes, and brushes his thumb over her jaw.  “I may not understand what’s going on right now.  It may make me crazy and hurt and angry.  But you’re my wife, Kate.  I’ll never give up on you. I’ll never give up on us.” 

She chokes on a sob and he wraps her up, pulls her in tight, cradling her in his arms.  Until there’s nothing left but the feel of him surrounding her and the steady beat of his heart against her chest.

I love you. 

She breathes the words against his skin over and over again.  Doesn’t have the strength left to fight him when he kisses her deeply, his reply written in the press of his lips over hers.  

And even if just for a moment, she feels alive again.

Find Our Way Home: Chapter 1

“No matter what you do, no matter the obstacles that arise or the mistakes either of us make, I’ll never be able to give up on us.” After nearly two years apart, Castle and Beckett attempt to find their way back home in time for the holiday season. A season 8 AU.

Rated T

A/N: I loved writing that piece, so, while not Christmas themed, here’s another glimpse into that universe.

-

Kate jerks awake in his bed and sucks in a staggering breath that makes her lungs burn, the scent of him masking the phantom smell of his blood on her hands,

“I’m right here,” the low rumble of his voice promises her, the hand at her back warm and reassuring between the blades of her shoulders. 

She shifts from her side, onto her back to see the proof of him in the morning light, finding Castle lying awake beside her with sleep still crowding the corners of his eyes.

“I woke you,” she sighs, reaching out to stroke the fringe of his hair back from his forehead. 

It hasn’t been the first time in the last few months that a nightmare has shaken them both from sleep, but she had thought the dreams of Richard Castle dying for her had finally receded, potentially disappeared for good. Ever since they had met for the first time once more in a bar on Christmas, though, the terrifying memories she had worked so hard to block out have flooded back in to become a weekly occurrence.

“I don’t mind,” Castle yawns, but he’s blinking hard to eradicate the slumber from his eyes, to give her his full attention.

Kate rolls towards him, inching across the sheets to twine their legs, to curl her arm around his torso and touch her fingers to his chest, caressing the two bullet scars there.

“You think you’ll ever remember that day?” she inquires, stroking her fingertips over the raised flesh, the healed wounds that he has no recollection of receiving. She had yet to reveal her own memories of that day, but after spending so many nights in his bed, having him in hers, she had grown curious of the twin gunshot wounds adorning his chest, and he had told her his side of the story without hesitation. Not that there was much to tell.

His memories of the day he was shot, the days leading up to it, are blank. The entire timeframe that she could have fit into a cleansed canvas in his mind that she wishes to paint with the truth. 

“I don’t know,” he frowns, always so disappointed in himself each time it comes up, and Kate lifts her fingers to dust along his lips. “ I hope so.”

She hoped so too, but if he didn’t, if those memories of what little time they had had together prior to this never returned, she could accept that. They’ve made new memories that would outlast the old, outshine them with ease, and even if he doesn’t know it, she never wants him to doubt it.

Kate dips her head forward to touch her lips to the scar closest to his collarbone. “Whether you do or you don’t, it doesn’t matter.” She scales her mouth along his throat, hums at the curl of his fingers in her hair, guiding her higher. “Just don’t forget anything else,” she murmurs, whispering her lips along his jaw. “Don’t forget me.”

Again, she refrains from adding. She could handle losing the man who had claimed to love her in another universe, was content to believe he had been reunited with whatever twilight zone version of her he had been torn away from, but she couldn’t lose the man lying in bed with her. She refused to give up her Castle.

Rick brushes his thumb along the shell of her ear, slants a kiss to her mouth, searing but tender all at once, and cradles her body closer, makes her feel precious and wanted and so wonderfully overwhelmed.

New Year’s Eve - beautiful things out of us

Song: Beautiful Things by Gungor

December 25 - love you more than you’ll ever know

The Soundtrack of Wintersong 

Beginning December 1st, 2015, my advent fanfiction begins once more - Wintersong. It’s current for season eight, and dwells in that universe, but the point is really to give you - the readers - a gift each day.  Both a chapter of the story, which takes place on that day in the Castle world, and also a Winter song to listen to as you read.

This wouldn’t be possible without the dedication and creativity of @jyleafer15 - her cover art and soundtrack sleeve are just stunning.

Wintersong - December 1

link to ffn here

set post-47 seconds, pre-always (this was a prompt fill from castlefanficprompts but I can’t find it so I’ll list the general idea of it at the end)

Small talk, he drives

She finds herself outside his door a few minutes before midnight and for the first time that night she begins to question whether or not she should even be here.

They’ve been weird lately, well, weirder than usual, but she can feel herself reverting back to how she was in the summer, in the months following her shooting, and she needs to get out, needs to escape the cities tight confines, and soon, but she can’t allow herself to go alone. She knows that Lanie and her father are both busy – or so she tells herself – so she’s left hoping that Castle will still be there for her when she needs him.

“not available yet”

*WAITING*

*STILL WAITING*

:D