A/N:Well hello there. It's been SUCH a long time, I know. But trust me, I was there, reading, writing, lurking, always having fanfics on my mind. Life happened though and although I started this story somewhere around February, I only now got to start posting it. The story is a multichapter and it's in my typical sucker-for-angst-and-drama territory. It takes place somewhere in season 5 or later, definitely after always, and it's been inspired by an awesome Youtube vid that wouldn't leave me alone once watching, so definitely go check it out on Youtube under the title:

castle & beckett - it's like you're screaming but no one can hear... [AU with Half0utLoud] - By pe4alhar

Acknowledgments: This story was inspired by a brilliant AU Castle/Beckett video by Half0utLoud and pe4alhar. Thank you for the wonderful inspiration as well as the permission to turn your awesome vid into a fic!

I want to thank my two wonderful betas, Nik and ebfiddler, for their wonderful help, ideas and support throughout writing this story. Nik, without you, I would probably never get the story finished. Ebfiddler, without you, I probably wouldn't be able to publish the story in a normal time. So THANK YOU both, girls.

Warnings:This story is dark and angsty and has an overall rating of T, and I think that's correct throughout the whole story. But there will be a couple of chapters that may go over the regular T and up until M, all due to strong language and heavy graphic violence. I will mark any chapter that I will find "M-ish" in content, so you will know in advance. So far we are safe though, estimating that we will dive into those particularly murky waters around chapter 8. Don't worry though, I think nothing in this story will reach out beyond what we already say on the show itself.

It's like you're screaming by Leuska

Chapter 1

"So I'm behind the couch, and my legs are completely numb from crouching there for what must have been half the evening, waiting on Alexis to come home so I can get her back – you know, for last week – and all of a sudden, my mother waltzes in, blabbering all about her new batch of students at the drama school. So I try to explain, you know, get her out of the way. But before I can do that, Alexis gets home! And I'm just standing there, right out in the open! Which completely ruined my ambush!" His lips pull into a pout as he finishes his woeful account of the previous night, obviously still very upset that his brilliant, fool-proof plan of attack was so handily foiled by his own mother.

Beckett shakes her head as she slams shut the driver's side door of her cruiser, unsuccessfully trying to hide her amusement as she walks around the car to join him on the sidewalk. "Jeez, Castle, you are such a child sometimes. Scaring your own daughter like that just to get her back for whipping your ass at laser tag last week?" She shoots him a disbelieving look as they reach the driveway of the house they're headed for. "What are you, twelve?" There are no vehicles in the driveway, she notes as they walk towards the front porch. If the place is empty, they might have made the trip out here for nothing.

"She started it first!" he protests indignantly, his fancy shoes causing the old floorboards to squeak as they move up the steps. "We agreed – no more slippery traps in the house. Especially after I broke my knee. She's the one who broke the rules! She had to pay!"

Kate merely shakes her head again, doesn't comment further. What would be the point? Instead, she throws a wry glance over her shoulder at Castle, eyebrows raised. He just shrugs back at her, a boyish grin playing over his features. "Don't worry – it's far from over. I'll get her back somehow."

A chuckle escapes her, completely unbidden, and Castle's smile widens at the sound, his eyebrows waggling up and down. She has to stifle her laugh in order to finally concentrate on her job, rather than the ridiculously adorable man at her side.

Giving a final shake of her head at his antics, Kate returns her focus to the house. Curling her fingers into a fist, she raises her hand and attempts a solid knock, but the old wooden door recedes under the pressure of her knuckles, swinging open with a distinctive squeak of its un-oiled hinges, leaving a dark, yawning gap between its unkempt edge and the peeling doorframe.

Instantly, the mirth leaves her, all her senses sharpening immediately in the well-trained vigilance of a cop. She crouches slightly and draws her gun, gesturing for Castle to stay quiet. She pushes at the door again, this time with more force and prudence, widening the gap. No sounds come from within the house, so she carefully steps inside, still keeping as silent as possible.

The sight which greets her clues her in that this won't be the Q and A interview they were anticipating. The house is almost completely empty, shreds of old paper hanging from the walls. It's uninhabited and abandoned, probably has been for a fair amount of time. There are layers of dust covering both the floor and the once-white sheets which are draped haphazardly over the few remaining pieces of furniture. The space is otherwise bare, minus some medium-size boxes and a few large, wooden crates lying in one corner.

And yet, Beckett notes with both dismay and a strong feeling of foreboding curling tight in her gut, the house must have been visited recently. For one thing, the air inside is fresh – not stale or musty as one might expect upon entering an abandoned structure. Secondly, neither the boxes nor the crates in the corner are dusty, implying that they're a new addition to the environment. And the third, final, and most glaring piece of evidence is that there are numerous, clearly defined shoe prints running the length of the dust-covered floor.

Whether Kevin Warner actually lives here or not, Beckett can't tell, but one thing is certain: this is definitely not the regular home in a slightly rundown suburban neighborhood that they were expecting to find today. And from the looks of things – based on the unlocked door, the new crates lying around and Beckett's basic gut instinct – whatever purpose the house is being used for, it's not entirely legal.

She signals for Castle to keep behind her as she moves further into the house, momentarily wishing that they were both wearing their Kevlar vests, which are currently lying completely useless in the trunk of her car.

She curses silently, her eyes sharply scanning the room, assessing all of its possible entries and exits. She quickly considers but then rejects the option to call for backup. If their suspect is indeed here, that might just spook him into bolting before they could do anything to stop him. She also doesn't like the idea of lowering her gun and splitting her focus while she radios in. So she remains silent, but still pauses for a moment, listening, Castle's hot, heavy breath ghosting gently over the back of her neck.

The main room opens up into a wider space with an adjacent kitchen, divided by a bar on the right, while a corridor on the left leads further into the house, adorned with two or three doors which she assumes lead to bedrooms. Her gun trained in front of her, she sweeps the space with her eyes, searching for any sign of movement.

A heavy thud interrupts the silence, followed by the low sound of distant cursing. Her heartbeat quickens, her grip on her gun tightening imperceptibly. She was right – they're not alone.

She shoots a warning look at Castle, just for good measure, signaling for him to stay put while she goes to investigate the source of the noises. He seems to have grasped the seriousness of the situation, because he gives her a single, grim nod, his features radiating wariness.

Good.

Sounds continue to echo down the hall, apparently emanating from one of the rooms at the very back of the corridor. The noises interrupt the heavy stillness of the house, and she cocks her head to the side, expression intent, brow furrowed. It sounds like metal being dragged over a wooden floor, accompanied by heavy footsteps and labored breathing.

Kate carefully walks across the room and down the hall, slowly closing in on the door, inch by inch, the impact of her heels on the beams beneath her feet nearly inaudible in the wide-open space. It's a skill that she knows Castle still finds utterly fascinating, and despite the graveness of the situation, she can't help a tiny smirk from spreading across her face.

The door is just slightly ajar, the sounds becoming louder and clearer with each step she takes. She can see the outline of a man in the thin ray of light. He's got the approximate height and stature of their suspect – it could be him, but she can't be sure. She's nearly at the door now, the barrel of her gun level with the jamb. He has his back turned toward her, clearly intent on his work as he shuffles a few boxes and other indistinct objects from one wooden crate to another. She pushes one foot into the room, easing herself further inside, one inch and then two, her free hand carefully pushing at the door to widen the gap as she slides forward. She has both her eyes and her gun trained steadily on the man's back. It's their suspect, Beckett's sure of that now. Suddenly a glint from the window in the corner catches her eye and her focus zeroes in on it, her breath hitching in her throat when her mind registers what she's seeing. There on a wooden crate in the corner rests a sniper's rifle.

She freezes at the terrifyingly familiar sight, just for the barest fraction of a second. But that fraction of a second is too long.

The attack comes so abruptly that she doesn't even have the chance to recoil, or form any kind of shield to protect herself. The force of the impact slams her back into the doorjamb, and the door itself follows rapidly in her wake, its edge crashing into her chest with brutal force, pinning her between the opposing planes of wood. Her attacker presses his advantage, throwing his full weight against his hastily improvised and highly effective weapon, and excruciating pain flares throughout her body as the hard edge of the door compresses her sternum even further, digging deeper into her skin and wrenching the air from her lungs in a jagged, painful cry.

She gasps rapidly but can't seem to draw breath. The harsh rasps of her attacker mock her, echoing in her ears as he exponentially increases the pressure of the door, depriving her of the oxygen he's so greedily sucking down himself. She can't move, can't think; shit, she needs air. She's still clinging to her gun somehow, but she's so tempted to drop it, let it slip away in favor of getting this damn door off of her, of getting just one, single, glorious breath. But in that separate, analytical part of her mind, the one that's still functioning – that's always functioning – she knows she can't do that, can't afford to lose her weapon, even if it's helping her not at all in this particular moment.

So she settles for just one hand rather than two, retaining her gun in her right as her left rises swiftly to the door. Her palm slaps the wood, fingers scrabbling frantically for purchase, desperate to push back, to keep her from being split in half, to buy her some room, both literally and figuratively. God, she needs to breathe. But this guy's got at least 100 pounds on her, and her efforts aren't enough. Her muscles strain ineffectually as her lungs burn from a lack of oxygen, the pressure against her chest unbearable. Her vision starts to blur, fuzzing around the edges. Her fingers slacken on her gun. God, she can't black out – Castle's here, too…

And then before she knows it, the door's flying open again, a pair of strong, rough hands pulling her fully inside the room and then whipping her around with a jerk. She sails through the air like a ragdoll, and before she can even appreciate the fact that her lungs are once again working, she slams back-first into the side of a large, wooden crate. Her head hits the edge of it and she hears her own skull crack loudly upon impact, lights and stars bursting immediately behind her eyelids. The sharpness of the pain is blinding, forcing everything else out, but that focused, analytical part of her mind still manages to register the distinctive sound of a steel-toed boot kick, followed by the metallic clattering of a gun as it skitters across the floor. Her gun.

Fuck.

She grits her teeth and squares her jaw, forcing her eyes to open, to seek out her attacker. The man is there, standing right in front of her, with a gun pointed directly at her face. Her eyes hold his, cutting away for only a fraction of a second to seek out her own piece. His gaze follow hers into the dark corner where it lies and a grin spreads across his bearded face.

"Don't even think about it, sweetheart."

And fuck, she knows it's hopeless, knows that there is absolutely nothing she can do. Still, she thinks hard about how to get out of this, how to take this man down, weighing all of her options in lightning-quick succession.

And then a crash comes from outside in the corridor, the sounds of a scuffle, cursing and heavy breathing and a boyish yelp, and her eyes go huge.

Castle.

There's a cry of pain, something heavy hitting the ground, then silence. Her chest fills with dread. The hand not cradling her skull shoots out instantly towards her attacker in an appeasing gesture, palm spread wide in front of her.

"You don't need to do this, Warner," she says evenly, despite her insides trembling with fear.

Their suspect grins, cocking his head to one side. "Earl?" he calls into the corridor, his eyes and gun never leaving Beckett. "I've got us an intruder."

"No shit! I got one of my own. Nasty bastard, caught me in the nose before I could-"

"Kate!" Castle's voice slices through the room, hoarse and desperate. Another thud against the wall, heavier this time, followed by a crunching noise and another anguished howl of pain and anger.

No! God, Castle, just shut up!

From just a single glance at her attacker, she knows that these aren't the kinds of perps they're used to dealing with. No, these guys are bigger and meaner and colder, and whatever kind of business they're into goes deeper. She has absolutely no doubt that they're more than capable and very willing to inflict serious harm if it serves their purpose to do so.

"Kevin," she starts anew, addressing Warner by his first name, "We just want to talk."

A malicious glint appears in his eye. "Okay. Then tell me who the fuck you people are and what the hell you're doing in my house?"

Right. It's time to come clean. "I'm detective Kate Beckett from the NYPD, and I'm here to-"

"You're fucking what?" he shouts suddenly, something dangerous appearing in his eyes.

"The fucking cops!?" she hears from the hallway. The other man – Earl – seems just as upset, his voice acquiring a distinctively fearsome quality.

"Listen," Kate starts anew, "we just want to talk, alright? Nobody needs to get hurt."

But even she can feel her calmness quickly slipping away. This is a situation even Castle won't be able to sweet-talk them out of. These guys aren't simple robbers caught in the act of going through their loot. No, there's something else happening here, another kind of operation that she and Castle have managed to wander right into the middle of. A brief look at the contents of the crates only confirms her suspicions. Damn it. They're loaded with guns. And not just any kinds of guns either. These are military-issue assault rifles – M14s, M16s, even a few M82 army sniper rifles. Active service weapons, not obsolete pieces or out-of-commission models. This goes beyond simple black market weapons racketeering. This is huge.

"Talk? You'll sure as hell talk, sweetheart!" Warner spits out, the sudden anger in his voice sending a chill up Beckett's spine. "Trust me, you're gonna sing like a bird once my boss gets his hands on you." He reaches down and grabs her violently by the neck of her jacket, pulling her up into a standing position with surprising strength, using just a single hand, while his other holds the gun steady, now trained right against her temple.

"Earl?" he shouts into the corridor. "We're taking them with us."

Warner produces a cord from somewhere, forcing Kate to turn her back to him before he binds her hands together. Beckett wonders whether she should seize her chance and initiate a fight now, while her attacker is otherwise preoccupied. But with a sinking heart, she has to admit that she lacks the courage. There are two of them, and God only knows how many others might be lurking nearby. Strategically, it wouldn't make sense. That's what she tells herself. Although if she's honest, there's actually an even greater driving force behind her decision than just mere strategy. Because Castle's probably being held at gunpoint right now, god knows where but out of her sight and a leverage. And if she attempts an escape, the other man might pull that trigger. Despite her risky nature and her disregard for her own safety, she would never risk Castle's life like that. Never.

So she allows Warner to tie her up, and she goes willingly, her heart hammering painfully in her battered, abused chest. The man pushes her out of the room and into the corridor, where her eyes instantly seek out Castle, but the other man must have moved him someplace else, because he's nowhere to be seen. For the briefest of moments, she feels raw panic flood her veins, the dread of being separated from him seizing her up, the fear that Castle's being taken away, that she won't see him, won't be with him.

Her captor walks her towards the rear of the house and Beckett realizes there must be a discreet back entrance that's obscured by a garden wall, shrubbery, garage or a toolshed of some sort, so that the neighbors cannot see the comings and goings; a clever solution for men with shady operations wanting to enter and exit their base of operations in the suburbs inconspicuously. Before that thought can unroll any further, however, Kate nearly stumbles with relief. He's here. Castle's still here. She can see him now, or at least most of him. She wants to see his face, wants to make sure he's okay, but a black hood is pulled across her partner's head, and she has no idea what condition he's in. She battles down her frustration at that, along with her anger; at least they're still together.

And he's standing on his own, which is a good sign, next to the other man – Earl, was it? He looks completely different than Warner, which for some reason, surprises her. He's clean-shaven and far younger, probably in his mid-twenties. He's already managed to tie Castle's hands in a similar fashion as Warner did hers, though Castle's are tied at the front of his body rather than behind his back.

Her eyes scramble to assess her partner in the time she has available, her gaze frantically roaming his body as she looks for any signs of visible injuries. But before she sees much of anything, a dark heavy hood engulfs her head as well, shrouding her vision as everything around her goes black.

She can't see a thing – the hood is made out of extremely thick, coarse material. Her breathing quickens instinctively at the sensation, the still-fresh memory of her last struggle for oxygen racing swiftly through her mind. She feels hands on her, sweaty fingers roaming her body. She tenses, feeling utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way she rarely allows herself to be, the ties and the blackness of the hood adding to the feeling of utter helplessness. But the deft fingers skating across her have obvious purpose, skillfully patting her down until they find what they seek: her phone and then her badge.

Well, fuck.