Disclaimer: Castle belongs to ABC. The characters are not mine, but I still like to play around with them every once in awhile when I'm bored and waiting for the summer hiatus to end.

Author's Note:

This is a Caskett, A/U short story based on the events of "Knockout", the season three finale.

I'm currently trying to decide whether or not to make this a One-Shot. I guess reader response will dictate what I do and where I might go from here. I have more than a few plot points up my sleeve for this one, but I'm not a big fan of writing just for myself, so if you like it and want me to write more, please review. Reviews are food for the starved creative mind, and I haven't found time to write for a few years now, so I'm pretty much ravenous. Also, please forgive me if the writing seems a bit rusty. I'm greasing up the mental gears as we speak. I rate this story as "T" not so much for what it is, but for what it might become.

I hope you enjoy.

Stand with Me

The storybooks – at least a large portion of those written in the last half-century – are filled with vivid and varied descriptions of the pain associated with the initial impact of the bullet. An explosion. A searing agony. A jolt of electricity followed by a bolt of lightning.

The storybooks are wrong. There is no pain associated with the initial impact.

The sound of the initial impact, however, is a bit disconcerting. Rather like that of a stitching awl puncturing a thick piece of leather at a high rate of speed – a sick, muted thump. The initial shock, too, is oddly short-lived. The "I've-Been-Shot!" realization is quickly followed by a mental chastisement along the lines of, "Of course, you've been shot, you idiot! You knew the risk."

But there is no pain … at first.

Then the jackhammer ratta-tat-tats inside the bones, the bomb explodes deep inside the chest, and roadside flare burns the flesh from the inside out.

All. At. The. Same. Time.

Everything slows down. The storybooks have that right at least. So does Hollywood for that matter. It's almost laughable, it's so cliché. Don't want to laugh, though. It's hard to laugh when it feels like your very soul is on fire.

I stare blankly at the sky. Maybe it's the sky. Hard to tell. It might be the grass. Something's wet. It's early yet, though. Still dewy in places. I'm cold in spite of the fire. Why am I cold?

"Don't go! Stay here!"

I feel the dew drip and slide down my cheek. Soothing heat against the deathly chill born of a raging inferno. Warm dew? Does dew even drip? How odd. Good line, though. At least there's no "writhing in pain." One cliché is bad enough, but two … Besides, hurts too much to writhe. Hurts too much to move. To think. To breathe. Maybe if I stop trying the pain will stop, too.

"Oh no, you don't! Breathe, damn it! C'mon!"

Need to breathe. Gotcha. One … two … Oh God! It hurts! Three …

"BREATHE!"

Agonizing, stabbing, gasping … glorious air!

"Good! Good! That's good. Keep breathing!"

Keep breathing. Always good advice. Where'd it come from, though? Who's talking? It's nearly impossible to hear anything over the sound of blood rushing through my ears. How much is rushing out of my body? I hear someone screaming my name … I think. It's far away. Sounds familiar. Young voice. One I love. Not the one that wants me to breathe, though. I'll keep breathing, but … 'm tired. Long week. Didn't get much sleep with all the drama. Just going to shut my eyes a minute …

"NO! C'mon! Don't leave! Stay here. Stay with us! "

Stay with whom? Voice is familiar. Maybe I'll remember it after a nap …

"Open your eyes! Don't do this, please! The ambulance is almost here!"

Ambulance? Who's hurt? The agony in my chest flares as warm, gentle, glove-sheathed hands slip under my neck, cradling my head. Oh, yeah! Hurt. That would be me. Next year, celebrate Chinese New Year somewhere other than beneath my sternum. Too many damn fireworks going off in here. Used to love fireworks. Now, not so much.

Silk brushes against my cheek, the dew falls again, and I smell … cherries?

"OPEN YOUR EYES, DAMN IT!"

Can't ignore that voice any more. Know what'll probably happen to me if I try to. No fun, there. 'sides, don't wanna cause any more grief this week. Too much going on as it is. Can't see much, though. Blurry. Need to look into getting glasses, I guess. Damn. Too young to be old …

"Stay with us."

I blink, hard. Eyes finally focus. It wasn't dew. Tears slip from grass-green eyes as they stare into mine.

Kate.

I want to say her name, but my lips won't move. I cough three times, each one more violent that the last. The pain erupts again. The blood is acrid in my mouth, but it is tempered by taste of her tears. Her cheek is smeared with blood. Mine probably. Her hair has come loose from the bun she had styled beneath the uniform cap she wore for Roy's funeral. Must've happened when I tackled her. Sorry 'bout that. Had to do it, though. A long, mahogany lock tickles my cheek. So, it was silk, after all.

"Stay with me, Castle," she whispers in my ear. "Stand with me."

Have always stood with you, Kate. Need to know that. I try to rise up against the strong hands that hold me, but nothing seems to be working right. 'S okay, though. She's holding me!

"Shhh … Castle, please."

Need to tell her so much. Why won't the words come? Need that nap. Tell her later …

"Stay with me, Castle."

Wanna stay, but need sleep … to be strong. Protect you. Protect 'lexis. Mother. Boys. Lanie. You're worth it … you're all worth it.

"Castle!" She looks scared. Kate's never scared. 'S not right. Shouldn't be scared 'bout me.

"Don't leave me, please. Stay with me, okay?" Her whispers have become a plea, but I can't give her what she wants. She shakes me a bit. Runs her fingers across my cheek. Don't really feel it. Bet it feels extraordinary. Too numb now to feel. Can't see her anymore … getting harder to hear … so tired …

"Cas … Rick, I love you. I love you."

So, so sorry, Ka ...

The storybooks – at least a large portion of those written since the dawn of mankind's ability to put pen to parchment – are filled with vivid and varied descriptions of the sheer emotion that results when a man and a woman finally see past their fears and ultimately realize and accept the love that is in their hearts for one another. Exhilaration. Transcendent delight. Joy.

What if this time the storybooks were wrong?

Remember that reviews are always appreciated. If you liked this snippet, I hope that you'll let me know so that I'll write more.

~ Sarah