A/N: Hey everybody, it's been a while, I know. I've been having writer's block for a few months, which sucks. Luckily the promo for Kill Shot brought ideas to my head and I wrote this about a week ago and finally had time to type it up and post it. Hope you enjoy it. :)

Disclaimer: Don't own it, which sucks, because all these spoilers for Kill Shot are awful when you can't see it for three more days.

Title: Help Me Through

It was silent in the bullpen when Castle entered, holding two coffees, far too silent for his taste. "Hey! I think I figured out how he's getting to these places that's he's shooting from—where's Beckett?"

Ryan was on the phone and looked serious, so Esposito glanced up at him and answered, "Gates sent her home when she closed up shop last night, told her not to come in today. Apparently she wanted to pull an all-nighter and Gates wouldn't let her. She must've been pretty gone though, because Gates wouldn't even let her drive, made her take a cab."

"Oh no," Castle moaned, setting one of the cups down and whipping out his phone.

Ryan hung up and frowned over at him. He seemed exhausted, and Castle couldn't help but remember that Ryan had people to worry about too. "What?"

"Come on, pick up, pick up," Castle muttered, brow furrowed. When it went to voicemail he swore, spinning around and running a hand through his hair in frustration. "She's not picking up!"

"She's probably still sleeping," Esposito shrugged. "It's only nine, and she was exhausted."

"When has that ever stopped her?" he asked. "I guarantee you that she didn't sleep at all. I can't believe Gates sent her home alone... Montgomery would've known that that wouldn't have stopped her..." He shoved his phone back into his pocket and dropped the drinks in front of the boys. "Here, coffee, on the house, for NYPD's finest. I'll see you both later."

He knocked heavily on the door, the huge bang his fist created echoing in the small hallway. "Beckett? Beckett!"

There was no answer, no noise inside the apartment. "Kate! Please let me in!"

He waited a full minute before turning and running back down the three flights of stairs, bypassing the elevator for the route that required less patience. He ran to the doorman, who seemed entirely unperturbed.

"Hello, Mr. Castle," he greeted him.

Castle was very glad the man knew him by sight. "Hey, Tom, I need to get into Kate's apartment. Can you...do you have..."

"Sorry, Mr. Castle, I don't have a key or anything, you'd have to talk to the landlady. She's the only one with an extra set of keys. She's out right now, she should be back in an hour, maybe?"

Castle hissed. "I can't wait that long! Did you see Kate come home last night?"

Tom shook his head. "Wasn't on duty last night, I only just got on shift around eight."

Castle tried very hard to quell his panic. "Okay, well, have a nice day." He patted him on the shoulder and raced back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He banged on her door again, more desperate than before. "Kate! I will knock down this door if you don't open it-"

He paused, thinking, then whipped out his wallet to get his lock pick. Manipulating the handle, he jiggled it until it clicked and he was able to open it and stumble into the apartment. As soon as he'd gotten inside, he stopped dead.

The blinds had been shut and taped to the windows. The couch was completely bare, it's pillows and cushions strewn below it on the floor. There was an array of broken glass on the coffee table, several shards stained crimson with blood.

"Oh dear god," he whispered, stopping to pick up one of the stained shards. The red came off on his fingers but still colored the jagged edge, partially dry but still slightly liquefied. Where had the blood come from? Was she hurt? She wasn't anywhere in sight, not in the living room or the kitchen—he even checked the coat closet, but she was nowhere to be found in the general area of her apartment.

She had to be here somewhere; he walked hesitantly toward the bedroom. On one hand, she could've been watching a movie with the blinds shut so she could see, and maybe she'd dropped the glass and it slipped and cut her hand and was washing the injury, in which case she'd shoot him if he stepped foot into that bedroom. On the other hand, something much worse could've been wrong. Images of her lying on the floor with bloody slashes through her body rose to the front of his mind, and he almost threw up his breakfast. He could see her terrified and alone, and he took a deep breath to push down the images and stepped inside. If it wasn't as bad as he'd thought, he would explain it to her and hopefully she'd put her gun away.

Not in the bedroom, which was also devoid of light due to the heavy curtains that had been drawn tightly against it. The light was on in the bathroom, but he didn't hear any sound coming from it. The optimist in him wanted to believe she was fixing a band-aid onto her fingers, but the piece of him that dealt with worse-case scenarios told him something was terribly wrong—he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, terror that welled up inside of him as he laid a hand on the doorknob. Steeping himself, he turned it and opened the door slowly, in case she was on the other side of the door, and also so he wouldn't startle her.

If it was possible his heart clenched even more the moment he saw her. Legs curled up to her chest and curls tossed around her shoulders messily, she still wore the same thing she'd had on the day before, missing only her heels. The holster on her hip was empty, her weapon thrown onto the white tile. Her right arm looked as though it had been gnawed by a shark, the skin bloody and shredded. She grasped tightly to her knees with the other, but that arm was held gingerly, the grip now as strong. Her entire body trembled, and her mascara had been smeared around her eyes, wide with fear, by dried tears.

She didn't try to push herself up, to make herself seem strong in front of him, which was the thing that broke his heart more than anything else he'd seen since he'd entered. Since he'd met her she'd only tried to hide her weaknesses from him. The fact that she was too weak to maintain that one shield she'd never dropped shocked and scared him more than anything.

"Kate," he breathed, sinking down in front of her. "Oh, God, Kate..."

A choked sob escaped her. "I...I slipped," she whimpered.

She wasn't talking about falling onto the broken glass; she had lost that delicate hold on normalcy she'd had for so long since her mother's death, and the thread keeping it together had only worn thinner after her shooting, finally snapping with this case.

"Please, Kate, let me bandage that, you need to wash it..." He tried to take her hand to pull her bloodied arm away from her, but she helped and pulled it back.

"No," she moaned, tears forming in her eyes. He was torn between needing to help her and not wanting to hurt her, and right now she was hurting and he couldn't do anything about it but prevent more hurt. But she couldn't stay sitting here on the cold bathroom floor.

"Please, Kate," he repeated, agonized that he had to make this choice. "You can't stay in here, let's go out into the family room-"

"No!" she cried out. "No, the windows, there are windows, all around, he can see through windows, he can find me out there..." As she spoke her voice dropped down to a whisper. She met his eyes, brokenness in her green irises. "Please don't make me go out there," she breathed.

"Okay, okay, just let me clean your arm, okay! If you don't get it under the sink I have to get a washcloth, and rubbing it will make it hurt so much worse." He felt like he was dealing with a hurt child as he lifted her up and led her to the sink, one hand on her left elbow, the other at her back. She sunk into him, as though pulling away from the sink and the water as she walked. He tried to ignore it as he turned on the faucet and lifted her limp forearm under the stream of water, and she whimpered as the liquid hit. It turned red as it ran down the drain, trickling down the sides of the stainless steel basin. He let her skin dry and then wrapped it with the bandage he found in the medicine cabinet. Once he finished, he slipped down against the wall where she had been, pulling her down to cradle her on his lap. She didn't seem to have the will to move on her own, and she allowed him to guide her to sit against him, supporting her when she couldn't support herself. He positioned her so they were both comfortable and it frustrated him that she offered no resistance, acquiescing instantly to his every move. He tucked her head into the groove of his neck, sweeping a hand through her hair and along her jaw, finally meeting his other hand so his arms encircled her shoulders, fingers clasped together tightly.

He had to talk to her, figure out what had happened, but now wasn't the time. He had a stern speech for her, but it could wait. Right now he had to make sure she was okay, figure out how she had allowed herself to fall this far. He hoped she would wake up and yell at him for breaking into her apartment, but even sleep was not going to heal her that much.

He rocked her to sleep gently and her shuddering breaths faded to normal, and she seemed to sleep dreamlessly, for which he was grateful—the last thing she needed was nightmares.

He knew what had driven her to the windowless room, and it wasn't just fear of a serial killer. 3XK, Scott Dunn, even Lockwood, they hadn't left her crying on the floor, completely irrational. This more than any other case was personal in a way that no other had been.

And it meant she had lied to him.

He wasn't hurt at the revelation, wasn't at all angry. "Please, Kate," he whispered again, kissing her forehead as she slept. "Please trust me enough to help you through this. Don't push me away. Maybe you do actually remember, and maybe this is the one thing you forgot, but...I love you."

He held her there until he too fell asleep.

A/N: Well, I hope it was okay and in character, I think I might be a bit rusty. But I think it turned out well. *bites lip nervously* Leave me a review to let me know what you thought?