Castle pushed open his front door and was immediately rushed by Alexis, who attached herself to him.
"When we heard it was Detective Ryan, we were so worried," she said into his shirt. He could feel her tears through the thin fabric.
"It's okay," Castle said as he rubbed her back. "I'm fine, Ryan's going to be fine, you'll see. It'll all be okay." She calmed at the words and stepped back, rubbing her eyes.
"Sorry," she sniffed. "I didn't mean to just jump on you like that." Castle grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the couch.
"Are you kidding?" he said "I love getting hugs from you." He kissed her head and deposited her on the sofa before retiring to his room to change clothes. The green scrub top was tossed into a far corner of his closet, replaced with a simple black cotton T-shirt. The slacks and dress shoes traded for navy blue sweat pants and a warm pair of wool socks.
When he returned to the living room, Alexis was gone. She had an early test tomorrow, Castle knew, and had probably gone to bed early. His mother was still there, though, and he had no sooner than shut the door to his office before a glass of red wine was thrust into his hand.
"How you doing, kiddo?" she asked as she settled into the sofa's cushions. He sat down next to her.
"I'm fine, mother."
"Richard." One word was all it took for Castle to know his cover was blown. It didn't matter how many books he wrote or how good of a storyteller he became, she could always see right through him. He closed his eyes and took a large gulp of his drink before setting it down.
"I don't understand," he began. "I've been around. I've seen a lot - I've been held at gunpoint before, for Christ's sake - but this...this was terrifying."
"Oh, darling, of course it was!" Martha exclaimed. "This wasn't a stranger, it's a friend. Of course it was terrifying." She rubbed her hand up and down his forearm like she used to do when he felt ill or nervous as a child and scooted closer. He tried to speak. To open his mouth and refute the idea that the strangers they found in alleys should mean less, but no sound came out. Air caught in his throat, and all he could do was swallow it back down. She pulled him to her, let his head rest on her shoulder with her arms wrapped around him. He didn't cry, but snuggled against his mother, who after all these years somehow smelled just like she did when he was five. A sense of calm finally began to wash over him, drowning out the numbness he'd felt since leaving the warehouse.
When she released him, she held his face in her hands for a moment before stroking his hair gently and rising from her seat.
"It's been a long day, Richard," she said.
"Heading to bed, mother?"
"A girl must get her beauty rest, after all." She stared at him for a second longer before sweeping out of the room "And you should get some rest, too, dear."
He probably should have, but if anything, the heart-to-heart with his mother had energized him, left him feeling too awake to possibly lie in bed and worry and hope. So instead, he walked into his office, sat down at his desk and pressed the power button on his laptop.
Unfortunately, "awake" was not the same as "ready to write," and he soon found himself gazing around the room. His eyes landed on a glossy green corner poking out beneath a stack of mail, research and notes. He gave the corner a tug until it was freed from the mountain of other paper and held it in his hands.
It was an independent magazine full of science fiction and fantasy. Poems. Short stories. Serials. It was a touch of old school quality in a world that seemed to be shifting toward a self-publishing free-for-all of dreck and drivel. Ryan had introduced him to it, actually. Well, sort of.
About a month ago, Castle had been at the precinct, waiting for Beckett with two cups of coffee in his hands when he spied Ryan, hunched over in his chair, just the corner tips of the magazine visible over the desk, one hand trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. Castle was about to go ask him what was so engrossing when Esposito came up behind and slapped both hands down on his shoulders. Ryan jumped about a mile.
"No porn at work, bro" Esposito said with a chuckle. "What, Jenny won't let you keep it at home?"
Ryan rolled his eyes and tossed the magazine face-down on the desk before stacking it up among other folders and paperwork. Esposito didn't even notice he was hiding it among the files, and Castle probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching. It was really quite the expert move, and fast too, he was done before he even finished speaking.
"Oh, grow up Esposito. Read a book sometime." Esposito arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but Ryan beat him to it. "And Castle's don't count."
"Hey!" Castle raised his coffee-laden hands in the air and gave a look.
"No offense, Castle," Ryan said as Castle made his way to their desk and slipped into a chair.
"Oh, none taken" he said. "Of course I *expect* you all to read my books. But just for that, no coffee for you." He floated the cup under Ryan's nose before pulling it away.
"Isn't that Beckett's coffee, anyway?"
"It better be," Beckett answered, striding over to them and plucking the cup from Castle's hand and taking a long drink.
"Neighbor's still at it?" Castle asked.
"5 a.m." Beckett replied. "5 a.m. Who needs to be tearing down walls and doing heavy construction at FIVE A.M.!" She took another sip of her drink. "Anway, do we have anything new on the Sanderson case?" And with that, the day had started, and soon everyone was engrossed in trying to solve a murder, and nobody noticed Castle quickly rifling through the stack on Ryan's desk to find the name of the magazine.
He bought a copy the next day and spent an evening skimming over its pages. Poetry for Space Cowboys caught his eye about a third of the way through, but it didn't strike Castle as the sort of thing Ryan would be reading. He was tired and about to give up when an opening line jumped out at him.
For John Quinn, dying was only the beginning.
At first, he hadn't been able to place the phrase, but he knew something about it was familiar. And then he remembered the night Ryan and Jenny had invited him and Beckett and Esposito to their new apartment. They had just signed the lease, giving them their first place that was *theirs* and not his or hers. Dinner had been great, but by the end of it, Castle had needed to use the restroom.
"Just through the office," Jenny had said as she carried a cake from the kitchen to the table. Castle had always had a thing for offices. He hurried through the bathroom, but he took his time leaving the office. It was small, but the back wall was lined with shelves.
Ryan really had quite a few books for the size of the place - and for the amount of free time being a cop allowed. Sure, a few knicknacks separated the collection - including 12-inch Gandalf action figure Castle couldn't help but covet - and some of the books could have been Jenny's, but Jenny didn't really strike him as Tolkien fan. Or Stephen King. In fact, it was a tattered, clearly well-read copy of King's memoir sitting on the desk that caught Castle's eye next. He'd read the book - he and King had different approaches to writing, sure, but he couldn't deny it was a good read.
Later that night, he had approached Jenny, fishing for information or acknowledgement that it was mostly her collection.
"Oh, no, it's like 90 percent his," she answered. "He probably wouldn't tell a lot of people - at least not before you started working with them - but he loves to read." She told him that, after Beckett made them delve into his books when a killer was emulating them, Ryan started tearing through Castle's collection at a break-neck pace - sometimes more than once after hitting the Derrick Storm series, re-reading for missed connections and clues that tied them all together. That explained the chunk of real estate Castle's own books had taken up in the home library.
Castle had been about to leave the office when he saw the scraps of paper on the desk. Variations of the same sentence had been written down and crossed out:
Life began for John Quinn after he died
Death was only the beginning for John Quinn
John Quinn died and then everything went to shit.
That last one actually had a handful of strikes exing it off the page. But then, beneath it all, circled in green pen was
For John Quinn, dying was only the beginning.
Castle had broken into the biggest grin the day he found the magazine, remembered the office experience and finally made the connection between all of it and the byline identifying the author as a first-time contributor named Ryan O'Malley. Looking at the page again brought all those memories back. Ryan - their little Kevin Ryan - was writing. And writing well, Castle couldn't help but notice.
The story was about a man who had been in accident that killed him for two minutes. When he woke up, everything seemed normal until he started displaying certain...talents...that led to recruitment by a group of people like himself. People who had died and come back different. The working theory was that the shock of death and resurrection awakened latent magical powers that everybody had. Modern day wizardry with a smattering of Catholic influence in a classic tale of good versus evil.
In Castle's first weeks at the precinct. Ryan had asked him some casual questions about writing, but nothing that seemed more meaningful than engaging him in polite conversation. Not long after, Castle was googling his new "co-workers" when he stumbled upon The Ryan Report, full of life observation and safe-for-the-public anecdotes. He didn't follow it, and didn't return very often after reading the first few posts. The writing wasn't bad, but it had the definite air of somebody struggling in scant free time to find their own voice.
But he seemed to have found it.
Briefly, Castle had wondered why Ryan never come to him after those initial conversations. Writing like this, he would have been more than happy to introduce him to a few agents, maybe grease some wheels on a manuscript. But that wouldn't have been Ryan, Castle realized. The man had a tenacious need to do things on his own steam and a dogged fight to never give up. But he was also kind and loyal and wouldn't want to seem like he was exploiting a friendship with Castle for personal gain - or stealing Castle's thunder as the resident writer of the NYPD. Plus, he liked being a cop. Castle was a full-time writer for 15 years before he started splitting his time between penning stories and solving murders. He understood if Ryan didn't want that life. Maybe for him, writing was an outlet. A release of the day's tensions that was enough to satisfy his muse.
But getting published - having your work validated by someone else - was still an amazing feeling. And there were, after all, myriad roads to being a writer. Castle had gone straight to writing novels (and being rejected frequently) but plenty of authors - renowned today - got their start 5-cent magazines and anthologies.
It was with that in mind that Castle had begun planning Ryan's Christmas gift: A vintage collection of Ray Bradbury novels, and tucked within the pages of Fahrenheit 451 was a copy of Ryan's own story, gently removed from its magazine and covered with a large Post-It note that Castle had spent far too long composing:
Kevin, I hope I'm not way off base with my belief that this is your story. If I am, here's a great story! Give it a read and enjoy! But if I'm not, I just wanted to let you know that finding this was a pleasant surprise. You've got a talent for stories and an ear for words, and I can't wait to find out what happens next for John Quinn. All the best, Castle.
Castle pulled the note toward him - assembling and wrapping the gift was still on his to-do list - and read the words again, this time hoping that Ryan would get to read them at all.
It really shouldn't have been a surprise to find Ryan published somewhere: For all the things that made them different - Castle's mischievous childishness and vagabond fashion compared to Ryan's button-down professionalism - they both shared a penchant for flights of fancy and whimsy. Sometimes he thought Ryan was just indulging him when he would go on a tear about bigfoot or vampires or evil covens of witches, but other times he felt like Ryan enjoyed the tale of it all just as much as Castle enjoyed telling it.
The thought made something start to click in Castle's brain. He'd been blocked for weeks. Unable to write, at times unable to even want to write. But somehow, knowing that Ryan was waiting for his next story, made his fingers itch.
He pulled his laptop closer, sat up in his chair and began to type.
The scene he hadn't been able to find a way out of, he turned over to Detective Raley. Dialogue spilled across the page almost before Castle could even think it.
The parallels in the Nikki Heat books weren't terribly subtle. Pretty much everyone who knew Castle shadowed the 12th precinct and Kate Beckett for inspiration could gather that Rook was Castle, Nikki was Beckett and Raley and Ochoa were an amalgamation of Ryan and Esposito. So he probably couldn't have been blamed if the words he wrote recreated the night's events, now with a decidedly happy ending. Or even if he just put all his energy into letting Raley save the day and be a hero.
But Castle didn't do that. He didn't think about whether it would be fair to the universe or conspicuous to a crowd, he just didn't do it. Instead, he let those Raley scenes get his heart pumping and juices flowing. And from there, everything else filled itself in. Holes in the plot, flesh for the villain, and even an unplanned red herring sprung forth from nothing. And once Castle had started writing, he didn't stop. Writing through the night, he didn't get up to go to the bathroom, to get a drink or a snack or even just to stretch his legs or focus on something else for a minute. No, it was all on the story.
He might have fallen asleep at his desk a few times, but when he awoke, it was never with the groggy sense that maybe he should go to bed. Instead, he awoke with more energy and more ideas, and finally when the sun was just beginning to shine through the window, the last sentence revealed itself.
Castle didn't know how many words he had typed. He didn't know how many typos, misspellings and run-on sentences lurked in the pages - and in fact, he was even too afraid to look down and see how many pages his document had become. Instead, he just leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms over his head and smiled. It wasn't until he heard the unmistakeable clink of dishware and the crinkle of cereal box cellophane that he realized Alexis must be up. That was when Castle finally looked at his clock.
6:30 a.m.
He rubbed his eyes and did the math in his head. Ryan should be out of surgery in about three hours. He checked his phone, making sure he somehow hadn't missed a call or text from Beckett, but its screen was happily dark with not even the low battery light signalling trouble.
He rubbed his hand across his face once more, this time taking note of the stubble that had sprouted up and the bit of grit in his eyes. With another stretch and a yawn, he stood and clicked a few buttons on the laptop. As he headed for the bathroom, he could hear the printer begin to hum to life.
He took a cool shower, this one far more refreshing than the one he had taken a little less than 10 hours prior. By the time he was clean and shaved, he felt far readier to tackle the day than he'd felt on any other morning that included more than - in his estimation - a broken two hours of sleep.
He dressed in slacks and a dress shirt - blue this time - and headed to the living room. Alexis was still eating a bowl of cereal when he arrived.
"Hey, dad," she said after swallowing a mouthful. "Did you sleep OK?"
"Eh...sort of." It wasn't a lie. Those minutes at a time crashed out across his desk seemed fairly rejuvenating, after all.
"Heard anything about Ryan?"
"Not yet." He tapped his phone, and gave it another glance. The volume was at full blast and it was set to vibrate for all calls, messages and notifications - and given that he was never more than a few inches from it, it seemed unlikely that he would miss anything, but he was paranoid just the same. "So, big test today?" he said, putting the attention back on her.
"Yeah, half the grade."
"You ready?"
"Always," she said with a smile as she set her bowl in the sink. But just to be safe I was going to meet Kimmie and Lynn at a coffee shop near school for a last minute quiz session. So...can I go?"
Castle checked his phone. It was 7. It didn't seem like that much time had passed.
"Sure," he said. "Do good things."
"I will. And you'll send me a text if you hear anything about Ryan?"
"I will. But don't you worry about anything. You just go in there and knock your test out of the park. Like you always do."
She smiled and kissed his cheek before grabbing her bag and disappearing out the door.
Castle made his own bowl of cereal and had just finished eating and washing the dishes when his phone chirped and buzzed and almost ran itself off the counter before he could reach it. He slid his finger across the screen without even looking and brought it to his ear.
"Beckett?" There was silence, and he could actually feel his heart sinking. "Kate?" A horn blared into his ear before a robot woman started trying to sell him a cruise.
"I don't want to go anywhere on your boats!" he yelled into the empty line before jabbing his finger at the screen and slamming his phone onto the counter, only to quickly pick it back up and assess the screen for cracks or any other damage that would render his lifeline useless.
"Richard, what in the world?!" Martha appeared at the top of the steps, clad in a floral bathrobe. Her hair was held up by an elastic band, and green paste was spread across her face. It might have been comical if Castle had actually given her a look.
"It's these stupid robo-calls," he said. "There should be a law. I think there IS a law. I'm calling my lawyer." He picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers before putting back down. "I'll do it when Ryan's out."
"Richard, sweetheart, you need to calm down." She walked over to him and rubbed his shoulders. "It's going to be okay," she said. "Want some breakfast? I could make pancakes." Castle looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Your pancakes, mother?" she stared back expectantly. "Can you tell me what the sugar to flour ratio is in pancakes?" She raised a finger and opened her mouth before closing it and thinking some more.
"Oh, who cares about ratios, Richard, this isn't math class. A little of this, a little of that, it all works out in the end."
"And THAT is why I'll pass on the pancakes."
"Suit yourself, kiddo." She laughed and kissed his cheek, wincing at the green goop she left behind. "Whoops, sorry darling." She grabbed a dish towel and dabbed at the spot "Well at least part of you will be well-moisturized."
He laughed as she walked away. It was probably the first real laugh he had given since that night, and it felt good to be thinking about something else. When Martha returned, she was fully dressed and ready to start her day. Castle hadn't moved.
"Richard, is that your printer?" she asked. "It's been going all morning."
"Yeah, I finished the book. Well, the first draft," he corrected.
"Finished? It was just two nights ago you said you still had half of it to go and didn't really know who the killer was."
"What can I say, I figured it out and got on a roll."
"Well, congratulations, darling," she said as she kissed his cheek again. "I'd love to celebrate the first of what I'm sure will be many drafts, but I have to run. Stage combat won't teach itself, after all."
And with that, she was out the door, leaving Castle alone in an eerily silent loft, broken only by the whirring sound of the printer. He wandered at first, entirely unsure of what to do next. For a moment, he paced, tossing a small rubber ball off the walls or counter tops, listening to the rhythmic thumps as it bounced back into his hand. But soon he realized, he couldn't just wait here forever.
He was just tying his shoe laces when the phone rang. And of course, this was the one time that it was in the other room. Castle went running from his bedroom, vaulted over the couch and snapped it up off the counter.
"I swear, if you blow a horn in my ear, I will hunt somebody down."
"What? Castle-"
"Beckett?" It was the call he had been waiting on and hoping for, but it was early and it still took him by surprise. "Is everything okay?" There was probably only a nanosecond of silence, but it felt like an eternity.
"He's coming out of surgery now," she said. "The doctor says it all went great. They think he's going to be just fine."
"YES!" Castle pumped his fist in the air, maybe even jumped around a little bit, as he celebrated. "Is everyone still there?"
"Everyone's here, yeah. Come join us."
"You don't have to tell me twice," he was already back in his bedroom and had kicked off the half-tied shoe, trading it instead for a pair of slip-on loafers. "I'll be right over." As he hung up the phone, he couldn't keep the grin off his face. He grabbed his wallet and his keys, jamming them into pockets as he walked for the door, only to stop and check the time. 8:02. Alexis' class was starting in just a few minutes, so he quickly whipped out his phone and sent her a message.
"Just heard. Ryan fine. Good Luck on test. 3 :D:D"
His hand was on the door handle when he paused, looking back at his office. Quickly he went back, grabbed the stack of pages from the printer and shoved them into a leather bag before making a bee line for the hospital.
Kate and Esposito were waiting at the hospital doors for him. He swept her up into a hug, and even grabbed Esposito by the sleeve, pulling him in. None of the could stop smiling.
When they reached the recovery wing, he saw Ryan's family still there, but these new circumstances left him seeing them in a different light. They weren't people whose attention he feared nor faces so similar to Ryan's he couldn't bear to look at them. They were just family, no doubt feeling the same enormous sense of relief he was. He scanned the room looking for a pretty blonde, but came up empty.
"Where's Jenny?"
"She's in with Ryan and his parents," Esposito said. "Nurse Ratched over there was being picky about how many and who could go in."
In a matter of perfect timing, the door opened and Ryan's parents emerged. She was still dabbing at her eyes, and even Mr. Ryan looked like more than a few tears had been shed. Castle kept his distance, but as soon as they saw him, they headed straight in his direction. This time, Castle welcomed them as they swept him into a long, loving hug.
As they released him, Jenny stepped out of the room.
"Hey, Castle, how are you?" she said with a smile as she kissed his cheek.
"Better now," he said. "I'm glad the surgery went well."
"Yes, it did," she said. "In fact, Kevin wants to see you."
"He does?" She nodded and motioned him to the door.
"He's been in and out, so if he's asleep, just give him a few minutes. And don't take it personally if he falls asleep on you later."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She smiled and brushed his sleeve as he opened the door and slipped into the room.
"Hey, Castle." The greeting was long and drawn out. A side effect, Castle assumed, of the massive amount of drugs coursing through his friend's veins. Ryan smiled at him, and tried to reach out a hand, before scowling at the IV tethered to his arm. He reached for the small tube, and Castle hurried forward, taking Ryan's hand in his own. Ryan relaxed and closed his eyes with a sigh.
"Hey yourself," Castle said. "You know, you gave us all a real good scare."
"Sorry 'bout that."
"Jenny said you wanted to see me."
"Yeah," Ryan opened his eyes and looked at Castle. His voice was low and scratchy, no doubt a result of the breathing tube from surgery. "Yeah. I just...I'm sure you've heard it a ton, but..." his voice trailed off, and Castle thought he could see his eyes glistening.
"What is it?"
"Thank you for saving me," he said. "There's too much that I don't want to miss." His grip tightened in Castle's hand as he swallowed hard.
"You're welcome," Castle replied. Gently releasing Ryan's hand, he turned to his bag and held it up. "Speaking of things you don't want to miss, I have in this bag, a hot-from-the-printer, very first draft of the next Nikki Heat book."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Wanna read a little?"
Castle grinned and pulled the visitor's chair closer to the bed. He was about to undo the clasps when he noticed Ryan's heavy eyelids and deep breaths.
"We could do it another time," Castle said. "When you're feeling better, because right now you look like you're about to drop."
"Nuh uh," Ryan muttered. "Not going anywhere. Just resting my eyes."
Castle nodded, giving his friend one last look-over before pulling a stack of paper from his bag and beginning to read.
The End.
