Previously:
"Anything?"
Long fingers extracted a combat knife from a jean pocket. Derek slowly and meticulously opened the blade. He ran a finger along the smooth surface that glinted in the dim light. Castle's eyes opened wide at the object in his captor's hand, but he refused to say anything. He watched as Derek casually walked ever closer, the knife griped in his left hand.
Castle took a calming breath and met Derek's predatory gaze. With as much courage as he could muster, Castle responded.
"Anything."
Derek smiled cruelly.
Twirling the knife in his hand, Derek closed the distance between them. Now, the fun begins.
The knife tip drew closer and closer until it was mere centimeters from Castle's cheek. "Facial wounds are very non-intrusive. They sting, and bleed a lot, but won't cause too much damage." With that, Derek pressed the knife down into the skin on Castle's face. He drew the blade down, following the writer's jawline and leaving a red line in its wake. Blood quickly came to the surface and slipped from the wound on Castle's cheek. It wasn't too deep, but Castle still hissed in obvious pain at the first cut.
Derek watched as the blood slowly dripped from the wound, running down Castle's jaw, to his neck, then staining the collar of his very expensive white shirt. Guess he's ruined another piece of clothing today, Derek thought. Surveying his victim, Derek contemplated where he would inflict his next wound.
"Do you know how much pressure it takes to break human skin?"
Castle's muffled scream was answer enough.
A long gash extended from wrist to elbow on Castle's arm. Blood was seeping from the wound steadily; this laceration had been deeper. The warm, red liquid stained his shirtsleeve. Castle tried to breathe through the pain. He bit back the yell that threatened to escape his lips, not giving Derek the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He brought his gaze to meet that of his kidnapper, not letting the pain shine through his eyes. Stay strong. Don't give up. Think of something, something to take your mind off the pain…
Beckett's face swam in to his thoughts. He imagined being at the precinct, helping her solve the latest murder. He imagined telling her one of his wild theories, and making her laugh. Oh, how her laugh made his heart swell. That simple, sweet, and innocent sound made him want to wrap his arms around her and protect her from everything. He wanted to shield her from all the dangers and sorrows and heartaches of the world. He wanted to do everything he could to keep her laughing like that. And he knew, with every second he held on, every minute he didn't let Derek win, he was doing just that.
The pain in his arm was finally subsiding to a steady throb, and no longer stung quite so bad. The bleeding had slowed, and was now down to a slow trickle that dripped onto the floor. The pain, it got better after awhile; he'd have to remember that. Because looking at Derek, eyes gleaming like a predator with his prey cornered, wiping the stray blood from his blade, he knew things were far from over.
Derek stooped over and leaned in close to Castle. Whispering, he said, "I will make you suffer. The way my brother suffered. You will die tonight, Mr. Castle."
In one swift motion, the cold metal of the knife pierced Castle's stomach. If he thought he was in pain before, that was nothing compared to the fire coursing through his stomach now. The knife was brutally yanked out of the wound. Castle couldn't contain his moan of pain. He shut his eyes and gasped for air. The pain was so intense it stole the breath from his lips. He could feel the sticky fluid flowing from the wound, seeping into his shirt and coating his stomach.
Black tinged the edge of his vision as his head rolled forward to rest on his chest. Castle was breathing heavily, trying to get the pain under control. He said he'd leave Beckett alone. Fight it, Richard. If you fight, he won't hurt her. Don't give in. Don't. The thoughts of Beckett kept his tiny flicker of hope alive, and the fighter in him willing to take another hit. With a groan, Castle brought his head up and blinked sluggishly. He locked away the pain, sending it to the back of his mind. You can do this. You can take this.
Derek scowled at the author. It seemed he wasn't going to give up easily. Look at him. Playing the hero like from one of his books. How sweet, being all big and brave to try and save the girl. Well, every hero needs a villain. And I'll show him what a real villain is like. Then maybe he won't want to be the hero anymore…
Slipping the knife closed and returning it to his pocket, Derek rolled up his jacket sleeves. With a spark in his eye, he addressed the injured author.
"Shall we continue, Mr. Castle?"
Castle didn't see the first punch coming until it was too late. He felt the punch connect with his right cheek, and his head snapped to the left. He blinked away the stars in his vision and scrunched his nose at the taste of copper in his mouth. He could feel the cut on his face open up again from the impact, and slowly start to bleed. Spitting out the blood that flooded his mouth, he turned his head back to Derek. Stay strong. Fight. Fight for Beckett.
Derek watched as Castle fixed him with hazy eyes and gave him a large grin. Blood coated his teeth, turning them reddish pink, and dripped from the corner of his mouth.
"That all you got, Derek?" Castle chided, goading his captor on.
Derek sneered at Castle. The bastard. Wanting to wipe that smug grin off of his face, Derek brought his left fist back and swung it hard at Castle. It connected with a crunch as Derek felt the cartilage in the author's nose break. Castle grunted in pain as it felt like his face just got hit by a truck. Well, there goes my ruggedly handsome looks, Castle thought as his head flew back from the impact.
Blood ran freely from Castle's broken nose and dripped down his face. He could feel his nose swelling from the impact. I'll probably have some nice black eyes to accompany that tomorrow. If I make it to tomorrow, Castle thought. With the way his day was going, he'd be lucky if he made it the next few hours. Or however long Derek was going to keep him alive.
Castle blinked, as he tried to ignore the fuzziness of the room around him and the way it all seemed to be spinning. A tiny part of his brain told him repeated hits to the head were never a good thing. The blood loss, coupled with his probable concussion, left Castle feeling lightheaded and slightly nauseous. He didn't know how much more he could take.
A strong hit struck his chest and he couldn't hold in his cry of pain. Derek wasn't stopping for anything. Castle watched on detachedly as Derek struck him again and again. His chest, stomach, face.
Wheezing and gasping, Castle's vision swam and darkness threatened to take him. His last thought before he succumbed to unconsciousness was that he shouldn't have insisted on coming home to change his pants.
Beckett drummed impatiently on the steering wheel. She was stuck in afternoon traffic on her way to drop Castle off some soup.
"Ugh, this was a horrible idea!" She yelled at the sea of cars around her. She should have known how impossible it would be to drive from the precinct to Castle's loft in evening New York traffic.
She glanced at her watch and sighed irritably. This would take hours! By the time she'd get to his apartment, the soup would be cold and it would be very, very late. Maybe I should just head home. It's closer…No, Kate. He is your partner and you need to check up on him.
Her gut did a flip as she thought that. He hadn't seemed sick at all that morning. Castle had been his usual, annoying, petulant childish self. Not even a hint of cold or stomach flu. Well maybe he's avoiding you.
"Don't be silly Kate," Beckett huffed at herself, shaking her head at her immaturity.
"Castle has a logical, rational excuse for not helping out today. His explanation is plausible. End of story." But her justifications seemed to fall flat. She was missing something.
"Some detective I am. Can't even solve why Castle mysteriously didn't help today," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Well, when it came to Castle, nothing was logical, or rational, or normal. Beckett laid on her horn as she was cut off and had to slam on her brakes.
"Son of a-"
Hitting her horn one more time for good measure, Beckett huffed and wished she were anywhere but there. An idea sparked and she searched fervently for the police siren.
"Damn it!" Beckett struck the steering wheel in frustration as her search came up empty. Perfect. When I actually want the siren, it's not there. She craned her neck and looked ahead. The line of cars seemed to stretch miles. Realizing she wasn't getting anywhere, anytime soon, she pulled out some case files to review. Maybe this traffic would do her some good, and she could catch up on her case files she'd been neglecting. Glancing up at the array of red taillights, Kate sighed and opened up the first file.