Richard Castle, Watcher (Castle/Buffy) (Complete)

New York, June 2009

“So, how goes the hunt for the elusive smart, sexy and sassy NYPD Homicide Detective?”

Richard Castle looked up from his work on the report about the vampire nest in Harlem they had cleaned out two days ago and stared at his daughter. “Do we need to talk about your daytime TV privileges again?”

“Dad!” Alexis Castle frowned. “Don’t change the topic!”

Rick pouted. “She’s warming up to me. Slowly but surely.”

“That well, huh?” Alexis walked around his desk and hugged him. “Don’t worry, Dad, there are lots of smart and pretty women around who don’t want to shoot you for hunting demons and saving their lives.”

“I see you’ve been talking extensively with Vi,” Castle said drily. “I’ll have you know that Detective Beckett didn’t try to shoot me yet, and that she doesn’t know I hunt demons. Vi’s a bit biased when it comes to strong women.”

“She doesn’t have a problem with Buffy or Faith or Willow,” Alexis named the three strongest women she and Rick knew.

“That’s because she knows her position in the hierarchy with regards to them. With Beckett, there’s still a struggle for dominance.” And that sounded far kinkier than Rick had intended. Far more interesting too.

“Kiddo, I keep telling you: Women are not a pack of wolves. Your experiences with your ex-wives notwithstanding,” Martha Rodgers cut in.

Rick looked at his mother, standing in the door to his office and wearing an elegant gown. “Says the woman who is about to hunt down older gentlemen.”

Martha brushed the comment aside with a casual wave of her hand. “On the contrary. I am allowing them to hunt me.”

“I rest my case.” Rick shook his head.

“Anyway,” Alexis said, ignoring as usual the antics of her grandmother when it suited her, “you still haven’t invited my possible new stepmom so we can vet her.”

“We are not even dating!” Rick retorted. To think his daughter was still holding him to an agreement he never made in the first place!

“Exactly. If she doesn’t measure up you don’t need to struggle anymore, and can focus on someone else.” Alexis explained her reasoning.

“You couldn’t think of a way to visit the precinct without getting picked up for truancy, could you?” Rick narrowed his eyes at his daughter, who had the grace to blush a bit.

“It’s just unfair that only Vi gets to see her, but not us.” Alexis sounded her age, for a change.

“You saw her when she crashed my book launch party,” Rick reminded her.

“That doesn’t count. We could hardly see her in the lighting, much less talk to her before she had you taken away for questioning.” Alexis’s tone copied her grandmother’s, but she hadn’t the casual waving down pat. Yet.

“Well, Honey, I’d love to invite the dear Detective, but I fear that she wouldn’t accept an invitation from me,” Rick said with false sincerity. He wasn’t exactly counting the number of times his casual invites for a drink, coffee or doughnut had been rejected, but he was sure it had surpassed the numbers of rejection letters he had received at the start of his career as an author.

“Oh, that’s no problem, Dad. We’ll invite her!” Alexis beamed at him.

“What?” Rick blinked, then gaped.

This couldn’t end well.

*****​

“You know, Castle, most men try to hide their kids when hitting on women. You’re one of a few who try to use them to hit on women.”

Rick stared at Detective Kate Beckett, lowering the hand he had raised in greeting. The author had just arrived at the crime scene, and this wasn’t the greeting he’d expected. “Did my daughter invite you to dinner?” he asked.

“Yes. She sounded very earnest, wanting to thank me for keeping her foolish father safe,” Beckett sounded vaguely amused, or so Rick hoped.

He caught a glare from Violet “Vi” O’Malley, who had parked the Shelby, and must have overheard the detective. It didn’t look like Vi had been informed about the invitation. Joy. “She’s very protective of me.”

“One would almost think she was your mother, not your daughter,” Beckett said.

“Oh, you’d never think that after meeting my mother!” Castle assured her. The look she sent him was priceless. “Ow.”

“Don’t talk bad about your family, Rick!” Vi admonished him while he rubbed the arm she had just lightly - for a Slayer - slapped.

He sent a glare at her - she knew Martha and should know better! - before asking: “So… did you accept?”

“I want to know first whose idea this was.” Becket narrowed her eyes at both him and his Slayer.

“Not mine!” he declared quickly. “Not that I wouldn’t invite you.”

“You have. Multiple times.” Beckett commented drily, and Vi smirked, then glared at the detective.

“Yes. But I generally try not to inflict my family on my dates until a few months into the relationship.” Rick said, taking a step away from Vi.

“We tend to scare them away,” Vi explained, showing a toothy smile to the detective.

“Really?” Beckett lifted an eyebrow and met the Slayer’s stare. Castle wasn’t sure if the doubt dripping from her voice was about the scaring part, or Vi’s implied claim that she was part of his family. Or both.

“Yes. He’s got a terrible taste in women, so we often have to protect him for his own good. Too many gold diggers and bimbos around.” Vi’s smile grew wider. “Present company excluded of course.” She was acting like she usually did before breaking some hulking demon’s face.

“Of course.” Beckett’s lips formed a very thin line now. She turned to Castle. “I think I’ll accept your family’s invitation. I am sure it will be a remarkable experience.”

That was exactly what Castle was fearing.

*****​

“So, what’s the case?” Castle said, after a few very uncomfortable moments had passed.

“Stabbing victim. Possibly a robbery gone wrong.” Beckett walked towards the side alley partially hidden by an ambulance.

The victim was a woman, middle-aged. Slumped over, sitting in a pool of blood. Not a Vampire, Rick thought at once. They would never waste so much blood.

Lanie was there, already at work.

“Stabbed in the heart with a blade. Judging by the liver temperature, death occurred around midnight. Entry angle means the blow came from below,” the medical examiner explained.

“Strong too,” Beckett said in a slightly strained voice, pointing at a hole in the brick wall.

Vi made sniffing noise and when Castle looked at her, she nodded. That meant it smelled like a demon. Literally.

“Well, it’s not a Polgara Demon. The entry wound is not big enough,” Castle stated, crouching down to peer at it.

“Straight double-bladed short sword,” Vi added. “Underhanded stab. Probably lifted her up a bit, and pinned her against the wall while she bled.” The Slayer demonstrated the move.

“I don’t see any metal traces in the hole,” Beckett, looking far tenser than Castle would have expected, retorted.

“It’s a magical sword then. Mere bricks cannot damage an enchanted blade,” Rick speculated. Vi’s eyes lit up. He hoped it was not a cursed blade. Not again.

“Can you be serious for once?” Beckett rolled her eyes at him.

“We can also exclude vampires. Too much blood wasted.” Castle added. He probably shouldn’t push the good detective, but he couldn’t help it. She was so much fun to tease.

“It’s not a robbery. The victim still has her purse.” Lanie pointed out.

“The killer might have been spooked into fleeing by something or someone,” Castle cocked his head, trying to picture the angles to the entrance of the alley.

“It’s too far from the entrance, and anyone in the alley would have found the body then,” Beckett countered. “A more important question is: Why was a well-dressed woman" - she glanced at the driving license in the purse - "like Marcella Garcia in such an alley to begin with?” She pointed at the shoes. “And in those heels?”

“Maybe she took a short cut that got cut short?” Castle ventured a guess.

It hadn’t been one of his best lines, judging by the looks everyone present sent at him.

*****​

“So… did you recognize the smell?” Castle asked when they were back in the Shelby, driving towards the 12th Precinct.

“No. It smelled like a demon though, but… just demon-y. Not vampire-y or polgara-y,” the redhead answered while taking a tight, too tight turn.

“You know, the English language is not an acceptable target for slaying,” Castle commented.

“We’re not slaying it, we’re improving it, old man. Evolving,” Vi snarked back.

“More like devolving. Soon you’ll speak in grunts,” Castle retorted.

“And club men over the head and drag them back to our caves?” Vi asked, sweetly. “You wish!”

“I have to point out that I did get away from you in exactly such a situation,” Castle grinned.

Vi frowned, and slightly blushed, but didn’t comment further. Victory!

“We’ll have to ask Ray if he sold another cursed blade.” Castle didn’t think it would be that easy.

Vi nodded eagerly. The redhead would never oppose visiting Ray’s shop. “So… what do you think turned the stick up Beckett’s butt into a pole?”

“Your choice of words needs work. A lot of work. And a lot less Faith.”

“Of course an old man would say that.” Vi was smirking.

“40 is not old.” It really wasn’t.

“Your new car says otherwise.” Grinning now.

“We needed a new, fast one.”

“Suuuure.” Vi drawled.

“You know, we can get a more sensible car for you to drive. Maybe a station wagon…” Castle speculated, and noted with satisfaction that Vi lost her grin at once.

He still had it.

 

New York, June 2009

“Mrs. Garcia’s marriage was failing. She’s been talking to her lawyer about filing for a divorce, which would have cost her husband half his fortune,” Detective Beckett explained while pinning two pictures to her murder wall - one for the lawyer, Miss Templeton, one for the widowed Alfonso Garcia.

“So, there’s a motive,” Richard Castle stated. “As a two-times divorcé, I can attest to the fact that such an event can cause violent urges.”

“Mister Garcia is quite small. He doesn’t look like he’d be able to stab his wife with the force the medical examiner reported,” Beckett shot his theory down.

“Maybe the magic sword enhances the wielder’s strength?” It was a not uncommon effect of cursed weapons, part of the legends of berserkers.

“Next you’ll mention that the murderer was on PCP.” Beckett shook her head, almost looking amused.

“A gang member on PCP?” Castle blinked. “People actually believe that?” Vi snickered.

“It’s an urban legend. Though a bit more believable than a magic sword, Castle,” Detective Ryan cut in.

Esposito arrived. “They didn’t find the vic’s cell phone at the location. The telecom company is trying to locate it - and they found out that it was used the last time a few hours after the time of the murder.” He put down a bundle of pages covered with information about calls and cells.

“Ryan, Esposito - look into finding that phone. Check with pawn shops in the area it was last used or connected to a cell tower. I and Castle will talk to the husband of the victim,” Beckett ordered. She didn’t hesitate that long before adding him, Rick thought. He was making progress.

“Would anyone actually sell a phone taken from a murder victim?” Castle was surprised.

“Yes. Murderers are usually not criminal geniuses. Most of the time they are as dumb as a fledgling.” The detective took a last look at her murder wall before turning away.

“Ohhh, you really know my books!” Castle exclaimed, pleased. “You would be my No. 1 fan, if not for the threats to shoot or arrest me!” The glare he got for that remark was tempered by the slight flushing of her cheeks. Indeed, progress!

“No, she wouldn’t. Dawn would still be No. 1, closely followed by Willow,” Vi corrected him while hopping down from the desk she had been sitting on.

“Dawn? Willow? More conquests of yours, Castle?” Beckett raised an eyebrow. Sadly, her blush had completely disappeared.

Castle shot Vi a glare, which the Slayer shrugged off with a grin, as usual, as he explained: “They are friends of us, and no, neither was ever my girlfriend.”

“That’s because Buffy would kill you if you slept with her baby sister, and Kennedy would emasculate you if you managed to seduce her girlfriend,” Vi stated, moving slightly ahead so she’d be in front of them when the elevator opened.

“Vi! I’d never sleep with an underage girl, no matter if she has a homicidal sister or not!” Castle exclaimed while they waited for the elevator.

“Dawn grew up though,” Vi said, and Castle wondered how she managed to put so much innuendo into the remark without leering.

“She did. And she grew out of her crush at the same time,” Castle retorted. Truth to tell, Dawn had pursued him after she ‘had come of age’, as she had put it, but he had been rather certain it had just been to rile up Buffy. And even if things had been different, it took a braver man than him to enter a relationship with the baby sister of the most famous Slayer in history. Additionally, telling Dawn that had been an excellent way to get back at Buffy for never withdrawing her threat against him.

And speaking of payback… “So, you don’t need to worry, you’re not the only young woman whose advances I rejected.” Rick smiled patronizingly at his Slayer. That would teach her to try sabotaging his budding - so he hoped - relationship with Beckett.

Beckett raised an eyebrow at the gaping redhead. Since the girl seemed at a loss for words, Castle used the opportunity to spin a tale: “Ah, years ago, I was one of the chaperones on a camping trip she and a number of her friends took in California. One night she managed to get really drunk, and well, literally threw herself at me. I let her down gently.”

“You jumped in your car and fled, and didn’t return until the next morning,” Vi bared her teeth at him.

“That doesn’t sound like you were much of a chaperone, Castle,” Beckett shook her head, though she was faintly smiling. “Letting your charges get drunk, and then fleeing the scene?”

Castle wasn’t about to mention that a bunch of possessed Slayers had been about to tear the clothes off him and Giles, so he exchanged glares with Vi again. “It wasn’t my fault. No one would have been able to stop that.”

“Of course,” Beckett said, patronizingly. “But really - who would name her daughter ‘Buffy’?”

“Californians,” Castle answered, shrugging.

*****​

Alfonso Garcia didn’t look like a grieving widower. More like a man trying to look like he was grieving and not about to shop for a trophy wife. But at the time his wife had been killed he had been at a party on Long Island according to him. Castle expected his alibi to check out since he didn’t smell like a demon to Vi. That didn’t mean the man was innocent, of course.

While Beckett was asking the man more questions about his marriage, and if his wife had any enemies, and what she might have done in that particular alley, Castle was looking around in the man’s apartment. He didn’t spot any supplies for magic, but the man had an interesting library.

“It’s nice to meet another man with a taste for old books,” he said, smiling, when Beckett seemed to have finished with her questions. Pulling out a tome bound in exotic leather - hellhound, probably - he discovered it was a treatise on demons from the 17th century. He noticed Garcia’s eyes widened, but that could have been because Castle was handling a book worth a fortune. Rick didn’t think so, though - the woven bookmark in the tome was on the page dealing with Mohra Demons. He almost winced - those were bad news. Almost indestructible, regenerating, very skilled fighters, and fire didn’t do anything to them but make them mad. And they worked as mercenaries and assassins.

“Yes. I am a collector,” Garcia managed to say. He was staring at the book as if it was a bomb now, so Castle was sure he was on the right track.

“Wow, that looks like some badass demon. I could use that for one of my books,” Rick smiled and showed the page to Vi and Beckett.

“Stop rifling through the man’s books, Castle,” the detective snapped at him. She was probably mad because she knew as well as he did that the man was guilty, but saw no way to prove it. Yet.

Truth to be told, Castle wasn’t certain they would be able to prove it at all - even if they caught the demon, it wasn’t as if its testimony would be admissible in court. And not just because they’d kill it. Still, he took a picture of the page and the bookmark with his smartphone before they left.

*****​

“We’ve got the vic’s phone. It was dropped at a pawnshop in Queens,” Esposito announced as soon as the Castle, Beckett and Vi had returned to the bullpen of the 12th Precinct.

Ryan held up a smartphone, same model as Castle’s, in a transparent ziplock. “And it looks like the killer accidentally took a picture of himself before getting rid of the phone. The timestamp wasn’t doctored, and it’s past the time of the murder.”

“Why do I have the feeling that this is not as much of a breakthrough as it should be?” Beckett asked, narrowing her eyes at the two detectives, who had trouble hiding their amusement.

“That’s because it’s a demon’s face!” Esposito announced, and handed the woman a print-out.

“That’s a Mohra Demon!” Castle stated as soon as he had taken a look.

“That’s a mask, Castle. The killer’s trying to be funny. And he is about as successful as you, meaning, not at all,” Beckett glared at him.

“No, really - I took a picture of the bookmarked page of the dmon tome of our grieving widower,” Castle pulled out his own phone. “Check it out - it matches.”

Three detectives peered at his phone, and then more or less grudgingly agreed that the pictures matched as much as a photo and a 400 years old illustration could.

“If that’s a mask, it’s not one you can buy in a store, but a custom job,” Castle stated with conviction. The Council took care to discourage people from making masks that looked like real demons. No one wanted a Slayer to kill a human by mistake. One Finch was enough.

“Alright. Ryan, Esposito - track down anyone who can make custom monster masks,” Beckett ordered. She probably was still slightly irked at the two for thinking this was funny.

“And anyone who bought the materials for one,” Castle added, helpfully of course. “I’ve got a list of shops at home, I can mail it to you.”

Judging by their expressions, they had an inkling that this would take a lot of time. Castle had seen Slayers looking less grumpy when told that they couldn’t have two expensive swords that month. Well, one Slayer at least.

“Maybe you should go with them, Castle. You seem to be an expert on those matters,” Beckett proposed.

“Good idea. I’ll ask around a few friends of mine in the ‘scene’,” Castle readily agreed, probably surprising the woman. “I’ll need a copy of the picture though.”

Castle was sure the detective gave him the picture without making a fuss about evidence because she was appreciating his help and himself. Vi of course claimed the detective simply wanted to get rid of him as fast as possible.

It didn’t matter - they’d visit Clark’s.

On the way to the demon bar Castle sent the pic to London while Vi broke a few traffic laws again - an actual mask of a Mohra Demon would come in handy to nail the vic’s husband later.

 

New York, June 2009

“That the address?” Vi asked, hands stuffed in the pockets of her leather jacket as she studied the run-down house.

“According to the helpful Brachen Demon at Clark’s, yes,” Richard Castle answered. Helpful indeed - it had taken Vi no more than a few death threats and one broken nose to get the demon to spill just where he had referred a sword-wielding Mohra Demon to.

“Looks like a drug den,” his Slayer commented, wrinkling her nose. “Smells like it too, only worse.”

“Even demons need their fix,” Castle stated, looking around for witnesses. He couldn’t spot any. It didn’t surprise him - humans tended to vanish near such dens. Then he took out his shotgun from under the seat and replaced the Dragon’s Breath rounds with slugs. The fire-spewing ammunition wouldn’t hurt a Mohra Demon, and buck shot would endanger Vi once she started fighting in melee. “It’s just they’re after a different kind of fix.” He slipped the incendiary rounds in his pockets anyway, in case they encountered a vampire or two. The sun was still up, but that didn’t mean some of the bloodsuckers wouldn’t be around already.

Vi snorted. “Human blood and body parts.”

“And kittens,” Castle added. When he saw the look Vi shot him, he winced. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any kittens around - he was certain at least half the budget of the local animal shelters came from his account. Of course he had to donate when the other choice was to see a kitten a Slayer had just rescued put to sleep for lack of funds. Letting such a thing happen wouldn’t be conductive to his continued health. And if Alexis heard of it… he really should have played Kitten Poker before having a child. He still found the fact that so many demons liked to eat kittens that poker with live kittens as stakes had become a common pastime in demon bars incredibly amusing - in a completely sick way, of course.

He shook those unpleasant thoughts off and focused on slightly less unpleasant ones: How to crash a demon den. “I’ll think we’ll do it the ‘Buffy Way’, Vi,” he said, and her face lit up with a feral smile. She liked the straight forward and simple approach more than having multiple entry locations and scouting beforehand, also known as ‘the Xander Way’.

The Slayer got out of the car and strode towards the house. Castle followed, matching her stride but staying a few meters behind her. A homeless person sitting near the door watched them crossing the street. When they were about five meters away, the man opened his mouth to say something, but Vi cut him off with a throwing knife to the head. Castle saw the man’s skin change to mottled grey after he had collapsed, revealing his demon nature.

Vi took the stairs to the front door two at a time, then kicked it open with barely a pause. Castle heard rising voices in alien languages inside - alerted by the sound of splintering wood, no doubt.

A Polgara Demon, blood dripping from his mouth, roared as it stormed out of what had been the first floor’s apartment. From the smell of decay and rotten meat that hit Castle, it had been turned into a demon dinery. The monster stabbed at Vi with the skewers in its arms, but the redhead dropped to the ground in a textbook split. Castle had been waiting for that and shot the demon in the chest, driving it back and throwing it off-balance. Vi scissored her legs and swept the demon’s feet out from underneath it, sending it crashing to the floor, throwing up dust and worse dirt. Before it could recover she had cut its head off with a short sword.

The redhead was on her feet a split second later, and charged into the apartment. Castle aimed his gun at the stairs leading up to the second floor. A vampire with its game face on appeared, and caught his next slug with its head. The lead hurt the vampire long enough for Rick to slip in two Dragon’s Breath rounds into his gun. One of them filled the stairs with fire and set the demon ablaze. It wasn’t as effective as his flamethrower, but it did the job for vampires. That one flailed for a few seconds before turning to dust. More screams were heard from above and to his side, but Castle stayed at the door, glancing inside.

Vi didn’t seem to be having any trouble, she had taken out a Bug Demon and was fighting a Skilosh Demon. Castle didn’t see anyone else, and focused on the stairs again. Behind him he heard a horrible screech, and Vi gleefully yell “Don’t be like that, you’ve got two other eyes!” Another screech, and she laughed. “Make that one… and none!” A second after that, the monster’s screech was cut off. Literally, Castle realized, when a pale white skull rolled across the room.

“I got another Dragon’s Breath loaded,” Rick told Vi when she joined him at the door again. His Slayer nodded, and went up the stairs, followed by him.

On the second floor, a Skin-Eating Demon faced them, its troll-like face showing needle sharp teeth. “Watch the nails, it can paralyze you!” Castle shouted as Vi charged it.

“I know!” she yelled, indignantly, before parrying one of its swipes with her sword. The demon was almost as fast as Castle had heard, but Vi had more experience, and the narrow hallway wasn’t a good place to exploit its agility. The redhead managed to kick it in the ribs and slam it against the wall. Hissing, it tried to catch her in the shoulder with its nails, but she ducked, rolled over the floor, and came up next to it. The demon avoided her blade, but not the foot she hooked behind his feet, and stumbled. Vi caught one of its wrists before it could slash at her again, and cut its other hand off with her sword, before stabbing the now trapped demon to death with half a dozen blows.

“Ew. That’s another ruined jacket,” she complained, after realizing just how much of its blood had ended up on her.

A creaking sound from the third floor caught their attention, and Vi was on the stairs before Castle could react. He ran after her, cursing, but when he reached the top of the stairs, she had already caught her prey: An Ano-Movic demon trying to escape through the window with a makeshift rope.

The Slayer was holding up the battered demon against the wall, snarling. “He reeks of human blood!”

“I didn’t kill anyone! I just prepared the meat and blood I was given! Spare me!” the demon pleaded, sobbing.

Castle took a look at the blood-spattered white apron and shirt the demon was wearing and blinked. “Did we just catch a demon chef?”

Vi shook the demon, slamming its head against the wall a few times to shut its wailing up. “Looks like it. At least this one isn’t working in a diner.”

“I told you: Never eat at cheap, suspicious restaurants. Always go for the classy ones,” Castle shook his head. Vi really should have known better. Then he addressed their captive: “The moral and legal implications of your ‘work’ aside, we’re looking for a Mohra Demon. Someone referred him to you.”

“I haven’t seen any Mohra Demon! Please, let me go! They forced me to do this, I have debts, and there was no other cho..Ow!” Vi shook it again, bouncing the back of its head off the wall.

Castle took a look inside the rooms on that floor, spotting two huge bags of salt. “Tell me another one. If you don’t know any Mohra Demon, why do you have enough salt there to feed two of them?” It was expensive sea salt, at that. They were dealing with a gourmet demon!

The demon was whimpering, its human guise gone, as Vi tightened her grip on its arms.

Castle shook his head. “Cooking humans for demons. Lying to a Watcher and a Slayer. Covering for a murderer... it’s not looking good for you.”

The red-skinned demon started to wail again. Vi shut it up again. Neither Castle nor her liked demons involved in that kind of business. At all.

*****​

“Really wish we had backup,” Castle muttered to himself. Ambushing a Mohra Demon didn’t seem like a very smart idea. Ambushing it inside a demon diner only marginally improved it.

He heard a surprised shout from the basement, followed by Vi’s cheerful “Another fangface!”

Well, there were some advantages at least - that was the third demon they had caught while waiting for their prey. Apparently the new management of the diner, and its imminent destruction by fire, hadn’t made the rounds among the shadier part of New York’s demon population yet.

His smartphone rang with Beckett’s tone. “Yes?”

“Where are you, Castle?” She sounded more happy than annoyed, despite the brusque address.

“Checking out a new diner. Let me tell you, service here is terrible!”

“Ah. I just called to let you know we got a breakthrough - we tracked a money transfer from the victim’s husband to a debit card not in his possession, which was used to rent a car and buy a dozen kittens. We’re tracking the car now thanks to the rental agency’s beacon.” Now she sounded happy.

“Ah. That’s great,” Castle said. He sincerely hoped that the card belonged to Garcia’s lover or child out of wedlock, and not to the Mohra Demon. But he knew the late cook of this demon dinery had been expecting a delivery of a dozen kittens as part of the price for the salt.

“Are you OK, Castle? I would have expected a comment about a crazy cat lady murderer, at least, or ‘Kitten Poker’.” Now the detective sounded as if she suspected something. Maybe he shouldn't have used that game in his books.

“Yes, I am just a bit distracted by the ambience here. It’s a bit rowdy. Rough crowd, you know,” he added, a bit lamely.

Vi came up from the basement and pointed at the front door, then at her ears. He closed his eyes and cursed internally.

“Maybe you should leave that diner then,” Beckett stated, still in her interrogation voice. “Where are you, exactly?”

Before Castle could answer he heard the front door open, and what had to be a dozen kittens mewling.

“Are those kittens? Castle, where are you?” Beckett shouted.

“Oops, gotta go, Vi’s starting a fight!” Castle shouted, and turned his phone off just when a Mohra Demon carrying a basket full of kittens entered the hallway.

 

New York, June 2009

Richard Castle cursed, dropping his phone and raising his shotgun, but before he could shoot, he was hit by a basket full of mewling kittens and stumbled back two steps. Vi drew her pistol, but didn’t manage to get more than one shot off - which missed the jewel in the monster’s forehead - before she had to defend herself in melee against the demon’s sword.

Castle threw the basket to the side, prompting the little beasts to yowl in protest, and aimed his shotgun, but he couldn’t shoot without endangering Vi. The Slayer was getting driven back by the powerful blows of the demon, and Castle saw to his dismay that the sword was cutting through walls with ease - definitely enchanted. Vi was deflecting and redirecting the blows, but it was only a question of time until she either mistimed her parry, or her sword got shattered.

“Down!” Rick shouted, and pulled the trigger right after Vi had dropped to the floor. His slug hit the demon’s chest and made it stagger, and his Slayer used the opportunity to kneecap it with two shots from her Glock. That wouldn’t take the killer long to regenerate from, though. Vi rolled to the side and shoot at its head, but the demon shielded its face and jewel with its arms. Castle hit it again with another slug, but off-center - blood and bones splattered on the wall behind it, and the Mohra Demon howled, but the jewel was still intact.

Still shielding its forehead, it blindly struck out with its sword, and Vi had to duck again - only to get caught with the backswing in the shoulder. She dropped her pistol with a yell of pain, and her arm started to bleed heavily. Before the monster could strike another blow, Castle shot it again, driving it back a step, and Vi used the opportunity to get up and into a defensive stance.

Castle slipped a Dragon’s Breath round in his shotgun and fired, followed by another slug, and the demon was set ablaze and knocked down while Vi scrambled past him into the first floor’s apartment. He wanted to curse at her when she grabbed the basket of yowling kittens, almost dropping her sword in the process, but he was too busy slamming the door shut.

Then it was his turn to cry out in pain when the demon’s sword went through the door as if it wasn’t there and sliced his side open. If he hadn’t been moving away already he would have been run through. He shot twice through the door, hopefully hitting the demon, and fell back towards the window, where Vi was headed.

“Throw them out!” he shouted, and for a moment the Slayer was hesitating, glaring at him as if he was the monster here, but then she complied, and the kittens went out of the window, mewling in panic. Castle was hot on his Slayer’s heels, or as hot as he could be while bleeding and hurting, and managed to load another incendiary round into his shotgun while Vi climbed up on the windowsill.

The Monster broke through the door, bleeding from another hole in its chest. It didn’t stop when it saw the drums of chemicals Castle and Vi had prepared to fake a meth lab explosion, so it probably wasn’t as well integrated into the modern world as Castle had thought when he heard of it using debit cards and renting cars. Or maybe it was simply caught up in bloodlust.

Rick aimed his shotgun at an open drum with one hand and held his side with the other. He was about to utter a classic line straight from ‘Predator’ when he felt Vi grip his collar and heard her yell: “Just shoot already!”

So he did. His shotgun spat fire and Vi yanked him up and out of the window, wrapping herself around him while the room blew up and flames shot out of the windows, no matter if they had been boarded up or not. The sudden movement and the recoil almost caused him to lose his grip on his gun, but somehow he managed to keep it - until they landed on the street, hard.

Both Slayer and Watcher cried out when the rolled over the sidewalk, until they came to a stop in a tangled mess of limbs against the wreck of car, bleeding over each other. Behind them the building started to burn.

“That won’t kill it,” Vi stated while she got up. Despite her wounds and a useless, bleeding arm, the redhead was still moving gracefully.

Castle managed to sit up, coughing and spitting out some blood from where he had bitten his cheek on impact. “No, but it’ll come close for a while.” When Vi started towards the house, he yelled “Stop! You’re wounded!”

She turned towards him, probably to say something about how she could still fight. Slayers were generally stubborn like that, worrying more about torn clothes and ruined shoes than torn flesh, and Vi was no exception. Before she could claim she was fine, a body flew out of the house and landed on the street. It was the Mohra Demon.

It looked like hell. Its clothes were burning, bone was visible on several spots on its skull, and what skin Castle could see was blackened and shriveled. But it was still moving. Towards them. And it still had its sword.

But it was slower now, much slower. And not as graceful - even for a demon it was hard to move with half its muscles burned off, Castle guessed. He was struggling to get up himself but his body was hurting all over, and his side...

Vi snarled and hefted her sword, her left arm still hanging down uselessly, and met the demon’s attack. Castle, panting, could see it was a more even fight now - but the demon was visibly healing and Vi was not. Slayer healing was good, but not even close to the regeneration Mohra Demons had. They had to beat this monster now.

“Get clear!” he shouted, and Vio dove to the side. He fired, aiming low, at the demon’s feet. His first shot missed, but Vi was clear now, and he racked another round into the chamber, yelling and cursing at the pain that caused to his side, and fired again. That one hit, and the monster went down, screaming with a mangled foot. He fired again, and again, until his whole side was covered with blood and the monster’s feet had been turned into hamburger. Probably - it was getting hard to see what exactly he was shooting at.

Suddenly someone - Vi - ripped the gun out of his hands. He protested, but she was already turning away, aiming. Two more shots rang out, causing it to stop thrashing around. A short pause, then a third and fourth followed.

He was still blinking when Vi returned to his side. “I got the jewel then blew its head off. If we get the right coroner, we can cover… Rick!” She rushed to his side.

“Throw it into the house… we’ll think of a story later…” Perlmutter could handle a burned demon corpse… couldn’t he? It was hard to concentrate with his side hurting like that.

Then he heard sirens, coming closer. Vi pushed his jacket back to check his side. He yelled in pain again when she touched his wound. Nearby, tires squealed - someone was braking hard.

“Castle! What the… oh my god! We need an ambulance!” A short pause. “Two ambulances!” Beckett really had a nice voice, even when she was shouting and under stress.

“Keep the pressure on it, I’ll get the kit from our car!” Vi yelled.

“What? You need help too!” Beckett had to be gaping, Castle thought. It was her first time with a wounded Slayer doing the Terminator routine. “Esposito! Ryan! Don’t stare at the flames, we need help here!”

“It’s just a flesh wound!” Vi claimed, and was already halfway to the Shelby.

Castle laughed - she finally said it! - then grimaced at the pain that caused.

“Hold still you damn fool!” Beckett all but screamed at him.

“I am not moving, just breathing,” he responded, hissing through his clenched teeth. Maybe he should start carrying some pain killers with him… but the kind he’d need would lead to trouble if he was arrested, or searched. Another thought hit him. “Are the kittens alright?”

Beckett stared at him. “What?”

“My family would kill me if anything had happened to the kittens,” Castle explained.

The detective was laughing incredulously and shaking her head. “I think you’ll live if you can worry about cats.”

“You haven’t met my family yet,” Castle retorted. “You’d worry about them too, if you had.”

*****​

“That was absolutely foolhardy! You almost died! You almost got Vi killed!”

Furious Beckett hadn’t a nice voice at all, Castle decided. And no manners - he was a patient in a hospital. He should be treated with more care!

“It was just a minor flesh wound,” Vi, leaning against the wall, cut in. “Didn’t even scar, see?”

“What? You were bleeding all over the street!” Beckett stared at the Slayer’s arm, which had just a faint line left.

Figures, he thought - he had a dozen stitches and what felt like a gallon of blood and plasma poured into his veins, and the detective was fussing over the girl with supernatural healing. Males always got the short end of the stick.

Apparently, the redhead was convincing enough for Beckett to believe her, and the detective turned back to him. “What possessed you to try and catch the killer by yourself? How did you even find him?”

“We didn’t find him, he found us. We had visited Ray to ask about swords, and heard of a sword a guy was trying to pawn off online. Ray said it had looked like an antique, but he wasn’t about to check personally in that area. We were discussing the price with the druggie when the masked madman walked in. That set the meth head off, and in the ensuing firefight, someone must have shot through the door into what I think was a meth lab, and boom went the building. We managed to get out, but got cut up in the process. That guy was crazy, stabbing and slashing everywhere,” Castle smiled weakly and tried to sound as honest as he could. The coroner’s reports should cover them - as long as no one looked at the corpses and other evidence before it got disposed of - or replaced. And they didn’t even have to fake some evidence - the financial trail had been enough to make the husband confess.

Beckett stared at him, her mouth forming a thin line. “I see. You were very lucky.” Doubt was dripping from her words.

Castle nodded. “I’ll promise, I won’t do that again.” Next time he’d do it differently. He didn’t add ‘mom’, but judging from her expression, she suspected he had thought it.

The detective shook her head and scoffed, and Castle just knew this wasn’t over yet.

He was really dreading her visit to his home now.

 

New York, July 2009

Detective Kate Beckett stared at the wall in her apartment covered by notes and pictures - her own private ‘Murder Wall’. The difference was that it didn’t show the facts of a murder case, but all the information she knew about Richard ‘Rick’ Castle, bestselling author, playboy and amateur detective. It could have been a murder wall though. Not because she hadn’t felt like shooting Castle more than once since she had met him a few months ago. In the leg, of course. Or maybe in his butt. Maybe then he’d stop being a pain in hers. No, it could have been a murder wall because Castle had almost been killed during her last case. And the circumstances that had led to his hospitalisation had been the reason for this collection. The man was hiding something, something that endangered himself, and others.

She pressed her lips together and studied the clues pinned to the wall. Too much simply didn’t add up.

According to his biography, copied and pinned there on the left side, Castle, still using his original name of Rodgers, had moved from New York to London in 1989, to continue his studies. Though once there, he had changed his majors from English and History to Ancient Languages and Folklore. That explained his use of Sumeran and Etruscan languages in his books.

She glanced at the copy of ‘The Vampire Hunter’ on her sideboard. Once it had been one of her greatest treasures. Signed by her favorite author when she had been twelve. Now… well, he still was her favorite author. The man could write! He just wasn’t her favorite person. Too arrogant, too meddling, too attractive. Too rich too. He was charming - very charming, she could admit it to herself at least, even Lanie liked him - but if he wasn’t involved in something shady, she’d eat her badge back.

Beckett looked at the picture. A pretty redheaded woman, conservatively dressed.

Castle had worked as a librarian and married an English co-worker of his in 1993 - Mary Wilkinson. She had looked into the background of the woman a bit - Mary came from an old family, old money. That must have been quite a feat for an aspiring American writer, but as she could attest from personal experience, the man was very charming when he wasn’t driving Beckett up a wall with his delusional theories. Though the fact that his daughter was born five months after the wedding had probably helped a lot.

She looked at the picture of a redheaded little girl smiling into the camera and holding up a ‘Winner of the spelling bee’ sign.

Alexis Castle. After his divorce in 1999, Richard got got custody of his daughter, or as he used to joke, she got custody of him. An adorable girl, as far as she could tell. Charming too - Beckett had not even thought about refusing her invitation when she had called her on the phone.

Beckett smiled at the memory, then grew serious again. She looked at the picture of a middle-aged woman. Martha Rodgers, actress and mother of Castle. Castle claimed Martha was even more irresponsible than he was, but Beckett couldn’t really imagine that. as a single mother, with the father unknown, she probably had gone through a lot. Especially with Castle as a child.

Castle returned to New York in 1999 and moved in with his mother. A brief second marriage to his agent followed. It was a rebound relationship, Beckett guessed, with a spectacular divorce. It had some effects on Castle though - in the following years he started to rack up quite a paper trail with law enforcement. Six arrests in six years, but no convictions. Something one would expect of a rebellious youth, not a bestselling author and single father.

The detective frowned. Here was where it got suspicious.

The police files were sealed, which was unusual, but not too unusual for a rich, prominent friend of the Mayor. But she had spoken with some of the cops who had investigated those incidents. The arrests had been too cleanly cleared. Two cases they had been related to had all been solved, neatly. Nothing to implicate Castle, despite the pressure from above indicating something had to have been amiss.

Just like her last case. She looked at the pictures and notes pinned to the right edge of her wall.

Castle and his trophy bodyguard had been found, both wounded, in front of a burning house next to the car of a killer while carrying several weapons, including a pump-action shotgun and a pistol. That would have been enough to arrest them, at least as soon as the hospital cleared them, but by then the case had been solved. Perlmutter had been working overtime, and finished his report in record time. The killer they had been hunting had died in the burning house, just as Castle and O’Malley had claimed. Beckett had seen the pictures herself. His blade had been matched to the wounds too.

And yet she couldn’t help asking herself: Why then had Castle lied to her on the phone, claiming he was in a diner with a rough crowd? It made no sense, unless he had not wanted her to find him. And while she’d believe he’d do that to catch the killer himself, he had not tried to take the spotlight in the cases before, despite the opportunity to do so. So, what had he been thinking?

She looked at the copies of the concealed carry permits she had pinned under the picture of the burning house.

It was obvious that he had friends in very high places, not just the Mayor. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten those for himself and his redhead. And, even more suspicious, he was used to dangerous situations. Other than slipping into a British accent at times, he was cool under fire, and yet tried to hide it. She would have expected him to try to play it up, impress her with heroics, not downplay it. That was why he made up those delusional theories too, she was certain - to make him appear eccentric, harmless. And why his ‘not girlfriend’ acted like a bimbo at times.

The detective stared at the picture of a redheaded girl in a leather jacket and pants - what was it with Castle and redheads? - posing for the camera with a smirk.

Violet ‘Vi’ O’Malley. A ‘friend of the family’ who had been living next to Castle since she had moved to New York six years ago - at the age of 17. The implications of such a setup were disgusting; the girl was almost young enough to be his daughter. And yet they didn’t feel like lovers, not even former lovers to her. But why else would a girl her age move in with a rich older man? Beckett would suspect a troubled home situation, but she hadn’t found O’Malley’s files.

She stared at the notes below the picture. Arrest records, as an adult. Several times, almost as often as Castle. Once together with him - and that the newspapers hadn’t picked that up was a miracle. Also no convictions. No surprise, given how protective Castle was of her, even if he tried not to let it show. The oddities didn’t stop there though. The girl was a maniac behind the wheel of a car, but drove as well, or better, than a professional race car driver, at least in Beckett’s impression. She was also the best shot the detective had ever seen, and an expert in hand to hand combat. Good with, or at least very fond of, swords too. Javier was head over heels into her, he loved dangerous women, and the redhead was a dream come true. So far she hadn’t returned his obvious advances, even though she had been flirting heavily with both him and Kevin.

Beckett rubbed her throat, the spot the girl had almost touched with her blade that time. Vi was quite cheeky too. Almost as annoying as Castle, just in a different way. How had the two met? Castle had mentioned a camping trip in California. But why would he have been a chaperone? Where was the connection? Who was that colleague of his who had been a chaperone as well?

Kate took a step back and looked at the entire wall. She knew she hadn’t the full picture, but what she had wasn’t painting a pretty picture. Whatever Castle was involved with, it was dangerous. And, if not illegal, then at least secret. If the idea wasn’t ridiculous, she’d assume Castle was a secret agent, with Vi his leather-wearing ass-kicking partner. Like in ‘The Avengers’. The British TV series, not the Marvel one. Castle even could do the British accent. Although… Vi would fit as Widow, and there was an obnoxious, rich, charming womanizing bastard in that series as well.

Kate checked her watch. It was almost time to leave, unless she wanted to be late for her invitation for dinner with the Castle family. She checked herself in the mirror one last time. The cocktail dress looked very nice, if she did say so herself. She might even be a bit overdressed for the occasion. But if she was going to dine with a rich bestselling author she might find attractive if he wasn’t involved in shady things and too reckless for his own good, then she certainly wouldn’t be shown up by his ‘not-girlfriend’!