*Three days into his imprisonment*

"You're recycling old tricks, Tyson? There's no way Kate will fall for that. She'll remember the last time and she'll know it wasn't me."

Castle was restrained in the hospital bed again, the same position in which he'd spent the majority of the past few days. He supposed he'd be significantly achier, a combination of the injuries he'd sustained in his not-so-accidental car accident and the inability to stretch more than a few short times a day, if it hadn't been for the steady stream of drugs provided by Dr. Nieman. They dulled all things emotional and physical, so he worked hard to focus on his argument with the serial killer seated at his bedside. Tyson had been explaining more about what had happened on the day of the wedding, making sure Castle was filled in about the past before they co-conspired on plans for the future. But the idea that a lookalike had paid to have Castle's car destroyed seemed like a mistake, and he wasn't afraid to call Tyson out.

Tyson just laughed. "It's great that you're questioning my methods from where I have you strapped down to a bed after kidnapping you from your own wedding. I think I know what I'm doing here."

"But Kate won't-"

"No, Castle! Perception is reality. She'll believe it's you on the surveillance because it goes to the very heart of all her insecurities. Every important man in her life has eventually let her down. Her training officer. Her captain. Her own father and his love affair with the bottle. It doesn't matter that you were proven innocent once before…she'll think you really left her this time. Add in your little mob friend and it's a no-brainer. It's so much easier for her to have doubt than hope."

He was crushed by that, the idea that Kate could ever believe something so unfathomable to him. He had to make it out of his prison, had to get back to his fiancée and promise himself to her in front of their family and friends, and he had to do it without planning her abduction and murder first. Weariness clawed at him, the insanity of it all, but there was nothing to do but sink back into his pillow and listen to Tyson recount more of the story, the description of the fiery crash told so calmly, until Castle drifted into a heavy sleep again.


*16 days into his imprisonment*

His physical wounds had healed quickly, or so he was told, but his body's natural rhythms were so terribly manipulated each day and night that he was losing his tenuous hold on reality. For a while it was clear that he was being given some sort of stimulant each morning, just to be brought crashing down each night with a depressant. There were pills and drinks and the occasional injection from Dr. Nieman, all helping him maintain a strict cycle of alertness and rest. Then, with no warning about what was about to happen, he was kept awake for days, death suddenly seeming like the best possible end to his hell. The doctor eventually eased him back from the edge of psychosis, blessing him with nightmare-filled sleep he was almost too grateful to embrace. He wasn't sure if he mumbled his appreciation or whether it was just another fuzzy dream.

When he eventually woke again, there was one other reason to thank Dr. Nieman; she seemed to be making a series of videos and voice recordings in which she recited the date as a way of introducing each of her statements. While knowing how much time was passing during his captivity was disheartening, it was also one small part of the real world, grounding him just enough to keep him from giving up entirely. In his persistent state of confusion, it was rare for him to understand much else of what she was saying in the recordings, but until it concerned him directly, he found it difficult to care.

That changed abruptly when he awakened to a painful chill wracking his feverish body.

"Hurts." He attempted to sit up, surprised to find that he was unrestrained. Not that he could have made a run for it when every joint ached so fiercely. "Everything hurts."

A cool cloth was placed over his forehead, and he was encouraged to lie back down. "Mr. Castle, you've come down with an illness and it's taking a lot out of you. Please relax and let me focus on your recovery."

"An illness?"

"Dengue Fever."

"From a mosquito?" His head hurt terribly, but he was proud of himself for asking an intelligent question.

Dr. Nieman just sighed, apparently irritated once more by his inability to shut up. "Usually Dengue Fever comes from mosquitoes, yes. In this case, I was conducting a bit of an experiment. A partial blood transfusion. A old colleague of mine has done extensive work with the disease, so I was able to borrow what I needed from him, and here we are."

"But you're a plastic surgeon."

"Yes, Mr. Castle, I am. But that means I'm a doctor. A scientist. Please don't impugn my level of intelligence or skill because you think I do nothing but give women a nicer nose or a bigger chest." She flashed her eerie smile over his bed; for the first time, he saw that Tyson was seated on his other side. "And Jerry has asked me to step outside my area of expertise in order to help him. In turn, he's promised me quite the brilliant opportunity once we have our hands on your gorgeous fiancée."

Castle turned toward Tyson. "Why do you need me to be sick?"

"Castle, you still don't get it, and I was counting on you being so much smarter than that. None of this is what I need…it's only what I want. You being sick simply creates chaos. Confusion. A big fucking mess when the good detective has you back and can't figure out where you've been."


*26 days into his imprisonment*

He hadn't fully recovered when he decided to make a video for Kate, the fatigue fading for small moments, just long enough for him to recognize that he might not make it out alive. There was no thought given to how he might get the video to her, his dead body likely to disappear forever, but he couldn't sit idle any longer. And other than offhand remarks about the genius crime that Castle was expected to script for Tyson – something so heinous that Castle still couldn't fully process it – nothing had been discussed. The occasional crude jokes about Kate's fate, the idea that a trail of clues could be left to taunt them all, but no brainstorming about how to bring it about. Waiting for that day could be enough to kill him; if not, planning his fiancée's death certainly would.

In the meantime, he'd put his observational skills to use, paying close attention to the routines of his captors, the small ways in which their behavior changed if they were leaving him for the night or for a much shorter amount of time. He was rarely shackled anymore, which made him more certain there was no easy escape. With his fever lingering and his body so drained of energy, he wasn't sure he would get far anyway. But everything Dr. Nieman had been using to record her "severely-drug-a-patient-and-infect-him-with-a-terrible-tropical-disease" experiment was just a few feet away, and with enough time alone, he was able to pull himself upright just long enough to say a few words to Kate.

Kate, if you're seeing this…well, if you're seeing this, I'm probably dead. I want you to know, I never intended to leave you, not like this, not on our wedding day, but I – it wasn't my choice. I wish I could tell you what's going on, I wish I could explain…but just know that I love you. I've always loved you. Always.

He realized belatedly that he could have mentioned Tyson and Nieman and the way they'd managed to imprison him, but the truth was that he really didn't know what was going on or how to explain, and the last thing he wanted to do was send Kate down a new rabbit hole with almost no evidence. It wasn't about giving her an opportunity to avenge his death; it was about his love for her. He kept the message as it was recorded, simple and sweet. Slipping the spare memory card into his pillow case, he crawled back into bed and was asleep before he could reconsider.

The following day, he stole a few pages from the back of one of Nieman's notebooks and wrote letters to his mother, Alexis, and Kate, deciding to keep them much like the video; they were focused on his love for them and his hopes for their futures, but left out anything about his disappearance, afraid to leave them with the need to chase a ghost.

The manipulation of his sleep cycles started up again a few days later, Dr. Nieman determining that his body could withstand more of the torture that she'd suspended during his illness. The psychosis settled in quickly, too many hours awake and highly stimulated leading to hallucinations, and random periods of rest dropping him to new levels of depression. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on, Tyson watching and waiting, as though Castle was an animal being fattened for slaughter. His mind was too damn clear, sharpened by one set of drugs, for him to hide from the reality of what was happening; he was too weak from another series of drugs to be able to stop it.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone that he snapped one afternoon. Dr. Nieman was her typically Stepford self and Tyson was throwing around Kate's name far too casually, when Castle noticed that Tyson was armed. He didn't care why the gun was there, only that it was suddenly within reach, calling to him like a familiar friend. Quickly sitting up in his bed, he threw his head forward and into Tyson's nose, grabbing for the gun in the moment of confusion and pain. He heard Dr. Nieman scream while the two men wrestled for the weapon.

After it went off, everything became blissfully silent. Except maybe for the ringing in his ears.

But the pain was sharp. Too sharp. Along his side and not the fatal wound that might have been a blessing. And as Dr. Nieman cleaned him up and bandaged him with a reprimanding glare, Tyson leaned over and made his voice heard.

"You're lucky I want you alive."


*42 days into his imprisonment*

It took another couple of weeks for him to finally break. After the incident with the gun, Tyson punished him by controlling – and often withholding – his meals, in addition to the narcotic roller coaster Castle was already riding at the hands of Dr. Nieman. Despondent didn't even begin to describe the situation and there was no other choice.

"You mentioned that you want to leave clues behind? A way to taunt everyone after Kate has been abducted?" He was speaking as assertively as possible from within the restraints to which he'd been reintroduced.

Tyson rose from his chair on the opposite side of the room, making his way over to Castle's bed slowly, the anticipation almost too much. "Yes."

"Then I think I should write a series of book dedications."