Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.

Prompt #42: Rise - Like a phoenix, he knew she'd emerge from the ashes in a vibrant display of fire.

Words: 632

Funerals were one of the few things that Richard Castle absolutely despised.

With good reason. The last time he'd been at one, a dear friend was being buried. Now another friend was joining Captain Montgomery in eternal slumber.

The ceremony had long ended, but still Castle stood alone in the cemetary, his own tears hidden by the torrential downpour around him. His jacket was already soaked through, but he didn't care. He didn't feel cold or wet. In fact, he felt nothing.

Funerals were about endings. Things can't get much more final than being planted in the ground in a really nice box beneath a stone marker. Nothing is more permanent than being handed that folded flag. Nothing says "Game Over" more than the words carved in the headstone.

He remembered words spoken as he slowly froze in an icy steel box. I wish this was one of your books and you could rewrite the ending. He'd wished back then that he had that power over fate.

Castle stood before the solitary headstone in the rain, reading the name carved on its smooth surface, and wished he could bring her back.

Katherine Beckett.

The nor'easter was raging outside his window when he awoke in a panic, chest heaving and drenched in cold sweat. It took several minutes to calm himself down.

He had to force himself to remember that he'd just had a bad dream. That Montgomery's funeral was almost ten years ago. Kate had survived the shooting. She was sitting next to him in their bed, rubbing his shoulders and asking what was wrong.

Now that he was awake, it seemed almost silly to answer her. But Castle learned a long time ago not to keep secrets from his wife; she would eventually wear him down and then kick his butt for holding out on her. So once he regained his breath, he recounted the scenario of a rainy cemetary, him staring down at her grave. When he finished, they were both silent for a very long time.

Kate finally spoke up. "This isn't the first time you've had that dream, is it." Her tone told him that she wasn't asking a question.

He nodded. "Off and on for the last ten years."

"That bad?"

"The worst was right after the shooting," he admitted. "I had it almost every night for three months."

She bit her lip, recalling how she'd basically shut him out for that entire summer. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Castle shrugged, already brushing it off. "You came back. You always do, come to think of it."

Kate gave him a minxish smile. "I'm just like a bad penny. You can't get rid of me."

"I never would want to." And he meant every word. "I rarely have that dream anymore. Only when there's a real bad storm, like tonight."

A light knock drew attention to their bedroom door. "Mommy? Daddy?" came the soft whimper of their six-year-old daughter. "I had a bad dream..."

Kate started to ask, but Castle beat her to it. "Wanna sleep with Mommy and Daddy?"

"Please..."

The novelist quickly moved to scoop the youngest Castle up in his arms, depositing her between him and Kate. Johanna snuggled under the covers next to her mother. "Sorry," she quietly said. "Should be a big girl now."

"It's okay, baby," Kate said soothingly, wrapping an arm around her child. "Daddy just had a bad dream too."

Blue eyes blinked owlishly. "Daddy was scared?"

"Yeah," Castle said as he joined his family. "Daddy had a bad dream. But it's okay now, because Mommy and Johanna are here." He smiled at Johanna and Kate. "You're both here with me."

The storm continued to rage outside, releasing lightning and thunder and dumping a flood's worth of water on the streets of New York City. But in the Castle loft, the small family slept safe in each other's arms.

A sweet fluffy to round out the angst.

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