A/N - You guys are the best! Thanks for your patience as always. I am in your debt because I do this for fun and when you read and/or review, it makes me feel good, loved, appreciated.

Now if we could just get Castle feeling good again. :-\

Enjoy!

~GeekMom

Breaching The Castle

Chapter 4

The Hunted

After gearing up in attire more appropriate to a mountain trail than a corporate boardroom, Larson rode to the location of the prisoner's escape in the back of the cruiser of two troopers that she did not know personally. Bryan Andrews, a corporal, stole furtive glances in the rearview mirror. Erika hoped that his tracking expertise was better than his surveillance abilities and that Trooper Nicole Carr, his partner and the officer currently sitting in the passenger seat, was not as green as she appeared. Erika sighed.

"Ma'am? Is everything alright?" Corporal Andrews asked. The Lieutenant had a formidable reputation, and Bryan did not want to cross her. He exchanged a significant glance with his partner.

Ignoring his question, she asked, "What's the E.T.A.?"

His eyes met hers again via the mirror. "Twelve minutes."

Erika glanced at her watch. She would arrive after Justin. It was not the end of the world, but dammit, he was always beating her, arriving first, getting the collar. She sighed again.

"Jeez, how much information could the guy possibly have to go through in that tiny office?" Castle fidgeted while waiting for Beckett and Esposito. They were interviewing the logging camp's foreman, procuring information on his trucks' movements that morning. The theory was that someone who had the skills used a truck to run the prison van off the road. Whoever was driving the truck was complicit in the escape.

"It's only been twenty minutes, Castle," Ryan said. He had been quiet since his outburst, rolling Castle's answer around in his mind.

"I've got to move Ryan. I'm going to walk around the lot." He indicated the busy dirt and gravel road that the trucks and machinery utilized.

"Castle, I don't think that's a good idea." Ryan said, shaking his head.

He slapped the younger man on the back. "Of course it's a good idea." He grinned and strode off of the decking.

"Castle." Ryan called, but Castle had already started across the parking lot. He walked in and around the trucks and logging equipment. Ryan kept an eye on him from the relative safety of the deck.

Castle dodged the incredibly huge machinery that appeared to have no time or patience for pedestrians. He was debating his wisdom as he walked past a tractor, the crash cage bars in the front, which were black had telling white marks. He moved nearer to inspect it more closely. "It's from the van," he excitedly said to himself and then he spun and repeated it to Ryan, pointing to the marred finish. "It's from the van, Ryan!" He stepped away from the piece of machinery, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Ryan, it's from the van!" The noise from the yard was just too overpowering for Ryan to hear. He cupped his hand behind his ear. Castle hurried back across the lot to Ryan.

Ryan kept a close eye on Castle who was coming back through the traffic minefield of a lot. It reminded Ryan of Castle's game Frogger. Ryan had played it at Remy's once and had failed miserably. A forestry tractor pulled out of its parking space and came up quickly behind the writer. Ryan waved his arms and yelled for Castle to move. The cacophony of the various machines drowned out any possibility of verbal communication. Kevin jumped the rail and ran toward Castle.

Castle was impressed as he watched Ryan jump the rail of the deck and come running toward him. He was yelling and waving his arms. Castle looked behind him just as everything intersected. Ryan tackled Castle from a full run. They both tumbled in between two parked trucks. The tractor didn't stop. Ryan rolled to a crouch and then took off running.

He had his phone out and he was calling Esposito. "Tractor tried to run down Castle. Heading for gate." Esposito burst through the foreman's office door just as Ryan ran past the deck. Beckett also ran out of the office followed by the roundish foreman who had closed the electronic access gate leading to the highway. Ryan reached the tractor as it was slowing for the gate. The driver stopped and within an instant, he was surrounded by three detectives.

"Hands where we can see them!"

"Step out of the vehicle!" The driver emerged with his hands over his head.

"Down on the ground! Lock your fingers behind your head!" He did as he was told. Esposito approached the driver, pulled his arms behind his back, and cuffed him. He stood him up.

Hugh Horton, the foreman, approached. "What in holy hell is going on?"

Ryan turned to the foreman. "Mr. Horton, who is this?"

"That's one of our drivers, Kenny Marsh."

"He just tried to run down Castle," Ryan explained, "Castle was examining this tractor and started shouting something from across the lumber yard. This asshole didn't even slow down."

"Ryan."

"There was too much noise."

"Ryan."

"I couldn't hear what he was yelling."

"Ryan, where is Castle, now?"

Kevin looked back toward the place where he tackled him. "Oh, oh, crap!" He started running. Kate went with him. He slowed to look between each set of parked vehicles. "Damn." He yelled when he found him.

Castle was just sitting up. He was dazed but conscious. "Kev?" He asked.

"Castle? Are you alright?" The guilt on Ryan's face was unmistakable as he assessed his friend's condition. Small lacerations on his cheek, forearms, and hands. Contusion on his left temple.

"Kate? What…"

"Oh god, Castle, I'm so sorry. The tractor was going to run you down." Ryan plead.

"Tractor?" He asked as Kate was checking him over for broken bones. Finding none, she helped him to his feet.

"Yeah, you found something on the tractor. The driver tried to run you down."

Castle looked at his friend, then around, finally remembering and comprehending what he was saying. "Oh, hey, thanks, Ryan." He rubbed his hands together, brushing off the dirt and gravel. He hissed at the stinging pain. He looked at Kate who was holding him up with his arm across her shoulders. "I'm good." He said as he extricated himself from her support. He took a couple of steps, in the wrong direction. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along with her.

Esposito had moved Marsh back up to the deck by the foreman's office and had called Callis. He was sending a team to follow-up with what they had found. Horton had disappeared into his office and came back with Marsh's personnel file.

"Well, detectives, this is Kenny Marsh, he's a driver and crane operator." Horton said, reading from the file, trying to be as helpful as possible. "He's not our most stellar employee, but he doesn't appear to have any prior safety violations."

Beckett stepped forward. "Mr. Marsh, I'm Detective Beckett. Why did you try to run down Mr. Castle?" Kate kept her voice as steady as possible, but she was screaming inside. Marsh appeared to be disinterested. She narrowed her eyes and then turned her attention to her partner. "Castle? What did you find?"

He looked like hell. He stepped down off the deck and walked toward the tractor, carefully avoiding the claw-like appendage used for tearing trees from their roots and the soil. Esposito walked with him. He pointed out the white paint on the crash cage bars. "Here. I can't imagine that this tractor runs into too much paint in the forest. I have a feeling that if it were tested, it would match the paint from the correctional department van." He climbed back onto the deck and leaned heavily against the rail.

"Marsh had this tractor signed out all day, since seven this morning." Horton supplied, pointing to a paper in his folder.

Beckett closed the short distance between them and got right in Marsh's face. "How do you know Joe and Liam Buchanan?" She was met with more silence, but Kate noticed the shift in his countenance: his insolent stance had wavered as his shoulders dropped and he lowered his gaze to the deck.

"I don't know what or who you're talking about, lady." He defiantly raised his eyes to hers.

Beckett stared at him with her most intimidating expression. It was the look that had brought down New York City's most contemptible offenders. "Really." It was not a question. "You see, I think when we pull the prison records we'll confirm that you had contact with the brothers, that you were integral in executing their escape." Marsh's resolve began to dissolve under the intensity of Beckett's scrutiny. It was a beautiful spring day, temperate: not cold and certainly not hot, but Marsh began sweating. Castle observed the miniscule, but significant signs that Beckett was skillfully exhuming from Marsh's composure. His breathing was quicker and shallower. Small beads of perspiration appeared across his forehead. The color of the Marsh's face transformed to a pallid greenish hue. He wryly thought it was looked like a hardware store paint chip shade called sea foam that was way too popular in the eighties. Maybe he was trying for its resurrection. Maybe he was just going to be sick. Either way, the man didn't stand a chance. Captain Montgomery had once remarked to Castle that Beckett was like a tiger in interrogation and that no one did it better.

She got closer to his face, a move that Castle did not think was possible, but there she was, literally breathing down the suspect's neck. "An escape by your pals, Liam and Joe, that left you…where? Here, by yourself. Why do you think they did that?" She did not wait for him to answer. "Left you here so they could escape…without you. Were you ever supposed to go with them? Did you consider that they left you here, to delay us? That you, Mr. Marsh, are a diversion and once your usefulness in the escape was over, they tossed you aside, like yesterday's leftovers. Have you realized yet that they made you responsible for the murders or two correctional department officers?"

His eyes were wide and he was on the verge of hyperventilating. "I…I'm, uh, their friend. They wouldn't, couldn't. We've been through…" He swayed on his spot. Castle smirked. There was a reason suspects were afforded the luxury of a chair when in the box with Beckett. He thought, 'Marsh couldn't piece together a coherent sentence now if his life depended on it. Oh, wait.'

He waited for her to take the kill shot.

"Mr. Marsh, you're going to rot in that same prison." The intensity of her voice increased, but she didn't yell. She kept tight control of her verbal assault. "The same one you helped them escape from and as soon as you had secured their freedom, they deserted you. Do you really think they'll come back for you?"

The racket of the lumberyard along with the forward progression of time seemed inaudible and stock still as the broken man desperately grasped at any possible straws. Beckett had removed them. All of them. He realized it and gathered his strength to accept that she was right. They did abandon him and they were going to let him take the fall. Castle held his breath, as did Esposito and Ryan. They had all witnessed the slow evolution from defiance to submission before. Beckett's capability and skill had no equals. She was seductive and dangerous. Like a tiger. Castle ran a hand over his face. They were out in the open but the tension was stifling. Beckett flexed her jaw muscles, but her eyes never left Marsh's.

"I can't lady, they'll kill me. You...you don't know."

"The hell we don't," Castle stepped forward, overlooking the etiquette of interrogation.

"Castle," Ryan grabbed his shoulder to hold him back but the writer shrugged out of his grip.

"You know who I am. Why else would you have tried to complete the job that Joe began? You know that he held both of us. You sorry son of a bitch," he said, incredulously shaking his head, "you still believe they're going to rescue you, and thank you for killing me off."

"Is that why you tried to run Mr. Castle down? Did you actually think they would be so grateful that they would accept you back?" Kate smiled and shook her head. "They're gone and they're not coming back for you," she said and then continued right next to his ear, "but know this, Mr. Marsh, we are bringing them back."

Gates sat behind a desk that was not hers, continuing to search and cross reference in a computer system with which she was not familiar. It had been a long time since she did the grunt work. Occasionally, she'd stepped into the field since becoming captain, but the type of searches she was conducting would have, in a department with more manpower, normally been assigned to a rookie. She was not complaining. She told Beckett that she would do everything to help bring these animals in and she would without hesitation. She only wished it were without the tedium.

Her concentration broke when Deputy Houser ushered a man in handcuffs through the front doors of the Ulster County Sheriff's office. "Toss me the keys, Mark." He caught them in the air and walked down the hallway with the man. They disappeared into the door, furthest from the front desk. She watched him go until her attention was brought back to the doors as her team entered. Ryan, holding an evidence bag and Esposito, followed by Beckett and Castle. Gates immediately noticed the blood on Castle's shirt. She stood and walked over to her people. "Detectives. Mr. Castle, what happened?"

Esposito pursed his lips. "Ryan tackled him," he said plainly.

"What?" She looked from Esposito to the writer to Ryan.

Ryan shrugged his shoulders and said, "He was asking for it captain."

Gates raised an eyebrow. She had observed this team long enough to know that humor and levity was one of the tools they used to cope with the seriousness of their work. They made an outstanding team and she was not about to mess around with whatever formula gave them the highest case closure statistics in the city.

"Castle was investigating what turned out to be evidence of a second vehicle involved in the hijacking. The man that Doug just brought in is Kenny Marsh. He is an active conspirator in the Buchanan's escape and after Castle discovered that, he attempted to hit him with the same vehicle." Beckett explained. "Ryan shoved Castle out of the way."

"I see. Mr. Castle, waiver or not, I don't want any of my people working impaired. Please get yourself checked out at the E.R. Detective Ryan, Mr. Castle is considerably larger than you are. You pack quite a wallop. Thank you. With all the press this thing is receiving, we don't need news of any more of his injuries to hit the front page."

"Captain, I'm touched," Castle said as he brushed aside an imaginary tear. When his fingers accidently scraped against the raw graze on his cheek, he winced and then grimaced. He sighed and said, "When I'm done at the E.R., I'll have John come and pick us all up. Callis said there was nothing more to do tonight on our end. The troopers have begun the tracking and are radioing their progress."

"Apparently, there was someone injured. They left a blood trail. They have dogs out there, now." Esposito added.

"Very well," stated Gates, "I think we could all use some good food and a decent night's rest. It's been quite a harrowing day."

Beckett accompanied Castle on the ride over to the hospital. He called John to pick him up there. They would swing by the sheriff's office after and get the rest of their crew.

They did not wait long until he was escorted to a curtained off exam area. Kate was helping him to achieve a modicum of modesty by tying the strings on the back of his less than modest hospital gown, when they heard a familiar voice. "Is my favorite writer turned cop turned patient back in my hospital?"

Castle smiled as best he could. The drab institutional green curtains parted to reveal Maggie, the nurse whom Castle had charmed and had been charmed by during his last stint at Benedictine Hospital. It was mutual admiration. "Maggie, it's good to see you again," he said genuinely happy to see her. "You remember Kate, uh, Detective Beckett? Um, Maggie, how did you know I was here?" He asked, uneasy about the press.

"Hello detective," she said to Kate before she continued the conversation with Castle. "I've got my ways, but I see you looking around, you're safe here." He grinned timidly to dispel his apprehension and then as broadly as he could without pain to show his appreciation. Maggie picked up his chart and looked it over. "What have you been doing to yourself now?" She shook her head and began taking his vitals.

Two hours later, Castle was released from the hospital emergency room against medical advice. He had numerous scrapes and lacerations that were cleaned and in a few instances, gravel removed, and one on his forearm that required stitches. He redressed in his torn and bloody clothes as a disapproving Beckett watched. She said she would not help him and she didn't, even as he lurched forward after losing his balance while pulling up his pants. She sighed audibly.

"I'm not staying." His tone was firm and tired. God, he was so tired of arguing this point. First the doctor, then Maggie and now Beckett.

"Castle, you have a concussion."

"It's a moderate concussion."

"Like that makes a difference."

He smirked, "It does. It means that if I only had a half a brain, like my mother insists, I'd be dangerous."

"You lost consciousness."

"Only for a second or two. Who knew Ryan could channel a linebacker?"

"Could you be serious, for one minute?"

He shook his head and decided against doing that again anytime soon. "Kate, I'm fine. You can come wake me up every hour tonight," he waggled his eyebrows, "if that would make you feel better." He closed his eyes against her glare. Painkillers were the next item to accomplish on his to do list today. He mentally looked at his checklist. Discover evidence: check, almost die: check. He turned to his plastic bag of personal belongings and pulled out the hospital prescription bottle. He opened it and popped two of the pills into his mouth, followed by a long pull on the bottle of water on the table. She watched him the entire time, trying, unsuccessfully to catch him faltering. Not that she wanted him to hurt; she just wanted him to take care of himself. She did not blame him for not wanting to stay in the hospital; he'd had enough hospitals just a few months ago. She would check on him tonight, often.

"Stop thinking so loud, Beckett. You're making my head hurt."

She looked at him from under her lashes. "Your head wouldn't hurt so much, if you didn't have so much extra space in there." She walked past him and down the corridor toward the visitor's entrance.

His mouth was instantly dry as he watched her sidle past him, provocatively bumping him in the groin and swinging her hips as she walked away from him. He exhaled forcefully and followed.

John picked them up and in the time it took to drive back to the Sheriff's office, Castle had fallen asleep. She gently jostled his shoulder. "Rick." He roused, but not fully. She dug into the bag for the prescription. "May cause drowsiness," she read, "brilliant: give a prescription that causes drowsiness to someone who shouldn't fall asleep." She pursed her lips and chuckled. He would appreciate the irony. She looked at him as he slept: really surveyed the newest bumps and bruises on her boyfriend. She reached over and brushed his hair off of his forehead. He was leaning up against the glass of the window in the door and his mouth was open. She smiled as she wadded up her jacket so he could rest his head against it. She couldn't stay mad at him, no matter how hard she tried. The SUV stopped and John opened the back door for Captain Gates and the animated dynamic duo of Esposito and Ryan.

Gates noticed Castle first and immediately fell silent. Esposito climbed in and took his seat. Ryan said, "Beckett, Castle, the guy fessed up to conspiracy and attempted murder. He swears that…" his report was truncated as Espo smacked him on the back of the head, gesturing to their sleeping friend. Kate reached behind her and knocked on the window. Their chariot immediately pulled out onto the road.

Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the semi-circular drive of the inn. Castle hadn't woken even once. John opened the door and the boys and the captain climbed out, leaving Beckett to wake Castle.

"Rick." She smoothed his hair off of his face again and turned his face toward her. "Rick," she said it a little more loudly. She started to worry. She robustly shoved him and inadvertently smacked his nose against the window.

"Ow, what the hell?"

"Oh, Rick, I'm so sorry. You wouldn't wake up."

He frowned and gingerly rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How about speaking a little more loudly next time? How about not resorting to smacking the guy with the concussion about the head? God, Beckett, you are so violent." He smiled the lopsided smile. "We should take advantage of that upstairs." She ignored his suggestive advances. He took a deep breath. She climbed down and held a hand out for him, which he ignored.

"Captain, guys, sorry about passing out back there: pain meds. I'll be right back." He walked to John who was standing by the driver's door, said something to him, and pulled out his wallet and handed John some money. He returned to where his group was waiting. "Who's up for dinner? I understand the restaurant here is excellent." He clapped his hands together and ushered everyone inside. He stepped over to the maître d, spoke with him, and then returned. "I, uh, hate to be the party pooper, but, I'm beat." He looked at Ryan, raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Literally."

"Castle, you should eat," Beckett implored.

He sighed, but then smiled. "Beckett, I'm okay, just tired and not very hungry. I can always order up, if I change my mind." He turned his attention to the rest of the group. "Your table should be available in five minutes. Order whatever you would like. I've arranged to have them bill my room."

"But, Mr. Castle…"

"Thank you, sir, I'm fine. Enjoy yourselves please. Until tomorrow." He walked toward the stairs, looked back over his shoulder, and waved them goodnight.

He slept fitfully. Dreams and nightmares haunted his sleep: visions depicting Joe and Liam coming menacingly closer but never reaching him. He was meant to fear them forever. His eyes flew open as the phantasmagorias bearing the brothers' likenesses flew at him torqueing and twisting, distorted and ominous. He awoke in the dark, sweat mingled with the stench of blood and fear. Maybe it was the nightmare. Maybe it still was a nightmare. Maybe it was a sound of a distant animal falling prey to an unseen predator in the hills. Perhaps it was the overwhelming sense of dread and doom. Conceivably, it could be the animals that wanted to prey upon him. He drew a shuddered breath. He tried to make out the features of his room in the inky blackness. It was cold and damp. Whatever surface he was laid on was back breaking hard, and cold like the tile of the bathroom floor. He could not move or get up. His legs were numb and throbbing. He heard a noise: definite this time, the sound of a match striking on a matchbook. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the flame. All he saw was the shadows dancing in the glow. One shadow growing larger. Looming.