Hey everyone,

I've been watching Castle for a bit now and I've been ruminating on this story idea for a while. I couldn't get the idea out of my head (kind of like the last story), so I'm writing it away. This will be a multi-chapter fic although I don't know how long it's going to end up being and normally when I guess I'm very wrong. Just know, the story doesn't end here. This will be set around the end of season 5.

I don't really have much else to say other than, I hope you...

Enjoy!


Booted feet snapped against the dusty marble of the large home as a handful of officers swarmed through the grand entryway into their preset sectors. Thin flashlight beams illuminated pinpricks of what used to be a beautiful estate, now fallen into ignominy. The graceful stairs that flanked either side of the long central hallway were collapsed in places, paintings that hung at awkward angles were long covered with slipping sheets, and the striking dark paint now flecked off the walls. A home that used to boast grand parties and wealthy intrigues was now more beast than beauty.

Tonight, no one looked at the paintings. There wasn't a sense of awe, it was a sense of purpose. Each cop involved knew their role and knew the target. Their weapons and lights were trained on rooms and doors, not the old grandeur. Once through the foyer, the collective cops broke apart. Uniforms headed under the second floor landing, Castle and Beckett went left, and Esposito moved right without a second glance. He had only one focus, he wanted his partner back.

As he stepped under the gaudy arch into the interior rooms, Esposito clutched his pistol more securely and swallowed back the flashing image of their latest victim; trying desperately not to give the dead man his partner's face. The footsteps of the other officers drifted into silence as he slipped into the, until recently, disused hallway. The six rooms, innocuously closed, were his target. His hand closed more securely on his gun as he tried the doorknob to the first room.

It only took a little pressure to loosen the rust and dust that had built up around the brass; it turned with a creak as the latch on the other side disengaged. Esposito cautiously opened the door, swinging his flashlight up in time to see little more than dust. Stirred up by the door opening, it drifted through the air, dancing on the unexpected breeze, blown off the nearest sheet covered furniture. Creeping in, Esposito closed the door behind him and swept the room. Even with the thin illumination of his flashlight, it was clearly a library: a large disused fireplace was covered in the same cobwebs as the rest of the unfortunate bookcases and couches. There were no footprints in the centimeters of dust on the floor. No one had been in this room in years. Backing out, he moved into the hallway, careful to close the door behind him.

The second room held no more useful information. A smoking room, it shared the fate of the first. Frustration started to prickle at the back of his neck as he resolutely closed his hands tighter around his weapon and his flashlight. This was taking too long. The feeling only ratcheted up as the third and fourth rooms held little more than the memory of what they used to be. Each was choked with dust, nothing more than an irritating waste of his, and Ryan's, time.

Knowing that he would need to finish his sweep, but unable to contain the fear and frustration any longer, Esposito stepped back into the hallway and triggered the walkie. Keeping his voice low, he asked, "Anyone have eyes?" Esposito released the button. Static was the only answer. "Shit." Signal jammers. Protocol said he should establish a connection with the others before moving farther on. Without hesitation, he dismissed the suggestion. Ryan was far more important. He had two rooms left; he could meet up with them when he was done with the search. He shrugged off the chill that ran up his spine, deepened by a cold sweat and the winter winds that slipped in on the draft.

He closed his hands tighter around the pistol and crept on. Looking for the next door, he showed the flashlight on the wall before him, but as the beam illuminated gaudy wallpaper, a seam caught his attention. Backing up to the opposite wall, he followed the anomaly. It stretched from floor to almost the ceiling, passing through the chair railing and baseboard. It was an obscured door. If he hadn't been hyper focused on the smallest sign, he could have easily missed it. Reaching out, he ran his fingers along the seam where the dust wasn't so heavy. It didn't look camouflaged, more like it was designed to sit flush against the walls as an aesthetic choice. He checked the map. There was nothing marked between the last empty room and the next sure to be empty one, but as he tried hidden handle in the chair railing, a lock thunked. Hidden and locked. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck as he backed up and kicked. The frame gave way with a loud splinter. He could deal with that later. Esposito snapped his flashlight up, gun at the ready as he pushed into the room.

It was far emptier than the others, only a few haphazardly placed bookcases and shelves pushed against the walls, but as he passed his flashlight across the width of it, he saw the chair and a slumped body in the center of the room. Esposito's mouth went dry, and his hands slipped on the grip as he swallowed back nausea. Avoiding the unmoving person, and his own screaming conscience, he cleared the rest of the room. Methodically searching corner to corner, behind every piece of furniture, Esposito ensured that if it was his partner, there would be no other surprises. A door that ran south caught his attention, but one twist on the handle proved it was locked. He would know the moment anyone tried to come through there. As he checked the last two walls, hesitation and fear kept him from stepping too close to the center.

Even still, as he moved, he listened for anything. Movement. A name. Whispered awareness. Harsh breathing. Anything. Anything that gave him any hope the man in the chair was still alive. Bile coated his tongue when he didn't hear anything as he reached the last corner. Room swept, he swallowed back his fear, and turned slowly, training the flashlight on the last piece of the investigation. The beam illuminated a shredded dress shirt he hadn't seen in a week; Esposito lurched forward, his fear finding a new focus. He dropped to his knees in front of his partner.

Ryan was leaned forward, a tightly tied rope the only thing keeping him upright, but as the flashlight illuminated his face, Esposito couldn't hold back a sickened sob. His face was a swollen mess of bruises and gashes, both eyes were puffed shut, his jaw was set at an unnatural angle, and given the dried blood on his lips, his nose had been broken and allowed to bleed. He looked like a specter, nearly unrecognizable. As Esposito looked him over, a treacherous thought mused that if it hadn't been for the shirt, he might not have recognized him. Words failed him and all Esposito could do was growl at the treatment as he pressed shaking fingers to Ryan's neck.

Heart in his throat, Esposito waited too long. Desperately, he pressed harder into prickled skin, praying for something as, for the first time in a decade, Esposito felt tears threatening. Only for a weak beat to press against the pads of his fingers. He choked out a relieved exhale and dropped his head against his partner's shoulder. "It's alright, Kev. I gotchu." Esposito set to work. Ryan's hands were bound with zip ties that had been pulled so tight they cut into his wrists. Esposito sawed them free, and nearly lost his minimal lunch peeling the plastic out of the wounds. "I'm gonna get you home. You hear me, Ryan, just hold on a little longer." Bile rose on his tongue as he ignored the litany of deep gashes clear from under the torn dress shirt and cut his feet free. The pants and socks had saved the skin, but as Esposito gently moved Ryan's left leg, the bone shifted. Broken. Even if he could wake him up, he wasn't walking out.

Panic clawed under Esposito's skin as he triggered the walkie again, "It's Esposito, I found Ryan. I need help." Static. "Shit."

Esposito pressed his fingers to Ryan's neck. The same thready pulse was there. Ryan was always stubborn. Hanging his head, Esposito considered his situation for a moment longer before he looked up. Gently laying his hand on Ryan's cheek, he swore, "I'm gonna get some help, Kev. If you wake up, don't try to move. I'll be back as soon as I can." His partner didn't answer. Unstrapping his vest, he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around Ryan's shoulders. "Hold on, bro." Breaking protocol again, Esposito tore out of the room, flak vest forgotten.


And that's all I have for now! Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments.

I hope you all have a wonderful night/day and stay creative!

-Lily