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Dean hated the smell of abandoned mines. They nearly always smelled like rotten wood and eggs, if not sulfur — which, in his line of work, was never a good sign.
Dean stepped under a thick, dusty cobweb as he followed the group toward the light at the end of the tunnel, except, this time, it wasn’t a metaphor. Their bust was busted; they must have gone to the wrong ‘abandoned mine.’ I mean, how many abandoned mines are there even in Nevada? A lot. The answer was a lot.
Dean was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of coughing. He looked back up to the shadowy silhouettes that peeked through the blinding lights of the sun. Sam and Jack.
Dean scoffed then leaned closer to the angel he walked beside, “Why does he always seem to have a cold?”
Castiel sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Did we ever explain what germs were?” Dean smiled.
The tunnel creaked and snapped a bit more than was comfortable. Dean hated when that happened.
Jack cleared his throat. “That doesn't sound good.”
“No,” Sam agreed then turned back to Dean and Castiel. “Hey, guys, we should pick it up, the—”
Something snapped and rocked the whole place, sending dust cascading all around them like tiny waterfalls.
“What the hell,” Dean spun to see a support beam that had snapped, fallen, and stabbed into the path they had just walked down.
“We should go,” Castiel ushered Dean along.
Castiel didn’t have to tell Dean twice; he had no reason to stick around, after all.
The place rocked and swayed as if an approaching train was just above their heads. Shit.
Dean grabbed Castiel’s sleeve, “Go, go!”
Before either of them could tell what was happening, the room went dark and Dean was choking on dust and sand that had been thrown into the air. The mine caved in.
“Sammy!” Dean called out once, as he caught his breath.
“Jack?” Castiel said just beside him.
“Cas!”
“Dean?”
That was everyone's voices, but Jack and Sam seemed to have gotten out before the cave-in. Good.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, voice muffled by what used to be the ceiling, and what currently separated them into two groups.
Dean reached for his phone, “We’re okay.” He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight.
“Cas, you good?” He checked the cave-in, but the light struggled to break through the dust and debris. But he could tell that It was a thick pile; they wouldn't be able to clear it with just their hands.
“...Cas?” Dean turned to the angel.
“I’m… I’m fine,” Castiel said. He was tense though and looked on with wide eyes. He seemed scared, which wasn’t very comforting.
“What?” Dean said quieter to the angel.
“Dean, we’re gonna go get the shovels. We’ll be right back, okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean called back to Sam. Then everything was quiet, except for the occasional sound of sand cascading in somewhere close.
Dean moved to sit next to Castiel, settling down with a sigh as if it were all just a minor inconvenience to him. He looked at the angel and he just seemed a bit out of it.
“Is it the dark?” Dean pondered aloud.
Castiel dropped his chin.
Okay, so that was it.
Dean shifted. “You’re… you’re not back there.”
“I know,” Castiel said low and small.
Then, just to spite Dean, his phone died. The area filled in an uncomfortable dark. Even Dean was uncomfortable with the way it was pressing down on them.
Castiel's breathing audibly picked up, heavy and strained.
Dean leaned closer so Castiel could feel him; so he would know he wasn’t alone.
“I’m sorry,” Dean felt compelled to say.
“It’s okay,” Castiel said lightly.
Castiel was nearly shaking — Dean never realized how much The Empty had affected him, but it made sense. If Hell still snuck up on Dean when he saw such things like pliers, he supposed the dark could creep the Empty upon Castiel.
“I’m okay,” Castiel added.
“It’s okay if you’re not. We all have…” Baggage? Trauma? Grief? Regrets? Maybe Dean should just make a list. “We all get like this.”
Castiel took a deep breath, then exhaled tightly.
“You still there?” Sam called from the other side.
“We’re here,” Dean called back.
“Alright, this may take a while.”
Great.
[ … ]
Castiel hated the dark, yes, but what he hated more is that people knew that; they felt bad for him, and he hated it. Maybe it was the soldier part of his brain that wanted him to have no weakness, but… he did. He had a few. Somewhere towards the bottom was the darkness and all the way at the top was his family, and Dean (his “human weakness”).
It was around an hour when the light of the sun broke through the darkness, and Castiel could finally breathe. Finally. Then, a few moments later, they could escape.
Dean took Castiel’s arm and ushered him out first.
Once out, Castiel lifted his face toward the sun and basked in it for a moment.
Sam and Jack stepped aside as they emerged. They had discarded their jackets somewhere a while ago, and were covered in dirt from the tips of their fingers to the bend of their elbows. Not to mention how painted their clothes were with sand and dirt, packed heavy and thick where they had knelt.
Castiel noticed the cuts scattered on Sam’s hands (probably from wrestling with rocks) then raised his hand out above them. Sam looked confused back and forth between his hand and Castiel when he pieced together what he was doing. Then his hands were free from any injuries.
“Thanks,” Sam said quietly.
Castiel smiled, a bit forced, then moved on to Jack.
Jack held his hands behind his back. “Are you alright?” he asked with eager eyes.
Castiel reached out for his hands.
Jack reluctantly raised his hands and set them into his palm.
Castiel looked down and, just like Sam, Jack's hands were tattered. Castiel frowned, then raised his other hand and placed them on top of Jack’s. A brief dusting of a warm light washed over their hands then the pain was gone.
Jack looked from his dirty, but healthy hands to Castiel.
“...Father?” he asked quietly.
Jack had taken the habit — probably picked up from Castiel — of not using any pet names for people (like with how Sam might say dude, or Dean might say kid). With the single exception of father. He used it softly, like a child batting their eyes for something they wanted. He would use “Father” to say thank you, or I’m sorry, or forgive me, or Can I eat this candy bar before dinner, I promise it won’t spoil it.
That time, father meant, ‘are you alright?’
Castiel stepped closer and wrapped him into a tight hug. Jack quickly returned it, holding him tightly.
Castiel hated that Jack knew. Knew that the dark made him uncomfortable… and knew that, one day, Castiel would have to go back to the dark. He knew Jack felt responsible — but that was ridiculous; Jack had no say in the matter. It just was.
Jack’s hold did not yield, so Castiel gently set his chin onto his shoulder. Soaking in the moment, the warmth.
Castiel would have to go back to the darkness one day. But that day, Castiel was alive. And he would try to live as much as he could. To love as much as he could. And yes, joy would be his downfall, but he searched for those moments because he could only have so many.