For the Dead Travel Fast

—-xxx—-

She could not say no to him. He wasn't going to stand for it. She wasn't allowed to leave him for months and then crawl back when shit got real. She was—

(No. That was months ago.)

Castle shook his head like a dog, tried to clear the confusion. His hands in fists, he pressed his knuckles into his eyes.

"I know that it's… draining," Kate said softly. "To have to suffer through these urges."

His head snapped up.

She pressed her lips flat, brow furrowed.

"Draining," he hissed.

"Poor choice of words," she whispered.

"I don't think you understand what that smell is doing to me," he growled. "I can't even sit up straight with you in the car, closed up, suffocated by it. And you're doing nothing about it, letting it claim you, letting that bitch mark you with—"

She flinched and he snatched his hand back, realized with some struggling part of himself that he had been about to—and when had he ever used the term 'bitch' in such a casually nasty way? His mother had taught him better.

God. What was wrong with him?

He must have looked as horrified as he felt, because she was immediately beside him, her hands at his chest as if to prop him up—or keep him away. "It's okay. I understand. I know what you're going through."

He felt sick, and his knees gave way, and he slid down to the bumper and let it prop him up. "I was about to hurt you."

"But you didn't, and that's miraculous."

He looked at her. His head still throbbed like the worst hangover of his life, and his chest burned at the center as if his heart was broken, and his hands were shaking and his knees like wet noodles, but he was clear enough to know there was more to this story. "Did you… hurt someone when you—what'd you call this? turned?"

"In phase," she murmured. "I… well, let's say it was a mutual hurting."

He stared at her, tried to fathom how or when she'd— "Who?" And grabbing her by the wrist (she couldn't casually dangle her veins at him like he had infinite stores of willpower; she knew him by now—he did not), "When? How old were you?"

She looked away. "In the scheme of things, not that long before I met you."

"Fucking Sorensen?"

She jerked her head back to him, surprise etching a line. "No. No. Not him. My—Training Officer."

"Royce?" He was so confused; he'd met Royce, had drinks with the man, watched Kate turn into a blushing, soft teenager with the man.

Oh. That wasn't just a crush, that look on her face when later she'd begged him turn himself in. That was a real connection, a history.

"I'm gonna kill him," he rasped, heaving to his feet.

She stayed him, lips twitching. "He's dead."

"Is he, though? Vampires are immortal, so—"

She shook her head. "Not immortal."

He paused, squinted at her through the daybreak. "No?"

She looked behind her, over her shoulder towards the approaching sunrise. "We need to get you out of the sun."

"What? No. You're in the sun constantly at the Hamptons. Not even—"

"Not me, you. You're still in phase."

"Wait, wait, what does that even mean, in phase? Like… phases of what? How many phases?" He blanched. "Phases of the moon? Is there werewolf stuff in this?"

"No, not werewolves. Well. I—don't know. Maybe? I don't see how the moon can have anything to do with it, but I have very little details. Royce didn't… stick around long enough to explain a lot."

His nostrils flared. "Yeah. I'm gonna kill him." He was vividly imagining it; he was at the man's throat, tearing—

"Castle," she laughed softly. "Get in the car."

"No." He took in a deep breath, and when the smell hit him, he realized why he was so jumbled, why his attention was so fractured. "We need to get this out of you. I'm serious. I'm serious, Kate. It makes me crazy."

"I think it's the phase," she said softly. "And if you don't get back in the car, the sun is going to fry your eyeballs and you will be blind."

He blanched, tried to rally. He needed to convince her he could control himself long enough to try again. "Sunglasses?"

"If we had any," she said back. "I wasn't packing with a clear head."

He gestured to the gas station. "I have to use the restroom anyway, we can get some sunglasses for both of us in there."

"Cheap sunglasses won't cut it."

"Come on, humor me. I'll close my eyes and you can lead me out like a blind person if it doesn't work."

She looked distraught a moment and then sighed. "Okay, but listen to me, Castle. You're in phase, which is a very unstable time. You feel like yourself, but part of you isn't under your control."

"You said my control was miraculous. Don't you remember? I have also been known for my staying power."

She huffed, and he saw her lips twitch. "I'm being serious here. And while much of what you and I are experiencing in this transition is, yes, quite sexual, we're not talking sex. We're talking about draining an innocent store clerk of his life's blood all because he smelled like the best candy bar you've ever eaten."

He flinched. His hopes deflated.

She must have seen it on his face, because she held out her hand. "But we need more Gatorade. And you need a bathroom break. So. You up for the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your life?"

He laid his hand in hers. "I've already done that."

She tilted her head in question.

He grinned. "Finally got you to marry me, didn't I?"

—-xxx—-

She was right.

He hadn't been prepared for how difficult it was to be in an enclosed space with a man who reminded him of sirloin, and also his own wife who inspired lurid fantasies just at her nearness. That line between sensual and violence was far closer than he'd known.

Not to mention, the rabid stink of the other one was like catching a whiff of feral cat at just the wrong moment, further blurring that line. It made him want to piss on her return, mark her as his own, claim—

Okay, cool it.

Unfortunately, because of his tendency to start snarling, she had to stick close, because he likely might walk up to the register and lean into the bulletproof glass shielding the clerk, and take a little sniff. Then a bite. Then? Who knew.

"Try these," she murmured, poking his side.

He was snarling and snapping his teeth her way before he could stop it, and the blood drained from his face in immediate, burning shame. "I'm sorry, sorry, I'm—"

She shoved a pair of sunglasses onto his face, ignoring his apology. "These are cool. You look like Ice Man."

"Top Gun Ice Man?" he squeaked, head spinning from how fast she was willing to turn that around. "Val Kilmer cool?"

He ducked to look at himself in the poorly reflective surface in the sunglasses spindle, grinned when he caught his image. "Hot damn, not only am I ruggedly handsome, but I am cut."

"Cut is a word for it," she said lightly. "Do you like them?"

He finally gave the sunglasses a real study, silver wrap-arounds with rainbow mirroring. He pulled the sunglasses off and glanced at the brand. "Rayban? There's no way."

"Ray, hyphen, Ban is the official spelling of the brandname. And what are these?"

He chuckled. "I didn't even catch it. Yeah, all one word. As knockoffs go, these are cool."

"Enough protection?" she asked. "It says UV filtering but—"

"Yeah, they're good and dark." He remembered sitting on the toilet pressing cold washcloths into his eyes, wanting to dig out his own eyeballs. "You iced down my eyeballs. Literally, didn't you?"

She nodded. "Burns the back of your eye, where you focus?"

"Optic disc," he supplied. Waved a hand when she looked impressed. "Research for a novel."

"Yeah, the optic disc. I guess because that's where multiple points come together? I don't know." She bit her lip, gazed past him towards the windows. "There's a lot I don't know, I'm discovering. Too damn much."

Considering he was new at this, he didn't find that comforting. "Royce didn't answer your questions?"

Kate shuddered and pulled her gaze back to him. "You could say he wasn't interested in training me in that way."

"You make it sound… sexual."

Her lips flattened.

"Really?" he squeaked. Cleared his throat, tried not to sound so interested, but if that line between sex and violence was so blurred for him— "He didn't even explain the basics? Birds and the bees?" he joked. It fell flat, because he was imagining why Royce wouldn't have time to answer questions, too busy having her.

He didn't like that idea, but if his rapacious appetite for even a little taste was anything to go by, he could imagine what she'd been doing with her turn-er.

Ug, that was a feeble term. "What do you call the person who… turns you?"

"Progenitor," she murmured. "But it's not a nice word. It's a derogatory term. I never heard a better one."

"I'm liking Royce less and less with every moment," he growled.

She pressed her hand to his chest, a firm and hard obstacle. He hadn't even realized he was moving. "No. Take a breath. Don't spill into that rage. He's dead and gone. Just breathe."

He hesitated, but her tone was damn irritating. "I can't take a breath, Kate. It makes it worse."

Her eyes flattened. "I'm sorry; you're right. That was thoughtless. Do you need to go back to the car?"

"No." He needed a second clear of her. His own wife, and she couldn't smell that? How it stole her from him. He just needed a chance to breathe. "Get the Pedialyte if you can find it, and some Gatorade. Whatever else you think. I'm going to the bathroom."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he couldn't take it if she stopped him. Just couldn't. He pushed past her for the bathrooms at the back.

Oh, the humiliation. He was headed into a gas station bathroom for a breath of fresh air.

(And no, it wasn't fucking irony. It was just sad.)

—-xxx—-