Notes: Contains lots of juicylicious whump and grumpy!Cas. I watched the House finale – in which they collapsed a building on top of some poor lady – and all the way through I was thinking, “Wow, I wish that was Castiel.” And so this happened. *facepalm* I do not claim to be original in any way, no sir…
~ ~ ~
“I can’t go in there.”
Dean stopped dead, turning to face him. “Aw, c’mon, Cas. Don’t tell me angels are claustrophobic.”
Castiel pulled an annoyed face and nodded at the cave entrance. “It’s protected.”
“Protected how?” Dean glanced back at the side of the mountain. He couldn’t see anything except undergrowth and granite. As far as caves went, it looked fairly innocuous – serial-killing wendigo occupant notwithstanding, of course.
Castiel shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled, looking bizarrely petulant. “There’s an anti-angel sigil guarding it. I can feel it from here. It’s designed to rob any heavenly entity of their power the moment they set foot inside the cave.”
“So if you go in there...”
“...I effectively become human.”
Dean raised his eyebrows, baffled. “Since when do wendigoes use mystical sigils? How can they even understand stuff like that?”
Castiel wrinkled his nose. “It’s far older than the creature living here, Dean. The sigil is left over from another time. This cave doesn’t feel natural – I suspect it was made by a demon many millennia ago.”
Dean had to erase the sudden mental image of a demon in a miner’s helmet tapping away at a rockface with a pickaxe. “Super,” he announced sarcastically. “So we’ve got a murdering monster living in a pitch-black cave system that I’m gonna have to go in and explore on my own with no back-up. This job sucks. Did I ever mention that I always wanted to be a lumberjack?”
Castiel ignored him, still glaring at the cliff. “If we could find the sigil we might be able to destroy it.”
“Any idea where it would be?”
“To work properly, anywhere within a two-mile radius.”
Dean let out a breath. “And how long would it take you to find something like that, exactly?”
“I could find it in the next five minutes or in five days. There’s no way of knowing.”
“On Wednesdays I’d go shopping and have buttered scones for tea,” Dean sang bitterly under his breath, pulling out his flashlight and checking it worked. “Okay, looks like it’s just me, then. No way can we wait that long for this bastard to show itself again. Too many people are dying.”
“Perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to meet up with your brother and the Sheriff in there,” Castiel informed him, his voice filled with awkward-sounding hope.
Dean shot him a look. “I’m not crossin’ my fingers, Cas. I think that rumor about a second cave entrance was just that – a rumor. I doubt they’ll find anything on the other side of this peak.”
“You should call them. Advise them of the change in plans.”
Dean stared into the cave. According to the records he’d dug out of the library with Sam the day before, its rocky tunnels stretched way back into the mountain, far deeper than its exterior would suggest, providing the wendigo with a perfect base. It had killed six people in the last three months, all of them no doubt stored somewhere underground in the creature’s smelly larder. Dean had found himself ‘stored’ like that once himself, and he was anxious not to repeat the experience. He ran a finger down the side of his flare gun and sighed.
“You call them,” he told Castiel. “But I’m going in. They’re too far away now and we’re wasting daylight. Just watch the exit, okay? If I end up chasing it out into the open, at least you’ll be here to kill it. And unlike me, you’re not gonna need any gun. Just unzip yourself from that meatsuit for a few seconds and you’ll roast it alive with your scary glowiness.”
Castiel nodded, but he looked distracted. Dean knew him well enough by now to know when he was pissed, and he was definitely pissed about having to stay behind. “Hey, it’s not your fault, Cas,” he said, feeling his annoyance. “These things happen.”
“Be careful,” Castiel instructed him seriously.
“It’s one wendigo, man,” Dean shrugged. “How dangerous can it be?”
Pretty damn dangerous, as it turned out.
~ ~ ~
Contrary to what Dean had been expecting, it didn’t jump him in the dark. It waited until he was standing in a section of the cave that had a hole a few feet wide in the roof, allowing a sunbeam to streak across the rocky chamber in what was a welcome break from the darkness. Dean stepped into it, grateful for the daylight after two hours of wandering around with just a flashlight to see by, and the wendigo had been waiting for him to do just that.
It was a creature of shadows, but humans always moved into the sunlight. It knew that. It was very old. It knew its prey well.
From nowhere, claws raked across Dean’s side and he hit the floor with a yell. The gun slipped out of his hand as he collapsed onto his knees and the wendigo kicked it across the cavern until it hit the far wall. Dean could only spare it one glance before the creature flipped him onto his back and sat on his chest hard, hard enough to force the air from his lungs and render him immobile for a few seconds, but he recovered with admirable speed. He socked it across the jaw and shoved its chest as hard as he could while it was still off-balance, almost throwing it off his body, but the wendigo dug its grubby fingernails into his biceps to pin him down instead. Dean stared up at its hideous array of teeth, felt the unsettling heat pouring off its leathery body, smelt the stench of dead things on its breath and all he could think was, I’m supposed to be Michael’s fucking vessel and THIS is what’s gonna kill me? This is embarrassing!
Stung by the thought, he bucked upwards desperately, and by some combination of luck, frantic twisting and physics he managed to knee the creature in the crotch. The wendigo hissed and fell backwards, clutching at his groin. Dean couldn’t spare a second to gloat; he rolled onto his hands and knees and scrambled for the gun as fast as he could. But somehow his opponent got there first – they moved like lightning, he’d forgotten that – and a foot landed square in the middle of his chest and kicked him several feet backwards. He landed on his back directly under the sunbeam and flinched, dazzled, throwing a hand up to shield his eyes.
A shadow blocked the light. Before Dean could summon up any kind of defence, a hand was shooting downwards to claw at his neck–
And then the wendigo jerked and clutched at its chest. Dean had just enough time to roll away and climb to his knees as it staggered forward and roared in pain, looking up to see Castiel standing behind it with his arm outstretched. The angel pulled back his arm to reveal a bloody knife clutched in his hand, but he didn’t have time to use it again as the wendigo spun round and knocked him sideways, sending him ricocheting into the nearest wall. Castiel slammed against the rock with a grunt but straightened quickly, turning to face the creature again with his blade outstretched and a look of focused determination on his face.
It was futile: a knife was no match for a wendigo that could only be killed by fire, and Dean snapped out of his shock as he realized he had to get to the flare gun. He lunged toward it, determined to kill this bastard before it eviscerated both of them – Dean’s brain was thankfully working fast enough to figure out that it could really do that, because in order for Castiel to be in the cave, he had to be under the sigil’s influence and therefore human. But the creature suddenly froze in place and hissed, staring up at the ceiling, before turning tail and disappearing down the nearest tunnel at a rate of knots.
Dean stopped to gulp in a breath. He swiped a hand over the clawmarks on his ribs, ascertained that the injury wasn’t serious and glanced across at Castiel, who was staring after their prey and panting a little.
“We need to go after it,” Dean declared.
And then a shower of stones and dust fell from above his head, a tremendous roar filled the cavern and one-half of it collapsed on top of them.
~ ~ ~
The first thing Dean saw when he came to his senses was dust.
The second thing he saw was the wendigo. It was reaching down to grab his leg, clearly convinced he was unconscious and ready to be dragged into its lair. Dean had other ideas. He yanked the flare gun in his hand out from beneath a pile of stones and aimed it, but the creature’s reflexes were faster than his and it was gone before he could fire.
Dean dropped his hand, panting, still disorientated from the noise and chaos of the collapse. His head was pounding and he could feel warm blood on the back of his neck from the rock that had knocked him out, but he was alive and in one piece and that was all that mattered. There was a motorbike-sized boulder beside him that hadn’t been there a few moments ago; one corner of his bag poked out from beneath it. That could have been him. Shit.
Wincing, he sat upright and dislodged a waterfall of rubble and pebbles from his body, watching as the dust flew into the sunbeam that was still shining steadily into the cave. The collapse hadn’t made the crack in the rock ceiling any bigger, but it had blocked one of the tunnels. The only one that was still clear was the one the wendigo had just retreated into. Gotta keep an eye on that, Dean thought ruefully, climbing unsteadily to his feet and surveying the rest of the rubble-strewn cave in amazement.
There was a new rockpile at least ten feet high in the corner where Castiel had been. Dean stared at it in horror for at least ten seconds before he found his voice. “Cas?” he croaked out nervously, coughing as dust hit the back of his throat.
“Here,” Castiel croaked back, and Dean felt a wave of relief that actually made him break into a sweat.
“You okay?” he called.
“No,” came the succinct reply.
“Crap,” Dean muttered, and started to make his away across the cave, clambering over loose rocks and shingle and sending up vast plumes of dust. The air tasted of earth and iron. “Are you buried?” he asked, scanning the pile of stones before him vainly for any sign of his friend.
“What do you think?” Castiel grunted, sounding as though he was on the verge of losing his temper. The grumpy response made Dean blink in surprise, but it allowed him to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.
He peered over a large boulder and his jaw dropped at what lay beyond. Castiel was lying on his back with only his head, shoulders and one arm free; the rest of him was hidden beneath layers of rocks, rubble and earth several feet high. There was no sign of his lower half at all, and the rockpile grew higher and, worryingly, heavier as it reached where his legs should be. Dean scanned the debris with an appraising eye and deduced pretty quickly that it was going to be a bastard to clear: there were too many boulders heavier than one man could lift, all balanced precariously in a game of jackstraws that could send the whole lot tumbling down on top of Castiel’s head if Dean made the wrong move. It was a miracle his top half had escaped unscathed as it was – if the rocks had fallen a few inches in another direction, Castiel’s brains would be mush by now.
Instead, his face was covered in earth-colored dust and his eyes were wide and bright as he stared up at Dean. He didn’t look as though he was in pain. He just looked really, thoroughly, devastatingly annoyed.
“Hey,” Dean said, climbing over the boulder and kicking away some stones so he could kneel by his side.
“I thought you were dead,” Castiel said unexpectedly, his expression changing to one of relief. “I couldn’t hear you breathing.”
“How long was I out?”
“Long enough.” Castiel lifted a filthy hand, the only one that was free, and for a moment Dean thought he was going to squeeze his arm or something. Instead he simply wiped blood out of one eye and dropped it to the ground again.
Dean looked at the blood and raised his eyebrows. “So I take it from the fact that you haven’t zapped outta here yet that the sigil made you human?”
“The sigil wasn’t strong enough to remove all my powers,” Castiel returned with what sounded like forced calmness. “I can only assume its strength has faded a little due to its age. But it has weakened me. I can’t extricate myself.” He coughed, the movement sending debris sliding off his chest. “If I were fully human, I suspect I would be dead by now.”
Dean contemplated that for a few moments. Castiel was right; the weight on top of his body was too major for anyone to survive. His legs must be smashed to pieces under all that rock. He was trapped, but it could have been a lot worse. “Does it hurt?” he asked tentatively, because while Castiel seemed okay, it just didn’t seem possible that he couldn’t feel something.
Castiel hesitated before replying, “I’m… extremely uncomfortable.”
“No shit.” Dean looked up at the rocks again. “I’m not sure I can dig you out of here, man, but I’m gonna give it a try.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“I need to call Sam first. The Sheriff can bring help.” He pulled out his cell and stared at the screen, praying for a signal. Nothing. “Dammit.”
“Perhaps if you… get higher up,” Castiel advised him, his voice hitching a little. Dean shot him a worried look, but Castiel’s gaze was steady. He must have had dust in his throat.
“I’m going to climb up to the hole in the roof,” he explained, and placed the flare gun in Castiel’s free hand. “I need you to watch my back, okay? That sucker’s still out there and you need to keep an eye on the tunnel in case it decides to finish us off. And don’t miss if it shows itself.” Dean cocked his head to the side, realizing that his companion could be at a disadvantage with one arm pinned. “I hope you’re not right-handed.”
Castiel lifted the gun and frowned at it. “I hope so, too.”
His hand was shaking. Dean tried not to think too hard about that as he turned away, scanning behind him for any sign of the wendigo before he rose to his feet and started walking around the cave. He held his phone before him and stared at the screen, willing it to work, but it wasn’t until he scaled a pile of rocks near the opening to the tunnel and waved the phone right under the crack in the ceiling that it suddenly flared into life. “Eureka!”
When Sam answered he sounded out of breath. “Dean? Are you okay?”
“Not really. We need your help over here.”
“There was a cave-in, wasn’t there?”
Dean paused. “Where the hell are you? You heard it?”
“We couldn’t find the other entrance so we were walking round the mountain to come and join you. Everything shook – it was like two trucks had crashed into each other. Are you hurt?”
Dean explained what had happened as quickly as he could, fearful that the signal would disappear again. “We need some kind of rescue crew down here, something big. I can’t get Cas out by myself. But that wendigo’s still runnin’ around, so this isn’t going to be easy.”
Sam huffed into the receiver, making Dean flinch. “Okay, I’ll see what we can rustle up. Good thing the Sheriff’s on our side – that’ll help. Where are you, exactly?”
“I marked the route as I walked,” Dean said. “It’ll lead you right to us. Part of the cave’s open to the sky but the hole’s only about two feet across and nobody could get through it.” He paused. “Be careful, Sammy. This son-of-a-bitch is a tricky one.”
“Yeah, they always are. Look, keep checking in every half hour, okay?”
“Will do. And Sam? Hurry.”
Dean pocketed the phone, cast a look around the cave and clambered back over the debris until he reached Castiel. The angel was staring at the tunnel but he lifted his eyes to Dean’s face as he dropped down beside him. “How long?” he asked, licking dust off his lips.
“As long as it takes. You’re gonna have to hang on for a while longer, Cas, but help’s on its way.”
Castiel nodded, looking relieved. He was sweating, perspiration tracing patterns through the grime on his face. “How’s it going?” Dean queried, twisting so he could talk to him and keep an eye out for the wendigo at the same time. “Can you feel anything?”
“I can feel… pressure,” Castiel explained, glancing down at the rocks hiding his body. “I don’t think I want to feel anything more than that.”
“Yeah, I’d say you’ve got a point there.”
“There’s something digging in my side. I must have landed on a stone.” Castiel frowned, biting his lip, before adding, “It’s very distracting.”
Dean sniffed. “Only an angel could have an entire cave fall on them and call it ‘distracting’.” He reached forward and started sweeping debris from Castiel’s chest, still keeping an eye on that tunnel. Castiel dropped his gaze to watch his hand move.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I would prefer it if you removed the larger stones. These ones aren’t really the problem.”
Dean sat back and sighed. “You see that?” He tilted his head at the mountain of rocks. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to get rid of the whole lot, but if I make one false move there’ll be a landslide. I’m starting small because I have no choice.”
Castiel’s body twitched. A small sound escaped him, something very similar to a groan. “Cas?” Dean asked, worried.
“Could you… could you at least try to dig out my arm?” Castiel suddenly sounded distressed, although he met Dean’s eyes steadily enough. Dean nodded and studied the slab of granite pinning his friend’s right side to the floor, trying to figure out how the hell to move it without knocking into anything dangerous.
“I can try,” he said eventually, and didn’t miss it when Castiel’s eyes closed in relief. “Although I think this rock’s too big for me to budge. I need you to watch for the wendigo, though. Stay awake and alert for the both of us, okay?”
Castiel’s hand tightened around the gun again and he turned his gaze to the tunnel.
Dean studied him for a few moments, starting to get a Very Bad Feeling, but Castiel remained oblivious. He bent over the rocks and began moving away anything that seemed safe. “So why did you follow me into the cave?” he asked after a few minutes, deciding it would be a good idea to keep Castiel talking. “You knew what the sigil was going to do to you. What changed your mind?”
Castiel made an odd noise; it took Dean several seconds to recognize it as a laugh. “I decided that I was being a coward. You’re human and you went into the cave without fear. Why shouldn’t I? I just wish I’d made the decision a little sooner. Maybe this could have been avoided.”
“Who said I went into the cave without fear?” Dean reprimanded him, drawing an inquisitive look. “Of course I was scared, Cas. I’m always scared when I’m hunting. I’d be a fool if I wasn’t. You just learn to live with it. You just have to hope luck’s on your side that day.”
“Luck isn’t a physical presence, Dean.”
“Really? I always heard Luck’s a lady.”
Castiel looked scornful. “Luck doesn’t exist. Luck is merely a way for humans to reconcile the uncertainties of their lives. They imagine it’s a force that can influence events, but there is no such thing. Only God can do that. You shouldn’t believe in luck, Dean. You should have faith instead.”
Dean shoved a rock the size of his head to one side and grunted, “I’ll stick with luck, thanks. It seems to be doing me more good than faith. Although even then it still blows most of the time.”
Castiel was silent for a moment, staring at the tunnel, before saying quietly, “You’re certainly having more luck than I am today.”
Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to look at him. “The minute we get you out of here, you’ll heal, won’t you?”
“Once I’m away from the sigil’s influence, yes.”
“Great. So look at it this way: if you really were human, you’d be dead by now. But you’re not. What’s more, you’re going to make a full recovery. Guaranteed.” He grinned. “If that’s not luck, what is?”
Castiel considered it. “I never took you for a glass half-full kind of guy, Dean.”
Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well. Saturn must be in conjunction with Jupiter or some shit like that, I dunno. Guess I’m feeling lucky.”
He hefted more rocks off Castiel’s chest, straining at the weight and wondering how the hell anyone could even draw breath under all this crap, then looked at his watch. “Better check in with Sam. Hopefully he’s already hunted down our friendly neighbourhood caveman and there’s a team of guys on the way to help dig you out.”
But his optimism was misplaced. Sam had bad news.
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~