Chimera

Chimera: a grotesque product of the imagination.

He can't sleep.

Too pent up with lingering anxiousness and worry, he's unable to lie down and give in to the sweet lull of much needed rest. It's not unusual for him to spend hours drowning in darkness as he writes, when his brain is wired with creative need that he tries to satisfy with the furious typing of his fingertips, but tonight isn't one of those usual nights.

Actually, this whole week has been pretty unusual, what with the FBI taking point of a case involving some psychopath killing people in the name of his book.

In the name of the extraordinary woman who inspired it.

Castle runs a hand over his face in exhaustion, threading his fingers through the strands of his hair, stopping immediately with a wince when he realises he can still smell the lingering scent of burning cloth, the heavy air of soot clinging to him. Memories of the explosion were pretty easy to push into the darker pits of his mind when there were other things to focus on, when Beckett was visible to see in front of him every time the panicked thoughts of losing her started to claw their way up the wall of his chest.

But she isn't here now.

Even rationally knowing that the detective is asleep upstairs in his spare bedroom, well fed and tucked up safe and sound, he can't help the thoughts that start to plague him. His writer's imagination is going into overdrive as he sits helplessly in his office chair, laptop closed and lifeless on the desk in front of him.

He can't bear to put the horror into word. Witnessing Beckett's apartment being engulfed by flames, the blind panic he fell into as he rushed inside the burning building, breaking down her door with adrenaline fuelled strength that he hadn't known he possessed. Every time he closes his eyes, the narrative changes in his mind, rewriting itself so the soot smudged hand doesn't come reaching out from the bathtub. Instead he sees her sprawled across the scorched tiles of her bathroom floor, body bloodied and twisted unnaturally as her empty stare looks lifelessly past him.

He's done plenty of research on burn victims, and the images of scalded skin, raw flesh that should never be exposed, all the horrifying ways the explosion could have ended, haunt him from sleep in a waking nightmare.

Sighing, he pushes himself up from his chair wearily, wincing at the loud cracks of his aching joints as he moves out of his office, towards the kitchen to get a drink of water.

He revels in the cool waves that wash over him when he opens up the fridge, blinking against the assault of light against his eyes. Taking a refreshing swig from the bottle of water he uncaps, he tries to clear his head, rid himself of the nightmarish thoughts tormenting his mind so that he can rest, when he suddenly hears a creak coming from the staircase.

"Alexis," he says softly, turning around to see the hunched form of his daughter creeping down the stairs in her pyjamas, looking rumpled with sleep as she shields her eyes from the refrigerator light. "Pumpkin, what are you doing up?"

His daughter rushes straight for him and buries her head against his chest, clinging onto the fabric of his sleep shirt, and he's reminded how much this case is affecting her. He runs a hand through her hair, the copper strands still bright even in the blanket of darkness surrounding them. Hugging her to him, he drops a kiss to the finer strands on her hairline, and takes a moment to bathe himself in the innocence her presence offers.

"Heard noises," she tells him, voice muffled and thick with sleep as she blinks up at him. "From Detective Beckett's room."

"Noises?" he narrows his eyes at her in question, rising concern starting to inch its way up his insides, the strain of anxiety making his chest ache.

"Yeah," Alexis nods, rubbing her scrunched up eyelids with balled fists as she fights back a yawn. "I'm worried that she's crying or something."

He opens his mouth to reassure his daughter, tell her that Detective Beckett's probably fine, she's just been through a lot these past couple of days, when he's interrupted by a heart wrenching scream from upstairs.

Alexis jolts against him, suddenly looking far more awake when she stares up, her baby blue eyes wide with shock as they meet his.

He's filled with panic again, everything he's been trying to hold back suddenly rushing to the surface with the noise that tears at his gut.

Another cry sounds from the guest bedroom, and he nudges his daughter forward, eager to get to his partner, but not wanting to rattle Alexis. "Sweetheart, I need you to go back to bed okay?" He tries to keep his voice even as he herds her towards the stairs, trying to hold back the fear seeping through. "I'm going to check and make sure Beckett's alright."

His daughter nods at him, seemingly understanding that the best way for her to help the situation is to remove herself, even though she clearly wants to help, and he feels a surge of pride when they reach the top of the stairs and she presses a quick kiss to his cheek, retreating back to her bedroom.

The sounds of grief-stricken crying hums through the door to the guest room, and Castle's heart aches at the sound. He quietly opens the door, not wanting to startle her as he peeks through the crack.

She's huddled on one side with her back to him, the dim silver streaming in through the sheer curtains bathing her in moonlight. He closes the door behind him with a quiet snick and softly pads across the carpet towards the bed, lowering himself to sit on the edge next to her hip.

The bed sheets are twisted around her, legs kicking out as if she's trying to fend off an invisible threat that he has no way of protecting her from. She yelps again, fist slamming against the mattress as she rolls onto her back, and he can see the glistening tracks of her tears as they slide back into her hair.

She's breaking his heart, and he suddenly doesn't care about boundaries, needing to help her escape from whatever torment her mind is putting her through.

"Beckett," he whispers, leaning down to get closer. "Hey, wake up, it's just a dream."

Her face scrunches up, back arching off the mattress slightly as a gasping sob escapes her lips, and he acts on instinct. His experience as a father to a child who used to be plagued by nightmares has him lowering himself to his elbows so he's lying next to her, and he reaches out a hand to brush back the strands of hair sticking against the wet running over her cheeks.

"Cas-" she chokes out in response to his touch, still captive to the chains of sleep, and he swears that she's trying to call his name.

"I'm here, you're okay," he soothes, clasping the fist she's waving around in one of his hands, worried she's going to hurt herself. Instead he brings it to rest against his chest, hoping that the rhythm of his heartbeat will help calm her down. "You're safe, Kate," his voice breaks against her first name, and he realises that he's close to tears himself. "I won't let anyone hurt you, just wake up for me, okay?"

The rapid gasping of her chest eases slightly, and her brow furrows in that adorable way he always used to tease her for. The sight brings a watery smile to his face, and without thinking, he lifts her hand up, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. Her fingers curl in response, and when he lowers them again, she grips onto the fabric of his sleep shirt.

The gesture is so innocent that it steals his breath, and he notices gratefully that her posture relaxes slightly, sinking back into the pillows as her sobs quieten to softer whimpers.

"You with me, Kate?" he breathes out, hoping that she's starting to come out of her night terror. The sudden thought that she may have gone through nightmares as intense as this, all alone in her apartment, fills him with grief, and he realises that there might be more to the darkness that sometimes circles her eyes than simply late nights working.

She releases a stuttering breath, eyelids flickering. "Castle?" she whispers as her words slur, still half asleep.

"Yeah, Beckett," he heaves out, stroking the remaining tears off her cheeks with his thumb, hoping that the touch will help ground her to wakefulness. "It's just me, I'm here."

With one last shudder, her eyelashes flutter open, meeting his gaze with those gorgeous hazel eyes of hers, a background of green against the gold ring bordering her pupils. She looks confused, still caught in the haze of sleep as she continues to hiccup out shaky breaths, and she tentatively reaches up, stroking the tips of her fingers against his chin.

He gasps at the contact, but tries to reign himself back in, not wanting to freak her out when she realises he's witnessed her in the grips of a nightmare.

"You're okay," she breathes out, and it takes a couple of seconds for the words to register. Okay? Why wouldn't he be okay-

Oh.

Oh, Kate.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Kate," he reassures her, cradling her hand in his as he gives it a gentle squeeze. "Just a dream, I promise."

"You were dead," she slurs, eyes drooping again, and the words hit him like a punch to the gut. "Caught in the 'splosion."

His shoulders sag, the weight of the entire case finally sinking down on top of him. He leans forward, sighing as he drops his head next to hers on the pillow. She doesn't seem to mind and just tracks his movements, her eyes shining as she watches him. "Sorry for waking you."

He nearly doesn't hear the whispered apology, the words so quiet they're almost lost to the night, but he quickly shakes his head in response. "No, don't be sorry," he tells her sternly. "The reason I'm still awake is because I'd have the exact dream about you if I closed my eyes."

She swallows, staring up at him. She's still breathing shakily, her tears lingering in streaks on her cheeks, some still trapped between her eyelashes, but he can't help noticing how beautiful she looks bathed in the moonlight, even with red rimmed eyes and hair mussed from rolling in bed.

"Hot chocolate," he bursts out suddenly, and she just blinks at him, not able to comprehend his words. Honestly, he doesn't really know what he's trying to say either, he just wants to keep snuggly, 'just woke up, Beckett', with her barriers down for a little longer. And also because he doesn't think he'll be able to leave her after that rattling-episode. If he was worried about her before, he'll crawl out of his skin if he's alone now.

"Downstairs," he corrects, nodding his head decisively, but she just looks confused, eyes squinting at him. "I'll make us some hot chocolate downstairs."

Without waiting for an answer, he jumps up from the bed, catching himself against the side table as he stumbles in his disorientated eagerness. Pulling her up after him, he gives her no choice but to follow, no opportunity to protest and hide back behind the barriers he knows are already starting to re-build themselves.

He leads her downstairs and towards the couch, turning a lamp on as he goes and draping the room with a warm glow. "Just wait here for one second," he instructs as she sits down hesitantly, before disappearing in his office to find what he's looking for. Going all the way through to his bedroom, he gathers up the comforter he hasn't yet slept in, bringing pillows and a couple more blankets he finds folded on a chair and carrying them all back out to the living area in a mountainous pile.

Beckett's still sitting on the edge of his couch, back ramrod straight as she glances around the loft anxiously. She startles when he dumps the heap of blankets at her feet.

"Castle," she croaks, voice still sounding raw from screaming out in her sleep. "What're you doing?"

"I'm going to make us some hot chocolate," he explains, trying not to fidget and give away his nerves. If he acts calm and blasé about what just happened, then hopefully she won't feel too mortified about everything and end up retreating back inside herself. "Then, because clearly neither of us can sleep right now, we'll camp out here on the couch."

If he reminds her that she wouldn't be the only one having terrible nightmares if he'd managed to get some sleep himself, he hopes that she'll be eased enough that she'll calm down again, stop feeling the embarrassment he knows will be catching up with her.

Her teeth catch the rosy pink of her bottom lip, and he feels a completely out of place surge of arousal at the gesture. So not the time for that.

"Hot chocolate?" She asks, hesitance lacing her words as she places one hand on his comforter awkwardly, stroking the cloud like softness of the material with her thumb.

He bobs his head eagerly. "Yeah, Alexis thinks that she makes the best, but just wait until you've tasted mine." His daughter always makes him the comforting drink when he's had a bad day, and although he'd usually opt for pancakes as his go to cheer-up snack, hot chocolate will probably be more appropriate for two o'clock in the morning. "You go ahead and make yourself comfortable while I get it ready."

She gives him a small smile, wringing her hands together on her lap as she fidgets, and he leaves her to compose herself, busying himself in the kitchen as he cautiously tries not to wake his daughter again with the clatter of pots.

A glance over his shoulder reassures him that Beckett's wrapping herself up in the blankets, and a few minutes later, he plops a couple of marshmallows into the mugs, before carrying the steaming drinks over to her.

The sight of his partner snuggling down into the cocoon of his comforter brings a smile to his face, the first genuine grin he's felt since a serial killer decided to fixate on her. It makes him feel a slight pang of longing deep inside his stomach, desire for a life where she's wrapped up in his comforter much more often startling him with its fierceness.

She glances up at him, reaching both hands out for a mug, and he passes it over, relishing in the content hum she lets out at her first sip. He lifts one of the blankets up, sliding in next to her, careful to leave enough distance between them.

However, Beckett surprises him when she shifts closer, near enough that he can feel the heat radiating from her. It burns through the layers of material separating them, and the prickle of goosebumps rise on his legs as he takes a large gulp of cocoa to distract himself.

They drink in silence for a few moments, when she clears her throat quietly on his right.

"Castle," she starts, and he turns to face her, reading the nerves in her posture, the extra lines creasing her face. "I uh, didn't get a chance to thank you before."

He tilts his head in question, placing his mug on the coffee table, leaning his blanketed feet out on the surface next to it. "For what?"

She shrugs, a small smile gracing her lips as she studies the inside of her mug. "For everything," her gaze lifts to meet his, and he finally notices how close they're actually sitting when she turns to face him. "Letting me stay here, and for saving my life. Even if it was absolutely stupid for you to run into a burning building."

He laughs, surprised by the lightness engulfing him at her words. "Well, I couldn't just pass up the opportunity to play hero."

"No, of course not," she smirks at him, putting her own mug down before resting against the back of the couch.

They stare at one another, content to let the silence sit around them, when she yawns, trying to stifle it with her hand. The only opportunity for a good night's sleep she's had recently and it's been disturbed by a nightmare. She must be absolutely exhausted.

"Go to sleep, Kate," he tells her softly, watching the fluttering of her eyelids as they fight to stay open, feeling his own fatigue start to take hold of him, enticing him to give in as it tries to drag him down.

She shakes her head though, fighting against the impending drowsiness. "I'm fine."

He hears what she doesn't say, I don't want to have that dream again, because he's thinking it too, not wanting to give himself over to the darkness of his mind. But with her here next to him, maybe they can help each other.

"Beckett, you need to sleep," he says, ignoring the half-hearted eye roll she sends him. "And I do too, so, if one of us has a nightmare, we can wake each other up."

She seems to contemplate his words, staring down at the piece of fabric she's been worrying between her fingers, before meeting his eyes again. "I don't want to watch you die again."

His body sags under the weight of her words, and he reaches out a hand, gently taking hold of her own and giving it a light squeeze. "I'm right here," he tells her. "And if your dreams make you think otherwise, feel free to pinch me."

She huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head at him and relaxing back into the comforter. "You'll wake me?"

The shyness of her question, barely a hesitant whisper in the silence of the night, makes him want to gather her up in his arms, not let her go until the sun rises. "Of course," he tells her instead, stroking his thumb against the ridges of her knuckles as he clasps her palm. "And you'll wake me? Even if you have to push me off the couch?"

"Mmm," she confirms around a smile. Clutching their joined hands, her eyelids finally close as she starts to follow the call of sleep, but her voice still radiates warmth when she answers him. "Even if I have to push you off the couch."

He grins, mimicking her position and lying against the back cushions, surrounded by the warmth of both the blankets and her. He watches her slowly falling, face eventually going slack with sleep, peacefully this time, and he finally feels as though he's able to do the same.

Content with the knowledge that she's here with him, not dead on the floor of her bathroom, he lets his eyes close, succumbing to unconsciousness.

When he wakes in the morning from a dreamless sleep, she's still holding his hand.

Prompt: 2x18. After letting Beckett stay with him at the loft, Castle is woke up to her screaming from a night terror

A/N: Okay, so I may have deviated slightly form the original prompt, but here's my little contribution for the last Castle Fanfic Monday of the hiatus!

I want to say a HUGE thank you to Bean for helping me with editing this, as well as convincing me to use the title and post this one shot.

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

Twitter: dappledshadows

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