Hey again everyone! I have to say, I am genuinely amazed by your responses to last chapter- you really proved me right when I said that Castle readers were the BEST readers! It was so cool to be so sincerely welcomed back, and even cooler to see some old familiar names popping back up! It reminds me just how much I've missed this fandom and all of you guys, so I'm honestly so excited to have you all along for this ride.

In case you're wondering, I'm looking at probably a twice-weekly arrangement for updating, and while Chapter 2 is also a bit of a shorter one, I promise the later chapters will get longer. There's also a slight warning for a little bit of swearing in some chapters, including this one.

Hope you like it.

Castle tasted blood.

His lip had split, that much was certain. Though whether from the fist that had connected forcefully with his face when he'd tried to defend Kate, or the multiple collisions with the walls of the van– considering that with every wild corner he was thrown around like a rag doll in a tumble dryer– he couldn't be sure.

All he knew was that he hurt. And, given his present company, he knew that pretty soon he would be hurting a lot more.

The terror started to truly sink in then, flowing through his veins like icewater, freezing him from the inside out. He'd faced danger before, of course, but never alone; Kate had always been there.

And the one time when she wasn't– when the Triple Killer had gotten him– at least he'd had Ryan, yet another trained cop whom he trusted with his life.

Now, he was completely and utterly on his own.

What would Kate do? He thought desperately, then screwed his eyes tightly shut as another abrupt turn sent him slamming into the wall, pain radiating through his entire body in a sharp wave. Catching his breath, he forced himself to focus, ignoring the complaints of his bruised and battered body as he mentally placed Beckett in his situation. She was a cop, she was smart, she would–

Learn, her voice answered in his mind, a fierce whisper that silenced all his clamouring thoughts. Learn all you can, then use it against them.

Like a healing spell, the words gave him strength, focus; a new sense of purpose rising within him to counteract his fear.

As usual, Beckett was right– if he could understand more about his captors, their plans and motivations, there was a chance he'd find something he could use to his advantage, could turn against them. Feeling his lips twitch in a grim almost-smile, Castle silently blessed Beckett, making himself a mental note to thank her later.

That was, a small voice whispered, if he lived to see a 'later'.

Swiftly quashing that thought, Castle steeled himself, then drew a deep breath.

"Hey," he croaked, lifting his head to look at the two men occupying the back of the van with him. Both were still standing, gripping a railing that ran around the edge of the underside of the van's roof, riding the corners like regulars on the subway. Both had removed their masks, which tied an extra little knot of fear deep in his stomach. In his books, people who saw the faces of their captors rarely met with a happy ending.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Hey, guys, I'm not sure how well you've thought this through."

Two pairs of eyes turned to him, one impassive, the other full of contempt. Well, at least he had their attention.

"I'm just saying, I don't know how smart this is. I know I've got money, but I've also got close ties with the NYPD. You'll get your ransom, but as soon as they get me back they will track you down and you'll be toast. Seriously, just toss me out right here, and we'll all go our separate ways and pretend this never happened. No harm done."

The scornful-looking one– Castle dubbed him Scornface– sneered.

"Think you're smart, don't you? Well, guess what, you stupid fucker? There's not going to be a ransom, and the only way they're getting you back is in fucking pieces. So shut the fuck up."

He didn't have to tell Castle twice; right now, any further conversation ranked far below the simple act of remembering how to breathe, the man's order made somewhat redundant by the invisible hand that seemed to have closed tightly around Castle's throat– not only at his words, which were terrifying enough on their own, but at the utter certainty with which they were spoken, their truth piercing through his feeble defenses like a bullet through paper.

Closing his eyes, he fought the rising panic that once more threatened to take hold, his previous resolve crumbling. Trying desperately to think of Kate, to draw again on her strength, he found only anguish, the image of her haunting him, a torturous reminder of all he was about to lose. As the fear wound even tighter around his chest, pulling him under, he saw Alexis' and his mother's faces join hers in his mind, hot tears of grief burning behind his closed lids.

I'm so sorry. I love you.

Even those words were a torment to him; suddenly feeling like he was drowning in what ifs and missed opportunities and things unsaid, Castle let out a shuddering breath, his heart squeezing painfully. He may never see them again, and there were so many things he still wanted to tell them, needed to tell them, needed to know that they knew. He'd lost so much time, wasted so many chances–

Preoccupied with his grief, he didn't notice the van turning another corner until his body moved with it, rolling slightly onto one side– and causing a hard object to dig sharply into his thigh, the physical pain momentarily overriding its emotional counterpart.

And in that fleeting moment, realization hit.

It was like getting tasered, freezing him mid-thought, rewiring his brain from blind anguish to tenuous determination.

He'd wasted a lot of chances, but he still had one left, one tiny flicker of hope and comfort in the face of the grim fate that awaited him.

Drawing a deep breath, Castle summoned all of his willpower and concentration, then waited for the van to change in direction once more, using the movement to roll away from his captors, taking advantage of their inattention. Then, he curled himself into a ball, as if hurt or afraid– which would hardly qualify as acting, considering both were more than true– and allowed the bulk of his body to shield his actions as he very slowly, very carefully eased his phone from his pocket. For a moment he contemplated simply calling Beckett, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. There was no way she could trace him now, not until she was back at the precinct with all the equipment and fancy tracking doodads that he really should have paid more attention to.

Just one more regret to add to the list, he supposed.

Barely daring to breathe, he surreptitiously switched the phone to silent mode– with the way his luck was going today, it would surely ring and give him away– then slipped it down the front of his pants, utilising the only hiding place he had.

Glancing back over at his captors, Castle checked for any sign of suspicion, but both seemed content to ignore him, their eyes fixed up front, their faces showing only the hardened emptiness of experienced killers. Rolling back to face the far wall, he tried to regulate his breathing, to keep himself calm and focused, keep the terror at bay.

He was doing something. He was working on a plan, not a very clever or sophisticated one, but one that might allow him to say what he needed to say to those he loved, and maybe– just maybe– even get him through this day alive.

And yet, even as he had that thought, it was still there, heavy in the pit of his stomach; a feeling, maybe, or intuition.

Whatever it was, he could feel it spreading slowly through him like a poison, a dark certainty burying itself deep in his bones, its weight impossible to ignore.

He'd heard that there was a time when you just know. You know that your life is about to come to an end, your death nothing but a fast-approaching inevitability. Of all the times he'd faced death in the last few years, it had never felt like this.

Perhaps it was because this time, Kate wasn't with him. She was safe. No matter what happened to him now, she would have family around her; she would be protected, looked after, cared for. And he could live with that.

Or rather, he could die with that.

And so, as the van sped him ever closer to the moment of his death, he simply closed his eyes, letting his breathing even out, his frantic heart slowly settling at last.

Then, clearing his mind of all but the faces of those he loved, Richard Castle waited to say goodbye.

Thanks again for reading, and please let me know what you think! I know Castle pinballed around a little bit with his emotions, but I thought (despite never having faced my imminent death, thankfully) that it was potentially accurate reaction? Do you agree? Also, if you're up to it, a review per chapter would be awesome... after all, it's only a few words from you in exchange for thousands from me! Plus I'm big on replying to reviews, and wanna make the most of interacting with you guys while I have the chance!

Cheers,

Laura