I Dream of You

Summary – Warning – This is not a light and fluffy fic and not a fic that portrays Jackson Hunt as a warm and caring person that some fics do (which I really enjoy BTW because that's how we like to think of our "heroes") (although I may do the light and fluffy version of it because I just got a weird image in my head about how Hunt can get Castle out of the hospital that I would love to see in the show). The idea for this story is based on the spoiler that we saw the "nice" side of Caste's father in the 2-parter earlier this year and James Brolin wouldn't come back unless we saw the darker side of him – not quite sure where you go darker if blowing people up is his "nice" side. So this is what came of that. There are no spoilers in this story except for the darker side of Jackson Hunt and, at this point, I would consider it AU. Anything that resembles something that AM will do in the episode is just co-incidental so I hope I'm not stealing his thunder. Just a weird little plot bunny that popped into my head.

The words in italics indicate that they are speaking in Russian, which I don't speak, hence the italics, although I did translate a couple of words into Russian using an online translator.

Thanks to everyone who reads this, also comments, and favorites. And Happy Holidays to everyone.

Disclaimer – Don't own Castle. ABC and Marlowe do.

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Chapter 3 – The Real Story

Present Day

It was some time later when Castle could finally stand up, unsteadily though, Beckett bearing most of his weight, as she helped him back to the bed.

With nothing sexual about her actions, she sat him on the edge and then quickly stripped off his sweat soak clothes and redressed him in the dry clothing she had gotten from his closet. She would have like to put him back in the shower, but knew that it would be awhile before the water would be hot enough.

"Do you want to lay down?" she asked as she knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his thigh.

Castle shook his head. "No," he said, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I'll just dream and they aren't very pleasant."

"How about some chamomile tea?" she asked.

"Yeah – okay," he said finally.

Beckett knew then how rattled Castle was because he rarely drank tea, preferring his caffeine in the form of coffee.

They relocated to the living area and Beckett settled him on the couch, covering him with a blanket and turning on the fireplace before walking into the kitchen.

She watched him as she waited for the water to heat and then brought the 2 cups back and sat down beside him.

Beckett silently offered him the cup, which he took and held between his hands, drawing the warmth from it.

Castle stirred after a few minutes of staring at the fire. "When I first found out my father was a spy, I was so excited – I was like a kid in a candy shop – it was like finally finding that missing piece of the puzzle." He looked at Beckett for a moment and then switched his focus back to the fire, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in thought. "But I never really stopped to consider what that meant – what some of them really do and the type of person who can do that and would do that."

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3 Months Ago

Slowly sipping a strong cup of coffee, Hunt sat in the little street café in Belleville, watching the foot traffic with an almost clinical detachment. The tourists walked about at a slow pace, taking in the sites, while the residents of that part of Paris hurried about their business.

The assignment he had just finished had gone well and his handlers were pleased, willing to put the incident in France behind them since he had taken out Gregory Volkov and most of his minions in the process of freeing his granddaughter. It had been an unexpected opportunity and one he made sure they knew about – a feather in his cap at this late stage of his career.

He wouldn't get the information for his next assignment for a couple of days and he found that waiting had always made him antsy, almost anxious to get back in the fray, to get the heart-stopping adrenaline rush he always felt during an assignment going again.

Hunt glanced over at the young American couple as they got up from the table next to him, their laughter and frequent kisses pointing out the fact that they were most likely on their honeymoon. They were so engrossed in each other that they didn't realize they had left the NY Times newspaper they had been reading on the table. Hunt reached for it and was about to call out to them, only to stop and stare at the small picture of his son with the caption, "The Macabre Mystery of Missing Master of Murder."

"What the h-?" he growled as he picked up the magazine and flipped to the article – Castle had gotten on a plane flying from LA to NYC and disappeared almost two weeks ago – no explanation, no viable leads. A $500,000 reward had been posted by Black Pawn on behalf of the distraught family for information leading to his safe return.

Hunt stared off in the distance, contemplating his next move, an almost feral smile on his face. He did have the next few days off – it was time to call in some of his markers, and if they weren't cooperative, he did have other ways of obtaining the information that weren't open to the authorities.

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2-1/2 Months Ago

It had taken Hunt less than 2 weeks to locate the man who had abducted Richard from the plane and put a plan in place to rescue his son.

His handlers weren't pleased – the mobster who had kidnapped Richard was a minor player on the food chain, not one to waste his talents on, but they wouldn't have another assignment for him for a couple of weeks.

They would only sanction this extraction if he could get in and out with the minimal amount of effort and no backup, and then get his son safely to a pick-up point.

After that, it would be business as usual.

But he found that his carefully laid plans circumvented when Demetri staged a coup and stormed the compound where Richard was being held. There were several long hours of waiting until they finally cleared the compound, taking the wounded to the local hospital.

Fortunately (or unfortunately according to his handlers), Richard was one of the survivors.

They were not happy with this complication until Hunt offered up Dr. Fedrek Hedron, apparently a patient at the same hospital that they had taken Richard to. He was on the list of "things to be taken care of" and that gave Hunt an opportunity to complete two missions – one sanctioned, the other an add-on only if it could be completed successfully. If not, they told him what he needed to do because his son was now considered a liability if he remained where he was.

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3 Days Ago

Hunt was extremely frustrated that it had taken longer to find a viable entrance into and exit out of the hospital than it had to the compound where Richard was originally held. It was more secure than his source had said, adding a layer of complexity that cut into his allotted time to complete the mission.

He had spent weeks studying the facility, watching, learning the routine, carefully making inroads with the staff so that his presence wouldn't arouse suspicion.

He had seen little of Richard during his reconnaissance, and the few times he had did not bode well for the extraction.

The first time that he had been able to locate him was when an attendant pushed the wheelchair he was in into the yard on a sunny afternoon. Castle didn't move and just sat there, staring blankly ahead.

The second time he had seen him was in what passed for the dining area, again strapped into the wheelchair, not moving, oblivious to the semi-chaos that went on around him.

Hunt was on a deadline and now the time had finally come to put his plan into fruition.

Waiting outside the entrance to the hospital, he spotted the matronly woman who visited her son several times a week and offered to once again carry her packages, just as he had done for the last several weeks. She quickly accepted his help and he merely shrugged at the guard as they walked through the front door and meekly followed her down the corridor to the room she was going to.

Hunt had carefully selected her, grooming her for the part without her knowledge. Her son had had a farm accident about a month ago and was left partially paralyzed, still bed-ridden.

Then, a week later, he had run into her literally near the hospital entrance, too grief stricken by the accident that his own son had had to notice her because of the tears in his eyes, knocking the packages she was carrying flying. He had apologized profusely, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, telling her story of woe, and offered to carry her packages in, flashing a brief shaky smile.

She had immediately sympathized in their shared suffering and accepted his help, providing him perfect access into and out of the hospital without suspicion.

He carefully put the packages on the chest near the bed where her son lay, gave her hand a quick kiss, and departed to check on his own son – near enough the truth to be believable.

Hunt stepped into a closet to put on the white jacket and scrub cap hidden in his satchel so that he could blend in with the staff and walked confidently down the corridors, a clipboard in his hand, scribbling down notes as he went, nodding at the staff members if they acknowledged him. It was time for the shift change so most everyone was preoccupied in either ending their work day or beginning their work day.

He found Hedron quickly and took care of that problem before continuing his search.

Hunt had walked through several wards before finding the one where Castle was, the lights dim, the smell dank and musty as if the room hadn't had a thorough cleaning in a while. Most of the beds were empty, the only other person in the room was a man with a horrible cough confined to a bed by the window, the yellowing curtains pulled around the bed to give some semblance of privacy.

The sign on the door explained the lack of care given the room and the patients in it – Уголовное Уорд. So they considered Richard to be part of the mobster's organization. All the better, he thought sadly. That would give credence to what he was about to do.

Hunt pulled the second syringe he had out of his satchel, uncapped it, and then looked down at his son as he lay strapped to the bed, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Martha," he said as he moved the needle closer to Richard's chest.

Castle's eyes suddenly flew open and he stared at the man hovering above him.

"Dad?" he whispered hoarsely as if not believing what he saw. "Is that really you? How did you find me?"

"It wasn't easy," said Hunt, smiling slightly, moving the syringe down and out of sight. He had to be quick about this if he wanted to make a clean get-away.

"Thank God you did. I don't know how much longer I could have pulled off the catatonic trance," Castle said quietly and then jerked the straps that bound his wrists. "Undo these things and let's get out of here."

"You can walk?" Hunt asked hesitantly.

"Yeah – it was just a flesh wound," Castle replied. "It's healed up pretty well now."

"Then why?" Hunt asked as he lay the syringe down on the table next to the bed and undid the straps.

Castle pointed to the door as soon as his hand was free. "One of the patients thought I could use some help in the shower and I broke his jaw when I hit him, so they stuck me in here with the Уголовное – criminals. Or rather, the other criminal."

He stood up and stretched, bringing stiff muscles back to life, and then looked around. "I'm assuming you have some clothes for me in there," he said, pointing to the satchel.

"We're going to have to improvise," Hunt said. This was going to be harder than he thought –the guard recorded everyone going in and if you weren't on the list, you didn't go out. He had come in with the woman and he had planned to leave that way, but now…

"And?" Castle asked expectantly.

"Check down there – see if he has any clothing you can use," Hunt said as he pointed to the closed curtain.

Castle quietly crept down to the other end of the room and glanced around the curtain to make sure the man was asleep before looking around the area. He turned back to shake his head at his father and froze when he saw the night guard questioning his father.

Hunt had maneuvered them so that the guard's back was to Castle and was talking to him in Russian. He was just as perplexed as the guard was as to where the patient had gone – perhaps one of the other doctors had moved him? The bed was empty when he started his rounds.

Hunt carefully flicked his eyes Castle's way and then down at the syringe on the table as the guard pulled out his radio to inform someone of the situation.

Castle nodded in understanding and slowly walked back to the table, trying not to make any noise, and then carefully picked up the syringe.

The guard must have sensed someone behind him because he started to turn just as Castle sank the needle into his arm and pressed the plunger.

Hunt quickly moved forward to cover the man's mouth with his hand as the guard took a breath to yell a warning and then caught the man as he jerked and slumped over.

"Wow," said Castle, surprised, helping Hunt lay the man on the floor. "Whatever that is works fast."

Hunt pocketed the radio and sized up the guard. "That uniform should fit you. Strip him and see what he has in his pockets."

Castle knelt down beside the man to roll him over on his back and then felt for a pulse. "Hey, he's dead," he exclaimed, instinctively starting to call for help only to be slammed bodily into the floor by Hunt, a knife at his throat.

"You so much as make another sound, son or no, and I'll swear I'll slit your throat and leave you here to bleed out," he hissed.

Castle froze, the knife biting into the flesh under his Adam's apple, his father's face inches from his, eyes blazing.

"Do you understand me?" Hunt demanded quietly.

"Yes – yes, sir," Castle said, eyes wide, shocked at the sudden outburst.

"Good." Hunt slowly released his son. "Now, strip him and get dressed. We're wasting time."

Castle kept a careful eye on Hunt as he took the uniform off of the guard and shrugged it on, foregoing the guard's underwear even though the fabric itched horribly.

Hunt nodded at him and straightened the jacket. "That will work. Go see if anyone is out in the hall. I'll be right out," he said, motioning towards the door with his thumb. "Look unapproachable and don't talk to anyone," he said in the way of instructions.

Castle stepped of the door and waited for a few long moments before Hunt came out into the hallway and grabbed him by the arm, quickly ushering him towards the exit.

As they walked down the hall, Castle looked back over his shoulder and sniffed. "What's that?" he asked. "What did you do?"

"Our way out," Hunt said simply, not looking back. "Keep walking."

By the time they reached the door, the fire alarms had sounded, the other guards running down the hall towards the smoke that billowed out of the ward.

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It was dark when they arrived at the small airstrip that was the extraction point, neither father nor son saying a word during the bumpy ride, instead sitting in stony silence.

"Get out," growled Hunt as he pulled the car up to a small shed and got out, opening the door to the shed. "We'll wait in here."

Castle walked inside the small shed and over to the back wall before turning to face his father. "You didn't have to do that," he said quietly. "What you did back there."

"And just how were you going to get out?" Hunt asked as he slammed the door closed against the freezing wind. "You want to go back and join them?" he asked curtly.

Castle shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest and propping himself up against a table in the corner. He studied Hunt for a while before finally asking, "Would you have done it? Back there? That syringe was meant for me, not the guard. You didn't expect to get me out – that's why you weren't prepared. That's why you didn't have any clothes for me."

Hunt studied him for a moment, his eyes cold. "What did you expect me to do, Richard? I thought you were incapacitated and you could become a liability if the wrong people had found you. Would you have left Alexis there in Paris if you couldn't have gotten her out?"

"No, but then that's the difference between us," Castle said with a bitter smile. "It wouldn't have mattered because I would have died trying to get her out."

"Look," said Hunt, bristling, as if talking to a raw recruit who had just insulted him, not his son. "I'm not going to argue the political correctness of my job. I don't expect you to understand how I do it or even why some things that may look wrong are necessary. But I do this to keep the world safe for people like you."

"Well, then the joke's on you," Castle snapped back, "because I shadow a NY homicide detective whose mother was killed by a corrupt US senator. He also hired a hit man tried to kill her at Roy Montgomery's funeral, whom he also had killed. Not to mention a serial killer who thinks we're BFF's and that I should join him on the dark side."

Castle and Hunt locked eyes for several long minutes before Castle finally broke it off, looking away. "Sorry – I get sarcastic when I'm nervous." He ran a hand through his hair and looked at his father again. "Even if I don't approve of your methods, I appreciate everything you've done. You didn't have to."

"But I did. Here," said Hunt, handing Castle a tin cup that he had poured coffee in from the thermos in the satchel. "It will be a while before they get here. This will keep you warm."

"Thanks," Castle said automatically as he took the cup. There was no doubt that Martha had instilled good manners in him at an early age. He took a sip and grimaced. "That undoubtedly is the worst coffee I've ever tasted."

Hunt shrugged, holding his cup. "You're in the middle of nowhere in Russia, what do you expect? Besides, you'll be back in New York in a day or two, drinking high-priced coffee, and this will just be a distant memory." He pointed to the cup. "Trust me – it's much better warm than cold, so drink up."

Castle took another swig and then coughed slightly. "So how do you get me back in?"

"We'll pick up passports and clothes at a safe house," Hunt said as he watched Castle drink the last of the coffee and then softened his voice, making his tone as monotonous as possible. "Then it's just a matter of getting on the plane and sitting back to watch some horrible inflight movie. They'll be waiting for us at customs where we will…"

He reached forward to take the cup as it slipped out of Castle's hands and caught the writer as his eyes closed and he slumped forward in the chair.

"Sorry, son," he said as he leaned Castle to the side so that his head rested on the table and then pulled out a phone. "The snow is falling," he said simply.

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The attendant walked quickly over to where the old man sat and gently put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"Mr. Salvinsky, the plane is here. It's time to board now," she said loudly.

The man turned up his hearing aids and then looked at her. "Thank you – thank you, dear," he replied, patting her hand, a sad smile on his face.

"We are so sorry to hear of your loss," she said as she helped him stand and then walk towards the door. "Just let one of the flight attendants know if you need anything."

"Yes," the man nodded. "I'm taking my son home. He was taken from me unexpectedly and I came to get him."

"Yes, I know," she said nodding sympathetically. "Brigette, this is Mr. Salvinsky," she said as they reached the plane door. "He's the special case I told you about."

"Mr. Salvinsky, I'm so sorry," said Brigette, taking his arm and guiding him to his seat. "Let's get you settled before the rest of the passengers board."

The old man was quickly settled by a window seat behind the wing of the plane. After the attendant walked away, he carefully pulled out a mirror and angled it so he could see the casket being loaded on the plane and then settled back in his seat.

He had told them that this extraction method was necessary – Castle could be considered a celebrity, albeit a minor one in his opinion, but because Black Pawn had milked his disappearance for all they could get, that might cause a problem if someone recognized him too soon. But the simple truth was that Hunt didn't feel like spending the next 12 hours being silently judged by his son. Although this method had its risk, it was simpler for him and probably safer for Castle.

After the other passengers boarded, the plane finally taxied down the runway and took off, sailing through the skies.

With a warm smile, Hunt accepted a cup of coffee from the flight attendant and then settled back to enjoy the flight, turning up the mp3 player hidden in his jacket.

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Present Day

"So the last thing I remember is waiting in the shed and then I woke up and I was at the 12th precinct, standing in front of you. And I have no clue how I got there," said Castle, eyes still narrowed in thought as he watched the flames in the fireplace.

"So the man who brought you in…?" Kate asked.

"Was my father," said Castle. He shook his head slightly as if to clear off cobwebs. "I don't remember him being there after that."

"I think he left right after we went into Gate's office – before Danberg showed up."

"Good," said Castle abruptly. "After what happened, he's not the kind of man I would want my mother or Alexis to meet."

He sat in silent contemplation for a while longer until Beckett spoke, watching him carefully.

"What's bothering you, Rick?" she asked quietly,

"In the hotel room, when Tyson had Ryan and me, he asked why I was drawn to the darkness – said it would be so simple for me to cross the line. And then when we found Douglas Stevens, I wondered how I could do what I did to him." Castle looked down at the cold cup of tea in his trembling hands. "And now I know."

"No, no," said Beckett, taking the cup out of his hands and putting it on the table before clasping his hands in hers, staring into his eyes. "You were motivated by love of your daughter – like you said, a father would do anything for his daughter. That doesn't make you a bad person."

Castle finally nodded and then swallowed thickly. "He didn't have to do what he did. Those people – they weren't good at their jobs, but they weren't the enemy." Castle paused. "My father is just like Maddox and McAlister – only he works for what we consider the 'good' side. And if he didn't, we'd been hunting him as a serial killer."

He suddenly jumped off the couch, knocking the cups over, and ran into the bathroom, emptying what little he had in his stomach in the toilet.

After the dry heaving finally stopped, he sat back against the cabinets.

"After the smell of that fire, I'm really thinking of becoming a vegetarian," he said shakily, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Shhhh," Beckett said as she gently wiped his face with a wet washcloth. "It will be okay. You're home now. And I'm not letting you go anyplace else by yourself."

Castle smiled slightly as he grabbed Beckett's free hand and held it to his chest. It was then that his tears started flowing.

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After Castle had finally fallen into a fitful, exhausted sleep, Beckett went back into the living room to clean up the spilt tea only to find that the table had already been cleaned up and Martha sitting at the kitchen counter, an almost empty glass of wine in front of her.

"Oh, Martha – I didn't hear you come in," said Beckett, startled by the woman's presence.

"No need to explain, dear," the older woman smiled at her. "You were preoccupied."

"Did you hear…?" the detective asked, frowning slightly.

Martha nodded slowly. "Richard is such a kind and generous person, always has been, always will be. It's hard for someone like that when their heroes fall." She regarded the detective closely. "You're good for him, Katherine. I'm glad he found you."

Beckett pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled in response. "Yeah, I am too."

Martha finished her wine and then put the glass in the sink. "Well, I'm off to bed, kiddo. Call me if you need anything."

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Several Days Later

The chance meeting happened several days later when Martha was walking up to her studio before her evening class. The street was crowded, bustling with people hurrying different places, and suddenly they were face to face.

It was someone she expected – frankly even hoped – to never see again, but she knew instantly who he was even though she hadn't seen him in 41 years.

Richard had been 1 year old when Hunt had stopped by and she told him that she didn't want him in her son's life. There was no discussion, no negotiation – just a demand that he leave and not try to see them again.

Hunt was just as surprised to see her and quickly grabbed her elbow, steering her to the opening of a storefront for a more private conversation.

"Jackson," she breathed, holding her hand up to her mouth.

"Martha," he replied.

"Thank you for saving Alexis and Richard. I don't know what I would have done without them."

"You're wel-" His reply was abruptly cut off when Martha's hand connected to his face with a stinging slap.

"You jack ass," she hissed, bristling like the powerful lioness she was when it came to her son and granddaughter. "You just couldn't dial it down in front of your son, could you? That's why I didn't want you in our lives and why I never told Richard about you. How do you tell a child that his father is a killer for the government and likes it?"

Hunt bristled, insulted. "I do what I do for our country."

"Oh, save the speeches for someone who'll believe them," Martha said, waving a hand in his face. "Both you and I know how many times you've been put on report for unnecessary violence."

"Martha – "

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I appreciate what you did, but you need to leave and never come back. Richard was devastated when he understood the truth about you."

They locked eyes and Hunt finally broke the contact. "Yeah, okay," he said and turned to leave.

"I'll make sure that you get the money from Black Pawn," Martha said.

Hunt turned back to her, shaking his head. "Martha, it was never about the money. He's my son."

"I know," she said, a sad smile on her face. "But that never would have been enough. Wire it to your usual account?"

"Yeah," he replied, not refuting what she said.

"And Jackson," said Martha icily, stopping him in his tracks. "If you ever hurt my son like that again, I will hunt you down like the vermin you are."

Jackson paused and then started walking again. He knew Martha, knew her past. They had worked together at the agency and she had mostly retired after she found out she was pregnant with Richard.

While their methods of operation were extremely effective, they were polar opposites and that's where the problem lay. He preferred the not-so subtle art of coercion that usually ended badly for the other person, and she preferred the subtle art of cooperation and was exceptional at it, so much so that the person rarely realized they had told her anything of consequence. He also knew without a doubt that she was thoroughly capable of carrying out her threat.

Martha watched him walk away and then looked down at her throbbing hand. She had hit him hard enough that she probably broke a bone, but it was well worth it. She opened the door to her studio and walked inside, putting on a big smile for her waiting students and waving grandly at them.

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The End