There's something about approaching a new crime scene that always makes her heart rate speed up; the anticipation of what she's about to embark on, the complexity of the next case, the imminent reflection of what people can do to one another.

Beckett parks her Charger in one of the empty spaces in front of the diner; it's an old place, one of those that often remind her of times when things were simpler, filled with mementos from the fifties, good ol' American burgers and fries and the staple waitress that uses too much hairspray for her own good.

"You think it would be too much to ask if I tried to get them to make me a loaded grilled cheese?" Castle tries to lighten the mood while they cross the police tape that restricts the access to the crime scene. She rolls her eyes at him but only because she's also starving. He rolls his eyes back at her, humorously. "You never know…"

"I'd settle for coffee, Castle." She'd also rather be back in his loft, buried under the heavy goose down comforter and letting him embrace her until sleeps finds her. No such luck tonight. Lanie kneels by one of the bodies; a woman in her late forties, she is dressed demurely, the fabric of her blouse is a floral pattern that contrasts with the blood that splattered from the gunshot to her head.

"This is Mrs. Jane Van de Kamp, forty nine years old." Esposito introduces the victim, while Beckett and Castle get their bearings. CSU has already taken over, dusting the surfaces and taking pictures of the scene; uniformed officers help Ryan and Karpowski take statements from the witnesses. Javier points to the other body that lays face down at the end of the row of booths. "Her and her late husband over there, Mr. George Van de Kamp, were travelling all the way from Wyoming with their ten year old son."

"What happened?" Kate focuses on the woman; her expression is frozen in surprise, cloudy brown eyes, chesnut hair peppered with grey, the strands mused in disarray.

"I'd say that by the size of the wound it was a nine millimeter," Lanie says, beginning her assessment of the victim, "she died instantly. Her husband was shot in the back, probably trying to escape and protect the kid. By the location of the entry wound, I'd say that the bullet hit the heart. He didn't stand a chance."

"What about their son?" Castle asks, concerned, his fatherly nature always on the surface when it came to cases like these.

"The owner of the diner took him and they hid in the freezer," Esposito explains, pointing at the old man being questioned by Ryan, "It was just so lucky that Karpowski was here. She had ended her shift and was picking up some dinner on her way home."

The female detective joins them, nursing a coffee, looking a little shaken and giving a silent nod to her colleagues.

"That was one hell of a scare," Karpowski comments, rolling her neck and looking at the aftermath of the shooting.

"Did you see the shooter?" Kate asks the woman but she shakes her head.

"I did, but it won't be really useful," the female detective continues, ushering them to the place where she was standing at the time of the shooting, "I took out my gun the minute I heard the first scream from one of the patrons who saw the mother fall with the first shot. The father took the kid and they rushed towards me when the next shots occurred. They were shooting from a black SUV; the guy had a black ski mask, and he was good – as in government-trained good, 'cause the shots followed Mr. Van de Kamp with precision, until he fell."

They walk the trajectory of the story, paying attention to the couple of extra shots that had failed to hit their target.

"I fired back at the SUV, I know I hit him, because no more shots were fired from that direction, but then a second perp came through the door. I don't think they were expecting me." Kate exchanges confused looks with her. This doesn't make any sense.

"What's the point of all this?" Castle sounds surprised and she knows that he has all the reasons to be. A dark SUV that screams hired assassins doesn't match the victims.

"Beats me, man." Karpowski responds, at a loss for better words, "I just know that I gotta thank this place for having just the one door. I think the guy saw that he had no chance going through this narrow path and me; I had my piece trained on him. If he planed to kill the kid, he'd have to be faster than me pulling the trigger."

"Did you shoot at him?" Beckett asks, picturing the situation as she hears the story.

"I did, but he was definitely wearing a vest, I shot him straight on the chest." Castle trades looks with Karpowski, she's as impressed as he is at this situation. "He recoiled, reconsidered and ran out back to the truck, skidding fast on the slush out front."

Esposito and Ryan have joined their huddle by the end of the bar, listening to their colleague's recollection.

"So it seems like late Mr. Van De Kamp was a farmer, according to a couple of cards from some associations back in Wyoming…" Javier informs, showing them the bagged contents of the Man's wallet and documents, "and the Mrs… well she only has family pictures in her wallet, some over–the-counter pain killers; nothing that screams anything suspicious."

"But… now we know what these folks were doing here." Ryan interjects, "the Van de Kamps were on their way to JFK. They were leaving on the red eye; final destination: Morocco."

Ryan hands Beckett the plane tickets and passports. "They were stashed in their car; the '91 Jeep Wagoneer is loaded with a couple of suitcases, canned food and camping equipment."

"Morocco? Camping equipment?" Castle asks, surprised. "What kind of character would make sense with these details?"

"Well, you're the writer, bro." Esposito points out, joining in with his frustration.

"Organic farmers turned nomads, escaping… assassins hired by… the food industry?" Castle makes an effort to come up with a theory, but his expression matches Beckett's; not even he can believe in that scenario.

"They were after the kid." Kate states, sure of herself, solemn. "That's the only explanation."

"How do you gather?" Karpowski is curious. Kate walks to the booth, looking at the leftovers of what had been their meal; a couple of meatloaf entrees and a bowl of mac & cheese rest on the table, showered with shards of glass and drops of blood. And a drawing, lying lonely on top of a child sized jacket. She takes it, the crayon strokes building a pattern in different colors, an abstract combination of shapes and lines.

"Why risk coming in here?" Beckett responds, sober and grave, still examining the lines on the piece of paper. "If they were so good, they knew that they had killed the parents already. Either they wanted to take the kid with them, or it was really important to finish him as well."

The magnitude of her statement weighs heavy on her partners; she can tell that her theory fits a level of malice that they might not want to face right now, in the middle of the Christmas season, when everyone should be filled with joy and happiness.

"Well, Happy Holidays to you too, Beckett." Karpowski says, her sarcasm trying to make light of the gravity of her statement.

"How's the kid doing?" Castle asks.

"Surprisingly calm." Esposito responds, "Hastings is with him back in the kitchen, he had a couple of scratches but the paramedics already took care of it."

Castle trades a look with Beckett. She knows that look, the silent question behind it, 'Are you ready for this?' She'll always be, but then again, she never is. She'll have to tell another child that he's parentless, and she knows how that feels.

William Van de Kamp sits on a stool while Officer Hastings keeps vigil right next to him, giving a sad smile to Beckett and Castle as they approach. The boy sports a blank expression, his blue eyes focused on the grimy floor of the kitchen. The messy strands of his light brown hair frame his face, a little longer than your regular boyish hairstyle, making him look different, interesting. He has a bandage on his forehead and one on his left hand that cradles a steamy cup of hot chocolate.

He doesn't react to them. Kate takes a deep breath as she eyes Castle; she might need him for this.

"Hey William, this is Detective Beckett, a friend of mine," Hastings tries to ease the kid to their presence, "and Mr. Castle. He's a writer, a very good one."

Both Castle and Beckett share sympathetic smiles with the officer and the boy. He lifts his gaze in their direction; he looks tired, and Kate can see what are clearly tear-stained cheeks. He's scared, but he's braving it out.

"Hi, William," she says, extending her hand to him for a shake. He responds, politely, without uttering a word, making eye contact and holding her gaze.

"Hello." His voice is small and brings another level of reality to this situation. Castle extends his hand as well and the boy shakes it with strength he didn't expect.

"How are you feeling? How's the head?" Castle asks, trying to bond with the boy.

"I'm ok. Doesn't hurt." William says, shrugging his shoulders.

"Look, William," Kate begins, carefully. "Would it be okay if we talked to you for a little bit?"

"They're dead, right?" The kid's question comes more like a statement than a legitimate query. Resigned. Tired. What has this kid seen that he reacts to this situation like that?

"Yes." Kate confirms; honesty might be the best way with him. He might be more mature than they assessed, maybe a product of a lifestyle that isn't quite the peaceful picture of a countryside farm. "Do you think that you're up for a ride to our precinct? Have a little conversation with us? It definitely smells better than this place. We'll have Officer Hastings bring your things to us."

The kid bites his lip, considering her offer, his eyes darting between her and Castle. His stare is deep, he's examining them, and Kate wonders if he's evaluating how much he can trust these strangers that now seem to have control over his fate. His next question though, catches her off guard.

"Can you turn around and show me your neck?" He's dead serious and Castle throws her a confused look. She signals her partner to humor the kid and turns around, taking off her scarf and swiping her hair out of the way.

William gives his cup to Hastings and climbs on top of the stool; she nervously reaches out to him but he dismisses her, the kid can do it on his own. He carefully pushes Kate's shirt collar down, placing the flat of his hand on her skin. His touch is gentle but with purpose, pushing on the fine bones of the back of her neck. She doesn't understand what he's doing but she needs to connect with this kid if they want him to trust them.

He pulls back and fixes her collar, directing his attention now to Castle, who has been witnessing this exchange. He follows Kate's lead and does the same, letting the kid examine him.

After a few seconds of careful examination, William lets go of the writer's neck and climbs down off the stool, grabbing the hot chocolate from Hastings' hands. Castle and Beckett are a little rattled by the boy's demeanor, 'this must be some sort of coping mechanism,' she thinks as she readjusts the scarf around her neck.

"I'm going to need my jacket," William points out to Beckett, business like in tone and shifting his attention to his drink.

"Yes, you are," Kate responds looking at Castle. He's sporting the same question in his eyes.

What have they gotten themselves into?

A/N: I have to admit I'm having way too much fun writing this one and disregarding a couple of other stories I have in progress, so DancingDragon42 I hope you enjoy it. Quite a few parts to be posted, the first 4 are ready to go, so I'll have you covered for the rest of the month AT LEAST!

I hope you guys like this, I'd love to hear some reviews for sure. X-Files is my absolute first love, Castle is like my affair, so I also hope I do this justice. This won't be family fic, sorry guys, I can read those, I can't write those.

Thanks to Ky & Tiff who have been my betas. Ky is the Hitler of commas and stuff, so thank her for good grammar LOL