Castle Alphabet: C is for Coffee. 

A/N: I don’t know what this is, but it’s a much more mellow Castle (we’ll save the tortured soul for another story). I just know you guys wanted a mixture of Castle, coffee, and children. This is how I personally picture mornings with Papa Castle.

Words: 1946

Saturday mornings are meant to be your one day off.

Monday through Friday, you’re busy chauffeuring your son back and forth to school, football practice, and play dates. Not to mention trips to the grocery store, when Frank forgets to mention he’s used the last of something, or just the time it spends to make it to and from your job.

Sundays, are designated for getting everything ready for the upcoming week, so it’s an unspoken rule that mommy gets to sleep in on Saturdays.

This is why your six-year-old son whispers a soft, “come on, Luna,” as he climbs out of bed.

The soft padding of his and Luna’s feet are the only sounds in your home at the early. They pass down the hallway, to the bathroom, and back down the hallway where they become muffled by the carpet in your bedroom.  

Frank hears the footsteps long before you, but he doesn’t make any move to detangle himself from you. Instead, he tightens his grip around your waist, smiling to himself as you release a soft groan of protest when you think he’s moving away.

The sound of your bedroom door opening is nothing out of the ordinary. Typically when your son finds the two of you still in bed at this hour, he simply crawls in bed and joins you for a few more hours of sleep.

Only today is different.

It’s Saturday, but not just any old Saturday. It’s Saturday the fifteenth. According to the calendar hanging on the refrigerator, it is the day Frank finally takes the training wheels off of Jackson’s bike.

Frank never gave your son a specific time, as to when this would happen. However, he made the mistake of giving the generic statement “we’ll do it first thing in the morning, bud,” as he’d put Jackson to bed the night before.

He hadn’t expected Jackson to take him literally.

Stopping on his father’s side of the bed, Jackson stands on his toes to get a good grip on the comforter. He gives the fabric a gentle tug, switching for applying a soft amount of pressure to his father’s back once he gets no response.

“Daddy…” He whispers, his voice lowering when he thinks he might be too loud. “…Daddy, are you up?”

“No…” Frank mumbles. “…Daddy’s still sleeping.”

“No, you’re not,” Jackson responds, his brow furrowing as he gets a grip on Frank’s shirt. Tugging at the back of his father’s shirt, he adds, “I’m ready.”

“What time is it?”

A moment of silence comes as the six-year-old turns to read the clock on the bedside table. “Six twenty-five.”

“Daddy hasn’t had his coffee yet.” Frank’s voice comes out low, lost against the crook of your neck.

You’re not sure if he thinks the weak response will be enough to deter your six-year-old son, but you can’t help but release a soft giggle at the feeble attempt. Exhaustion doesn’t exist in the eyes of a six-year-old.

All Jackson can see is his lazy parents attempting to sleep in on a Saturday morning.

As the second’s pass and Frank’s breaths become deep, you are almost tempted to tell Jackson his father is too tired. However, the curly haired boy doesn’t give you enough time to do so. He also doesn’t seem to care that his father is struggling just to lift his head from his pillow.

You feel the mattress shift as the little boy manages to drag himself on top of the king sized bed. Frank releases a muffled groan of pain as Jackson’s knees and hands dig into his skin as he attempts to climb over his father.

“Daddy!” Jackson waits until he is sitting comfortably on his father’s back to being pushing against his shoulders. “I’m ready to go! Go get some coffee so we can go! We have to get outside before everyone else does!”

When his father didn’t move fast enough, Jackson tugs at the thick untamed strands resting atop of Frank’s head. He tugs as hard as he can. A groan of objection fills the air once Frank’s face is lifted from the comforting warmth of his pillow.

“Alright, alright,” Frank’s words become lost against the pillow as his son’s tugs give way.

Reaching around, he gently tugs against the young boy’s shirt shifting his body until it was against the mattress resting between the two of you. Jackson’s giggling fit prevents him from mustering the strength, and focus, to escape his father’s grip. Instead, he gets trapped beneath his arm allowing Frank to capture him against his chest.

Frank’s lips pepper a series of kisses along your son’s forehead and cheek prompting the giggles to become louder and breathless.

“Hey…momma’s trying to sleep over here.” You manage, causing the two to drop their voices.

“Alright, little monster,” Frank whispers as he releases Jackson. “Go grab your house shoes. Daddy will be right behind you.”

“Okay.” Rolling over, Jackson places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Sorry, momma.”

“Uh-huh.” You smile softly, your eyes drifting shut the moment he springs off the bed.

“Come on,” Frank breathes against your skin, his hands wrapping around your waist preventing you from burrowing yourself beneath the blanket. “Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

“Uh-uh,” you yawn. “You’re the one taking him out. I’m sleeping in.”

“But you make the best coffee.”

“No, I don’t,” you huff. You try your best to shimmy across the bed, just enough to keep a reasonable distance between the two of you without bursting your bubble of warmth. “You drink it black, Frank, there’s not much to it…besides it’s Saturday, I wanna sleep in.”

You release a groan of protest as a soft “please,” gets lost against your neck.

Frank can perfectly read the sleep threating to pull you back in as you weakly lift his arm from around your waist. Dropping it to the mattress, you let your eyes drift back shut.

“I’m staying right here…going back to sleep until the sun is at least halfway in the sky…”

“Who’s gonna take a hundred pictures?” Your husband teases.

You shamelessly document every waking moment of your son’s life in the scrapbook on the living room table. With this fact, you both know you won’t miss out on this event.

“Fine…” Remaining where you are, you catch a flash of your husband’s grin before he climbs out of bed.

Retrieving his discarded sweats from across the room, Frank turns to face you. His brow lifts as he concentrates on stepping into his sweats. Despite the outside summer heat, Frank had slept in a shirt. You know it was a feeble attempt to cover up the bruises you’d hounded him about the night he’d brought home a broken nose.

That was nearly a week ago.

And although that wasn’t the first time he’d come home scathed, Frank knew just the sight of any damage to his body put you in panic mode. So sometimes he figured, out of sight out of mind.

Only you both know this isn’t the case.

Besides, you are the last one Frank has to worry about. Your son is nearly as observant as you are.

Turning around, Frank grins at the sight of you still in bed.

“Come on.”

“Now that I think of it, what do I get for getting out of this bed right now? I could wait until you’re ready to leave. Get dressed in two seconds, and follow you down the steps.”

“Chocolate chip pancakes.”

His offer hangs in the air as he watches the furrowing of your brow. You release a soft huff as you push yourself up. Sitting on your knees, you extend your arms in his direction.

Securing his arm around your waist, Frank lifts you off the bed and stands you on your feet. He pauses long enough to place a kiss on your lips before nodding over his shoulder.

“Let’s go before he comes back. Kid’s a little impatient, like his mother.”

By the time you two make it into the kitchen, you find it in a slight disarray.

In his impatient fit, Jackson took it upon himself take out nearly half the contents of your refrigerator. Luna is busy standing at the base of Jackson’s step stool, her tail wagging in anticipation of any scraps he might drop.

“Finally!” Jackson sighs at the sight of you and Frank entering the kitchen. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry, lil’ man.” Scooping up your son, Frank pauses long enough to place a kiss on his cheek before crossing the kitchen.

Managing to balance Jackson, Frank begins pulling out pots and pans as your son’s excited rambles fill the air.

Ditching the training wheels have been the main topic of conversation in your house the past two weeks. Poor Jackson’s rite of passage was caught between his two parents.

You worried he’d get hurt the second the training wheels were tossed into the garage, while Frank wanted to take them off the moment Jackson had gained the confidence to ride without him chasing close behind.

When the comforting aroma from the freshly brewed pot of coffee fills the air, Frank glances in your direction.

Taking his chin in your hands, you turn his face for a better look at his nose in the bright light. Although he initially puts up a slight resistance, Frank turns his body to face yours. You take a step closer to make the task easier, his hand finding your waist as you assess the damage.

“Hate to burst your bubble, Mr. Castle, but I know you were late last night,” you whisper as your lips touch his nose. Resting your forehead against his, you let your eyes close.

“Not that late.”

“Then we must have different ideas of late.” Your response earns you a soft chuckle from Frank. Pulling back, you wait until he meets your gaze to proceed. “Most husbands get home before three forty-five in the morning, on a good night.”

“It was a good night,” Frank grumbles. Noting your skeptical look, he shakes his head in disbelief. “You can check me if you don’t believe me.”

Even though you can feel a hint of annoyance bubbling inside, you give him a soft smile. “Ah…so by good you mean nothing was broken?”

For once, Frank thought he’d managed to get back in bed without waking you up. Still to this day he hasn’t deduced that you actually don’t get any sleep until he’s returned home.

Shifting your weight onto your toes, you press a soft kiss against his lips. If there’s one thing you’ve learned, there’s no point in arguing over the matter.

“Gimme another?” He chuckles, the sound getting lost against your lips as you grant his request.

“Eww! That’s gross!” Jackson groans, pushing against both of your chests in an attempt to break the kiss. “I’m about to eat.”

“How do you think you got here, bug?” You giggle as his father’s lips move to your neck.

Pressing his mug against his chest, you allow Frank a final kiss before watching him turn to begin the pancakes.

(Source: castigliones)