AN: Because after numerous discussions with Evie, apparently a Castle/Primeval can and will work. And it actually does. Or will. Eventually.

For those not in the know, Primeval is a British sci-fi show that deals with "anomalies" in time that can either lead to the past or the future. Dinosaurs. Guns. Hot British men. What could go wrong? (the answer is a lot, but we'll ignore that for now). People should go and watch said show because I need series 6 and I don't think I'm going to get it unless ratings go up.

This is the first thing I have properly "published" that isn't Doctor Who, and is the first cross over that I have ever actually attempted. I have a well established knack for not finishing stories that I start but I am determined to finish this one.

The scrap yard was huge. Towering masses of cars and unwanted scrap. Inescapable mazes of dented refrigerators and beat up washing machines. Gigantic tree shaped sculptures of bent and twisted bicycles, wheels spinning loosely in the faint breeze. It's barely past dawn, the dim grey light of an overcast New York making everything seem grey and lifeless. It's not the kind of place anyone would want to visit at this time of day and yet there are the unmistakable sounds of somebody moving – running – away from something. Crashes and bangs and smashes echo around, bouncing off, reverberating until it sounds somewhat like being inside a drum kit. In the distance one of the tall towers start to collapse, metal grating against metal, glass smashing and somewhere mixed in there's a roar. It's not human in origin. Nowhere near human in origin.

A man, not particularly tall but still fairly well built appears from behind a beaten up and battered jeep. Dark hair, tangled and matted reaches well past his shoulders. His sleeve is ripped from the shoulder to the elbow and there's a large gash in his arm, along with copious amounts of blood that he can do nothing to stem. He's frantic, looking around for a way out, anything to defend himself from the monster that's slowly advancing on him. He's spent years living in the past. Years where he's survived t-rex's and g-rex's and pterodactyls and various other prehistoric predators he doesn't have names for but are just as equally vicious and intent on eating him for supper. And yet, here he is, struggling to hold off one lousy raptor. Pathetic. As much as he hated to admit it, he wouldn't actually mind a visit from Danny right about now.

As much as he hated his brother for what he had done, he couldn't deny that the man was talented with a stick. A stick he would always refer to as Molly. To anybody else, Danny would seem crazy. Telling tall tales of fighting off terra birds with a simple blow. Watching volcano after volcano explode in the distance. Watching a Brontosaurus crane its neck above the tree tops. To breath in fresh air that has yet to be tainted by the dirt and the stink of human kind. Not crazy. Real.

Except now he's back in the real world. Modern, if the cars are anything to go by. Maybe he can give Danny the slip and start a new life where ever the hell he was. He couldn't see any tell tale features when he was this deeply buried in junk. There had to be a gate somewhere. There's a piercing shriek somewhere to his left and he darts right only to come up against a wall of old iron girders. He starts to climb, anything to get away from that animal but he's only half way up when he feels the pile begin to slip. He calls out, hand reaching for no one in particular and he's falling. He hits the ground hard, his bones jolting and before he can even register any other pain there's a girder across his lip effectively crushing him. He's never felt this amount of pain before. Even the cut in his arm is a paper cut compared to the crushing feeling on his legs. As strong as his thigh bones are strong, he's reasonably sure something's broken. And he can't move.

A low pitched growl emanates from in front of him, and the raptor appears, head cocked to the side as if somehow surprised by how easy a kill this has ended up being. His breathing quickens because he knows this is the end. Knows that any moment the raptor is going to strike and rip out his throat. And unless this raptor is magically skilled at getting rid of girders, then at least he can have the pride in knowing that his body isn't going to help feed more of the bastards. Unless he's ripped in two. God, he hopes not. A small part of him is tempted to cry out for help, grasping onto that last hope that his brother is magically going to come along and save him. And isn't that what he wanted him to do in the first place? Always a disappointment. Never there when he needs him and always there when he doesn't. If he wasn't about to die he'd find it quite funny, and he even lets a lopsided grin appear at the thought. There's a brief moment of silence where he contemplates the raptor and vice versa before the predator strikes, its mouth open in a vicious snarl.

Richard Castle's bed is warm. It is warm and it is soft and inviting and Richard Castle does not want to get out of it. And although Richard Castle is very good at getting what he wants (usually) today is not going to be one of those days. He realises that the moment his phone rings and he's pulled out of a dream consisting of zombies trying to perform the musical Chicago, which is a shame because he was really starting to get into it. He fumbles slightly, knocking his alarm clock off as he reaches for it. There's only one person who would ever phone him at this hour in the morning.

"Detective Beckett! This better be worth me getting out of bed on this dismal spring morning."

"By all means stay in bed, Castle. I never ask you to follow me around." Beckett replies, and he can tell that she's yet to have the right amount of morning caffeine to pull her into something resembling a good mood.

"I'll stay in bed if you stay in it with me." He laughs, pushing the covers away with his feet and sitting up. "And you like having me around, admit it. I'm your plucky sidekick, remember?"

There's a sigh (and an accompanying eye roll). "I'll pick you up in twenty."

She hangs up as his feet hit the cold floor of his bedroom. He hisses, making his way to the bathroom in a way that if Beckett had been with him he would be tortured about it for hours. He contemplates shaving, running his fingers across his jaw before deciding that he can forgo shaving for just a day. It's been a while since he's rocked the stubble anyway. He's showered and dressed and is shoving a hastily prepared piece of toast into his mouth when his phone buzzes once and then stops. She's outside. He swings his coat over his arm, shoves his keys in his pocket along with his phone and then picks up the two travel mugs from the kitchen counter. They're already full of his own blend of coffee, mixed perfectly to suit Beckett's tastes.

She's tapping her fingers against the steering wheel by the time he arrives at the car, and she takes the proffered mug from him with a murmured thanks and a grateful smile. They sit and sip at their respective beverages for a few moments, allowing the caffeine to course through them and warm up whatever neurones are still happily asleep at this time in the morning.

"So, where are you taking me on this fine morning then?" he asks as Beckett leans over to put her mug in the cup holder. "Fine and fancy? Deserted and dilapidated? Wet and wild?"

"Scrap yard out by the docks." She replies with the vaguest hint at amusement. "I hope you haven't eaten this morning."

"Piece of toast." Castle replied, remembering the last time a particularly gruesome crime scene had him throwing up the remains of that morning's omelette behind a trash can. "It can't be that bad… can it?" he added, with no small amount of uncertainty. "I mean how many dead bodies have I seen now?"

"I don't know, Castle." Beckett replied, the corners of her mouth hitching up with a smile. "Apparently this one is really quite something."

"I'm sure I will cope."

The sun is trying to break through the low bank of cloud that's hovering over the city by the time they arrive at the scrap yard, and as he suspected, Beckett is in a much better mood. She's even laughed at most of his jokes, which is an added bonus. He spies Esposito and Ryan's car which is still better than Beckett's, and is the source of many of his complaints. He still hasn't got that spring fixed. He follows Beckett, ducking under the yellow tape, willing his stomach to stay calm and to not do that funny back flip thing that it enjoys doing so very much.

But even that does not fully prepare either of them for the sight that greets them. He stops short, and even Beckett swallows hard, the back of her hand pressed tight against her lips. Lanie looks positively disgusted, her usual demeanour apparently left back in her apartment. The victim is male, dressed in a black jacket that looks like a mix between leather and waterproof with a plaid lumberjack shirt underneath. There are the tattered remains of a white shirt of some kind, but it's soaked in blood and guts and beyond recognition. Which could also be said for the front of the man, too. Both his torso and his abdomen have been torn apart which such force that there's random chunks of flesh littered around, some at least ten metres away, already marked with yellow signs. And where he expected to see intestines and stomach and liver and lungs there's… nothing. Nothing except the torn end's of the victim's oesophagus and windpipe and an awful lot of blood. There's a heavy iron girder across the man's legs and it doesn't take an expert to realise that both legs are well and truly broken in more than one place.

"That's…" He's surprised to find Kate's voice as weak and as shaky as he is feeling. "That's… Lanie? What the hell?"

"You're asking me. The entire chest and abdomen have been completely picked clean. No bones, no organs, just a few stringy bits of muscle."

"Professional job?"

"If it was they did a very un-professional job. It looks more like he was ripped apart rather than surgically sliced."

"Cause of death?"

Lanie looked up at the Detective with one eyebrow raised. "Could be anything. Blood loss, shock. He could have been killed before. If he was shot it wasn't a through and through but there's no bullet anyway. No obvious knife wounds. Won't have any idea until I get him back to the morgue."

Beckett wrinkled her nose, barely disguising her disgust. "Alright, thanks Lanie." She turned to talk to Castle, but found that the writer had disappeared. She turned on the spot trying to spot him among the small crowd of uniforms.

"Beckett!" She turned again towards the sound of his voice, finding him disappearing behind a refrigerator without a backwards look.

She rolled her eyes at Lanie who shook her head and turned back to the victim. "Should keep your writer on a leash."

"He is not my writer." Beckett replied, narrowing her eyes at the M.E.

Lanie snorted. "Just keep telling yourself that. None of us believe you, you know."

Beckett gave it up as a lost cause and turned to follow Castle, ducking back under the yellow tape. And then she saw what had got Castle so intrigued.

"It's been too quiet." Connor Temple sighed, frowning at the scanner in front of him. "It's not right."

Jess turned around in her chair, fixing him with a surprised look. "You sound like you enjoy chasing dinosaurs for a living."

Connor shook his head. "I'm just bored."

Jess smiled. "Don't you have a wedding to plan?"

Connor snorted. "Like Abby would ever let me plan our wedding. I have been forbidden from touching anything wedding related. She's out looking at cakes or dresses or flowers." He shrugged. "And I'm bored."

"Well, you could always clean, Connor." Said Becker, appearing next to him. "As usual the locker room is a mess. The armoury needs sorting… If you're bored, I could easily find you something to do." He leaned over the back of Jess's chair, a bar of chocolate dangling in his fingers. "Daily chocolate delivery for Miss Parker."

"Anybody would think you're trying to fatten her up, Becker." Connor said, watching as Jess span around in her chair and took the chocolate from the soldier.

"Right, and have her murder for me because she couldn't fit in her bridesmaid dress. I may not understand the female species as well as the next person but I am not stupid."

Connor opened his mouth to respond but was abruptly cut off by the sound of the anomaly detector going off. Jess turned back round, professional head back on, Becker and Connor both leant on the back of her chair, casting their own gaze over the screens. The location of the anomaly appeared and the three of them frowned.

"That's…" Jess said quietly, trailing off.

"Yeah…" Becker replied, forehead furrowed.

Connor turned to look at him, eyes wide in surprise. "What the bloody hell are we supposed to do about New York?"

Beckett could tell that the John Doe's insides had been dragged along the floor. The blood red stripe was stark against the dirty concrete of the floor, becoming more and more obvious as the morning light increased. "Castle?" She called out, peering around a heap of metal that vaguely resembled an old caravan. There was silence, and she sighed. "Castle?"

With one hand on her gun she followed the blood trail, occasionally calling out for the partner. She wasn't entirely worried, Castle was smart enough to not get himself into any proper sort of trouble, but Castle loved the sound of his own voice and if she called out to him the chances are he'd always respond. She turned another corner, her eyes on the blood trail so at first she didn't see what was in front of her. She looked up, still looking for Castle and then took two steps backwards in shock. What the… the blood trail in front of her had disappeared. Disappeared into what seemed to be a giant ball of golden light. There were giant shards of what seemed like glass but it couldn't be glass because it was floating. Floating in mid-air. She pulled out her gun, levelling it at the strange thing in front of her. Castle wasn't stupid enough to touch this thing, was he? With his enquiring mind of course he was. Panic sets in, low in her stomach at the idea that whatever had killed the victim may have got their hands on Castle.

The light emanating from the golden ball flickers slightly and for a moment the scar in her chest makes itself known and her grip on her gun tightens. The rational part of her brain tells herself that isn't the scope of a sniper. She knows it isn't. But the small part of her brain, the one that makes her doubly aware of when she's looking down the barrel of a gun, the one that makes her jump when someone slams a door, or the time when she turned up on Castle's doorway soaked to the skin because a stupid roll of thunder had scared her and she hadn't wanted to spend another night in her apartment drowning her own sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. That night still plays on her mind when she's not distracted by a case or her own thoughts. The way he'd pulled her through the door without a word – he knew why she was there, he always knows – and had pulled her through his bedroom and had started running a bath. She'd stood there shivering, watching him as he worked silently. As extravagant as the rest of Castle's apartment was, the bathroom itself was modestly small and it wasn't long before the room had filled with steam and the smell of chocolate (which she found odd in itself).

He turned around to face her. "Clothes off." Kate started, fixing him with a glare that was supposed to be annoyed but she was certain was coming off as more scared. Castle sighed and rolled his eyes. "Kate… you're soaking wet. You can't exactly have a bath in your clothes."

"Rick…"

"I'll close my eyes." He placed hand flat over his eyes.

Kate was too tired to argue with him, let alone check that his eyes were actually closed. She pulled her shirt over her head, shaking her hair free. She bent down to pull off her socks but a loud peel of thunder that seemed to be right above her head had her turning around and staggering backwards, right into the chest of Richard Castle. He had an arm around her before she was even aware of it, his palm flat against the scar on her ribs. "It's just thunder, Kate. It's not going to hurt you."

If it had been any other time she would have shoved him away and demanded him to get out of the room while she undressed but feeling him pressed against her back and with his arm around her - protecting her – she wasn't inclined to move. She found that her hands had fisted into his shirt and she could feel her own nails digging into her palm, even through the material. She let go, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth until she felt her heart rate slow down. He didn't try to stop her when she moved away from him, just simply let his hand slide across her stomach and fall back at his side. "Sorry, I just –"

"Kate, you don't need to be sorry." He smiled at her, before leaning over and dipping a hand in the bath water. "I think this is hot enough." He tilted his head at her slightly. "I'll leave you to it. Yell if you need me, okay."

Kate shook her head slightly, feeling the corners of her lips tug upwards into a faint smile. "Thank you, Rick."

"Always." He replied, before ducking past her and through the still open door, pulling it closed behind him.

"New York?" Lester blurted out, his eyes bulging somewhat like a toad. "What are we supposed to do about New York? I can't just send you to New York! I can't afford to send you all to New York. Can you imagine Connor in New York? He'll be distracted by something shiny every five seconds."

Abby sighed (not because it what he was saying was true) and slumped sideways in her chair, the complete opposite to Captain Becker who (yet again) had refused to take the seat Lester always offered him. Never off duty, that was him. She knew there was nothing they could do about New York except wait and hope that there was no creature incursion and that the anomaly would simply close on its own. It's all they could do, really. Sit and wait and hope. And if something did happen, then they'd just have to hope that whatever law enforcement they had in New York was able to sort it out. Maybe the government should look into opening more branches worldwide. It would save a whole heap of bother.

"The best we can do is contact the relevant authorities and leave them to deal with whatever may happen." Becker said, calm and collected as always. "Jess is keeping an eye on it."

"Keep me informed. And can somebody give Connor something to do? He makes me nervous when he's doing nothing."

"I've told him he can clean the armoury or the locker room, but he turned it down. I don't think he's that bored."

Lester turned to Abby. "Can't you give him something wedding related to do?"

Abby raised an eyebrow at him. "And have it blow up in my face? I don't think so. Besides, it's next week. There's not a lot left to do. I have it all planned and ready and I am not letting him touch a single thing. Bored or not."

She stood up and shot a withering look in Lester's direction before leaving the room. Becker offered Lester an apologetic look. "If I was the one getting married to Connor then I'd be just as stressed as her. She'll be back to her normal Abby self afterwards."

Lester laughed, somewhat sarcastically. "Being married to Connor? I highly doubt it."

Connor caught up with Becker outside Lester's office, and he had to admit it was slightly un-nerving to see the guy constantly jumping around and fidgeting. "Hey, Becker, let's hope that Godzilla's not going to be making a re-appearance, hey."

Becker narrowed his eyes at him. "What?"

"You know, giant over grown lizard that attacked New York. Could have been a t-rex."

"Yes, but it wasn't. It was a lizard that had been exposed to ridiculously high levels of radiation. Nothing dinosaur about it."

"But wouldn't it be cool if it was?"

"No, because it took uncountable amounts of fire power to bring that thing down. We have tasers. I think Godzilla would win."

Connor shrugged. "Spoil sport."

"You tell that to the next t-rex that tries to kill you." Becker replied, clapping Connor on the back. "You will be more than glad that it is not Godzilla, I assure you."