What an interesting combination...Kate/Castle, a field , and moonshine. This story reminds me of my abnormal psych professor back in college. He made moonshine as a hobby and one day brought it to class to share. Don't remember why that fit with the lesson but I definitely remember the moonshine. Sorry for the ramble and as always, love your work.

LOVE this fic!

Oh, I really love resolution. Or epiphanies, at least. That all settling "well, there's nothing we can do but ... whatevz."

And Caskett, gotta love Caskett.

Also? Always blaming things on baby turtles from this moment on.

He's watching as Beckett deftly closes the metal of her handcuffs around Castle's wrist. The binoculars let him focus, allow him to absorb the parts of her he hasn't noticed before – the fluid movement of her long fingers, pianists fingers, as they thread the metal through the top of the headboard; the arc of her eyelashes, the dark, stark way they frame the intent light in her irises, the opaque arousal pooling in her pupils. Castle's body, covered in only a thin pair of black silk boxers, arches off the bed toward her, and the binoculars trip over the flex of his biceps, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the strain of his abdominal muscles, before focusing back on her, on the molten motion of her thigh over his, the easy lift and roll of her hips as she straddles his stomach, the shift and sway of her red nightgown over her upper thighs. - I know that's supposed to be creepy and it IS but it's also kind of hot. I mean ... no I can't say that. I will be judged too harshly hahhah.

He's pushing away, propelling his body up and off the bed before his mind can catch up, stumbling several steps and yanking the door open and tripping out of the suffocating air of the RV. The stars wheel above him and the dirt pitches below; he feels his knees start to buckle, his body lurch, his chest tighten with the spinning, nauseating inability to stick his feet to solid ground. - Ugh so heartbreaking. I really wish we could see this though. How much it must be haunting him. If only this show was more personal and less case.

but it's pitch black save the spinning stars and the stark outline of flames in the distance, a tangled nightmare of darkness and flashes of light and staccatos of shouting that are no better than the collapsing sides of the RV. - You are a GORGEOUS writer. I mean this is seriously amazing.

"Come on," she's saying against his skin, "We're okay." - LOVE that she says we. Like no matter what they're in it together.

He glances at her, takes in as much as he can of her in the starlight, his oversized hoodie enveloping her torso, her feet hastily shoved into a pair of sneakers, her hand clutching a mason jar of – I love this image of her so much. And Moonshine. LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED.

"I really just think they have a good thing going," he says, managing to sound almost normal.

"You already have a full-time hobby," she chastises.

"Writing does suck up a lot of my time."

She lifts her foot again, gets him in the anklebone as they walk through the field. "I meant stalking me, you idiot," she gruffs, the careful, gentle clasp of her fingers around his belying her words. - Can I marry you? I love this so much. And I love that he called writing his hobby despite the fact he's made millions off of it. That he's a big idiot who thinks he is a cop and it's adorable and they're adorable and no I just love this so much.

She dips her head, quirks her lips briefly in acknowledgement. "More than just a stalker, too," she murmurs, nudging her shoulder gently into his. - NOOOOOOOO. Oh it's too much Jessie. Too much.

"Exactly. It would be too obvious. I'm a homicide detective. Everyone'd be sure I could cover my tracks better than that."

He gives an exaggerated sigh. "And here I thought things were going so well." - This is PERFECT. Perfect. And man that IS a good crime haha.

Me too," he husks, his voice rough from the drink, from her, from all of it. He slides his hand under her the hem of sweatshirt, rubs his fingers slowly over the smooth heat of her skin. - TOO MUCH. TOO PERFECT.

"It kept me alive, that summer. Lying on the ground outside that cabin, staring up into the sky and knowing that my body could leach molecule by molecule into the dirt and the stars would keep on shining." - That's gorgeous.

She continues like she hasn't heard him. "It's not like that in the city. The humanity's too omnipresent. You can't get any perspective, can't lose yourself in the stars. It starts to close in on you, tighter and tighter, until there's not even enough room for your lungs to expand so you can breathe."

"You should be the writer," he says, passing the jar to her. - I can't tell you how much I love this. How peaceful and quiet it seems. The silence of everything but them. God I love it more than I even have words for.

"The thought that you –" he breaks off, shaking his head, his mind reeling away from the idea before he can even fully form it.

"That I'm not safe," she says, matter of fact, too direct.

"Whether or not Tyson's dead," he adds, the words leaving him in a rush. - He loves her so much. Makes me want to sob.

He leans back next to her, swigs the moonshine, lets it burn away the tangle of thoughts as he stares up at the sky, loses himself in the thousands of flickering far-away suns. "Do you know we're seeing stars that are twenty quintillion miles away right now?"

"No," she murmurs, her voice still too low. He hears her suck in a long breath of air, trying for him. "It's – freeing. All that endless distance." - Your writing is so beautiful. I can't stop saying that. I want to live inside of your words and this moment. Because even though it's tainted with so much sadness it's also so subdued and perfect.

It's oddly arousing to hear you express my feelings with a Shakespeare quote." - Perfect.

"'Popular Mystery Writer and Muse Found Frozen to Death in Delaware Punkin Chunkin Field.'" - LOL.

It's the ability to live with it, he thinks, that's the hardest thing. The reconciliation of the danger and injustice of it all. The realization that they have no ability to fix it. The acceptance that, no matter what, the stars will wheel onward and that they'll spend their time beneath them doing what they can. - Gorgeous wording.

He chokes on the moonshine he's swallowing, presses his forehead into her temple as he catches his breath, doesn't respond. - I can't I can't.

She tastes like the sharp burn of moonshine, like the cold edge of autumn air. - I would kill to write lines like this.

Shit that was incredible Jessie. You're perfect.

Beautiful.

I love that Kate was adopted by a trebuchet team (trebuchets FTW!) and that they were so concerned and protective of her. The crowds and loud noises would have been extremely overwhelming for her after being so exhausted both physically and emotionally. I wish we could have seen how they took her in.

The details you write are so spot-on, the ribs and PBR cracked me up! Chunkin aside, the real strength in this is the imagery and the way you weave their emotions into the minutia of their interactions so poetically. I cannot believe the ride you took us on in just 3 chapters, and I mean so much more than driving us in an RV to Delaware!

The intro of this chapter seriously had me thinking Tyson was still alive and spying on them! Thank god it was just another nightmare... I mean, I don't *like* the fact Castle's suffering through horrible nightmares like that, but it's better than it being the reality! And they're so cute, Kate stealing away with him to drink moonshine in the woods - nawww!

Punkin' Chunkin'! in addition to hiding in RL that I write fanfiction, I also conceal the guilty pleasure of watching Punkin Chunkin. It's now a tradition that I outwardly blame on all the men in my home, but I'm the one who makes sure the DVR is set each year. I cannot believe you found a way to work that into a Castle fanfic, especially after Probable Cause! Now that takes serious creativity!

The baby turtle - I had to do a double take and re-read when you first introduced her, because for some reason I thought it was a stuffed toy, and then I realised that, no, it's a real baby turtle. So cute!
The illumination and the glow you created in the final chapter was just magical - I think that is the only way to describe it. Uh oh, do I sound like I've been on the moonshine now? Ha ha! Loved it. Thank you :)

Wow, so good! Great word pictures.

Time stretches and collapses in the darkness, so that he'll never be sure of how long they sit there, tangled against each other, of how long it is before he feels less tired, suddenly, at the thought of the dark and infinite stretch to the stars.

ungggggggggg JESSIE PERFECT

I love this mood, this tone throughout. I love the moonshine, I love the starshine, I love it all. THIS IS AWeSOMe

This has been a great journey, simultaneously heartbreaking and hilarious. Thank you for sharing.

Have I mentioned that I love you? Because I do. This was amazing, so simple and odd (punkin chunkin, really?) but you made it work. I love the interaction between Castle and Beckett, the fragile quality that is there but still the strength of their bond and the humor thrown in with the angst of the Tyson aftermath. Everything is not okay, but it will be.

Not gonna lie, you almost made me want a baby turtle... almost...

I'm still holding out for the long angsty bundle of love fic that I want. (sans finger snapping or any other form of torture). But this will do for now. :)

Thank you for this pure awesomeness. :)

Oh, this is gorgeous. So gorgeous. That nightmare is creepy as shit but perfect, and the way they talk, I have no idea how you do it, there's such a distinctive atmosphere. I can't explain it. When I think "a story in which they go to Delaware and fling pumpkins" it absolutely should not work. But this DOES, and you're a flipping genius for creating this atmosphere that hovers over everything and makes it so vivid.

So shut your whore mouth and stop whining because this fic is amazing. And ilu.

Chapter 3 is beyond beautiful. And, with this line - "It's the ability to live with it, he thinks, that's the hardest thing. The reconciliation of the danger and injustice of it all. The realization that they have no ability to fix it. The acceptance that, no matter what, the stars will wheel onward and that they'll spend their time beneath them doing what they can." you have written a universal truth.