Miracle at the 12th Precinct

Chapter 16

Title: It's Gonna Be a Lonely Christmas (song by the Orioles)

Disclaimer: Castle...sadly, not mine. But hey, a girl can dream, right? Tommy, he's my guy, and Santa, well he belongs to everyone.

A/N: This chapter's a short one, but I'll be posting multiple chapters this week. Thanks in advance for reading!

Recap from Chapter 15:

Last we left off; Castle was driving Kris to the safety of his loft after his elaborate plan to break Kris out of the hospital, unharmed by the mob, worked. Their conversation turned serious.

"So tell me, Ricky, has Tommy come forward yet?"

"No, not yet. And we haven't had much success locating him."

"Yes, well, he'll turn up. Mark my words." Kris assured him. "He's taken off before when he's found himself in a jam, always comes back. He always comes back."

Castle studied Kris through the rear-view mirror and desperately prayed the man was right. Every instinct told him finding Tommy Frost was not only the key to solving this entire case, but that it was essential to saving both Kris and Christmas.

Speaking of Tommy...

At an undisclosed location, deep in the hallows of Greenwich Village, Tommy Frost huddled in a corner of the cold, dark room, shivering as he ran his hands together in a futile quest for warmth. The floor he sat upon might just be as hard as ice, but it was certainly better than sleeping outside in an alley which is where he'd spent the previous night. Though less than twenty-four hours had passed since his entire world had turned on its very axis, to him it felt like days.

After the bomb exploded and his worst fears were realized, he'd roamed the streets for hours before finally collapsing from exhaustion in a back alley.

When the homeless man shook him awake the next morning he didn't even remember where he was at first. Soon it came flooding back; escaping from BB and Vinny, racing through the streets back to the apartment, praying he'd make it in time to stop them from harming Santa and Timmy like they'd threatened. He'd made it to their building only to be, moments later, hurled against the wall of the stairwell, knocked unconscious from the force of the blast.

When he came to he'd made it up the stairs and through the rubble to find both Santa and Timmy lying face-down on the ground, dead. He'd been too late and his irresponsibility had gotten two of the most important people in the world to him killed. Never in his wildest dreams would he have believed the two goons would go so far as to blow up their building, let alone that they were even capable of doing such a hideous thing - no matter what he'd done to them. They were criminals, he knew that of course, but he'd been so sure he'd seen goodness in them. He'd once prided himself at how well he could read people, but now it seemed as though he'd been fooling himself all along. Mother had been right.

There'd been absolutely nothing more he could do for Santa and Timmy; they were gone, just gone. His poor aunt would be grief-stricken. The children of the world devastated. What had he done? It was with a heavy heart he said his tearful goodbyes, begging their souls for forgiveness.

At the sound of the sirens he'd panicked, turned and ran, somehow managing to make his way through the debris and finding his way out of the building. Unsure if he'd been spotted and panicked at the thought of being followed, he kept running. He vaguely remembered the next few hours, his only goal to get as far away as possible.

He was awakened in an alley the next morning by a homeless man who befriended him and brought him to a shelter. They welcomed him, offered him food, clothing, a warm drink and allowed him to wash up a bit. To his surprise, despite his singed and tattered appearance, they'd asked no questions, merely offered help. He vowed someday to repay them for their kindness.

Afterwards, he went in search of safe haven, roaming the city streets throughout the day, up until only a few hours ago when he'd first stumbled upon the apartment building he now found himself in. Grateful for both the shelter and the tattered, dirty, old blanket the former occupant had left behind in their wake he pulled it tighter around his body, not completely oblivious to the fact it would most likely be rendered powerless against the swiftly dropping temperature. It helped that he was no stranger to cold weather and besides beggars can't be choosers, mother always said. Just the thought of Breanna left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wondered where she was right now, pictured her lounging on her sofa inhaling yet another rum-drenched fruit cake, not giving his welfare a second thought. He really hated fruitcake.

He leaned his head back against the wall, stared up at the cracked ceiling. His eyelids grew heavy, yet he resisted the urge the sleep. He had to stay awake, devise a plan. Manly voices and heavy footsteps suddenly running past his closed door caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. The noises faded down the hallway and he let out the breath he'd been holding. Whoever they were, they weren't looking for him.

He looked around the room, took in his surroundings. When he'd first discovered the building he'd actually thought his luck might at last be turning. He should have known better. At the time, it seemed like the perfect hideout; abandoned, secluded, inconspicuous, and besides, with nowhere else to go it was as good a place as any to lay low for awhile. Recent events being what they were, it was more than he deserved. The solace he'd sought out, however, was to be short-lived.

As it turned out the building was indeed condemned, however, he was most definitely not alone. There were other squatters in the building - he'd eyed a one or two of them when he'd first snuck in. They'd paid him little mind, so in the light of day he hadn't felt overly threatened. Subconsciously, he even foolishly hoped their presence might make him feel less alone. Again he'd been wrong. The darkness of night only escalated his fears and the noises they made moving about the building had quickly frayed his nerves.

He longed for the way things were, missed his girlfriend, Holly, more than he could ever imagine, but it was best he kept his distance, at least until things cooled down. They knew where she lived, how much she meant to him, and her apartment was bound to be the first place they'd look for him. He'd no choice but to stay away. By now she'd heard about the explosion and would be worried sick, but it was the only way he knew to keep her safe.

On the other hand, she was smart and once she found out about Kris and Timmy maybe she'd want nothing more to do with him. It was just as well - she deserved better than what he could offer her. And even if by some slim chance she still did want him in her life somehow, it was best he tell her their dream of being together in the North Pole had been a mistake. She was the love of his life, but he would never be the man he'd promised her he'd be. All their dreams had been shattered, the plans they'd made lost. There'd be no going home; he no longer had one.

Uncle Kris, Santa, the only real father he'd ever known, had been so angry and disappointed over his recent behavior, that last week he'd officially grounded him; clipped his wings so to speak, therefore making it impossible for him to return to the North Pole on his own even had he wanted to. As far as he knew, Kris was the only one with the power to set him free so it appeared with him gone he was now stuck here forever.

He'd reached a moment of clarity; he'd managed to single-handedly kill Christmas and had only himself to blame. It all came down to him, his mistakes, and now the children of the world and those he loved would be made to suffer. Would another elf step in for Kris, take over his duties? Was it even possible? His poor grief-stricken aunt would never be able to handle the burden herself, and he was certain he'd been banished or he'd jump at the chance to redeem himself, be the elf Santa always wanted him to be. Mother always said it was my destiny.

His body tensed at the sound of more footsteps halting just outside his door. His heart raced, he held his breath, not daring to move a muscle. The sound of shoes hitting the floor picked up again before finally growing faint. The intruder must have decided to move on. He could breathe again.

Looking around the stark room the gravity of his situation sunk in. He'd never get the chance to make things right. He was not destined for glory. It was time to accept his fate. Even if by some miracle he found a way to return home, he'd be branded an outcast. His aunt and the others would never forgive him, and he really couldn't blame them. And then there was his dear old mother. She'd be furious; disown him, her good name tarnished. Or the good name she imagined she had, anyway.

Knowing her as he did, she was most likely overcome with embarrassment, shamed, and not overly concerned she'd left him out to rot. She could find him if she chose to, but he wasn't counting on it.

And to think of all he's done for her. Her minion from the time he could walk and talk, he'd had to withstand years of listening to her belittle Santa and her very own sister behind their backs, convincing him to practically spy on the couple. He'd never understand it. She'd been wrong about them both, but then he'd discovered that for himself early on.

He'd often tried setting her straight, still she refused to let up, never having a nice word to say about them, even after his father up and left them with nothing and his aunt and uncle had taken them in, given them both a roof over their heads. Not even when Santa took him under his wing, gave him an important position working alongside Timmy in the workshop. It was never enough for her.

And Timmy...Breanna hated him most of all, calling him a free-loader, among other things, claiming he had no right to be Santa's first assistant since he wasn't a blood relative. It would be years before he would come to see for himself the amazing person Timmy was, years more for him to call him brother, a fact which infuriated his mother. His adamant refusal to end their friendship drove her insane.

The last rays of daylight were fading fast through the cheap metal blinds; soon the room would be filled with darkness. He curled up on the hard, unforgiving floor, pulled the blanket to his chin and pondered how he'd come to find himself in such a horrible, awful mess. If only he'd listened. If only he'd behaved, done what was expected of him, took the help that was offered. Instead, he'd made some exceptionally bad choices, the cards had been dealt, and here he was running for his life.

He tried to recall when things had first spun out of control, but his head began to spin, his eyes fluttered shut; signs his body was losing the fight against sleep. He needed to rest. Maybe after a short nap he'd be able to think more clearly, come up with an ingenious plan. Without one, his capture was imminent. Unfortunately, he wasn't well known for his ingenious plans. He thought again about going to the police. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he turned himself in- before anyone else got hurt. By now they were probably out looking for him and he couldn't run forever. His last thought before slumber took him was of Holly. He prayed one day she'd forgive him.

Jolted awake a few hours later by a movement from across the room he knew instinctively he was no longer alone. With his back pressed firmly up against the wall he tried adjusting his eyes to the darkness. "Who's there?" he shouted, struggling to get his bearings while calculating the distance to the door.

"Show yourself!" He cried, panicked, his adrenaline racing.

There was a rustling sound, the intruder moved closer, and then he thought he'd heard what could only be described as a snicker.

Introductions were no longer necessary. "Hello Mother. How good of you to come."

"Ha." She laughed. "How'd you know it was me?" Asked the shrill voice, striking a match and then emerging from the shadows.

"Simple really, he said, with disdain. I smelled the fruitcake."