He’d get sighs and full-bodied eyerolls, a confused head tilt from time to time, and occasionally – occasionally – he’d spot a smile.

And if Dean timed it just right, he could make Cas blush like a nun, the pink in his cheeks a sharp compliment to his blue eyes. He’d watch Cas avert his eyes, swallow, adjust his stance a little. Force himself back into the conversation.

His flirting never got him anywhere, but it was fun and Cas didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes, Dean would glance at Cas and find him already watching him, and his stomach would give a little swoop. He told himself it was just because it was rare to find a hot guy who didn’t seem like he’d slug Dean for making a comment here and there. Plus there was no fear that Cas and John would ever meet and trade stories; whenever John showed back up, Cas was coincidently on a case Bobby had found him.

Dean grabbed his machete and his flashlight from his bag, then stood back up and shoved it behind a rock near the entrance; Cas did the same. With a cocky grin, he stretched his arms out, machete pointing to the narrow mouth of the mine.

“Let’s do it,” he said, taking a deep breath. He didn’t love mines, or tunnels, or underground in general actually. It could be because he went on a subway one time and it broke down and he was trapped with a bunch of suits, or it could be from when his dad told him he needed to know how to get out of any situation and would put him a shallow grave for him to escape. He got pretty good at it, too; if there was a world title for ‘fastest time to climb out of your own grave’ he would own that crown. Medal. Whatever.

Then Dean noticed Cas looking at him, head tilted, so he gave him a big, sunny smile and flicked on the flashlight, leading the way straight into the dark.

For about ten minutes, everything was fine.

They didn’t talk much, listening hard for any noises not made by them, flashlight beam bouncing off old wooden pillars and metal tracks as they took a couple of turns.

Suddenly, right when Dean suggested that they start a game of I-spy and Cas pointed out that Dean, being in front of him, would have an advantage, a guttural scream punched the air.

They froze. It was hard to tell in a tight space but it sounded much closer than they’d like.

Cas stepped up beside Dean, shining his own flashlight ahead. Even with the additional light, the darkness seemed impenetrable after a few feet, no doubt hiding some ugly ghoul bastard while it watched them.

“Okay,” said Dean in a quiet voice, “Ghouls are strong but –”

Thundering steps interrupted him, echoing around the tunnel as something big and heavy ran towards them. No time to think, and nowhere to run, Dean raised his machete –

It burst into the light of their torches and Dean couldn’t help the shout of surprise - “What the FUCK!” – before it barrelled into them. Its huge head slammed straight into Dean’s chest, throwing him backwards and forcing all the air from his lungs as a rib cracked loudly.

He hit the ground with a grunt of pain, machete thrown from his grip, flashlight bouncing off the walls wildly as he heard Cas yelling his name. His head was thumping so loudly he couldn’t think, so he forced himself to move.

As he got halfway to a sitting position, his chest screamed a sharp stab of pain, his head spun, and he fell back. He could hear Cas yelling something and the creature – definitely not a ghoul – roaring.

It was getting fainter, and at first Dean’s foggy brain thought he might be slipping into unconsciousness, but then it hit him: they were moving away from him. The creature was taking Cas.

Fuck no.

He pushed himself up slowly, bracing against the pain, and began to run, following the sounds of Cas and this thing.

The echoing tunnels fought him, making his aching head spin as he tried to navigate turns in the mine, desperately trying to guess which passage they’d gone down based on fading reverb alone.

“This place is a fucking maze,” he groaned, reaching another junction.

Maze, repeated his brain helpfully. Labyrinth.

Great, he was already fighting panic; the last thing he needed was to find Bowie with his hair and codpiece down here.

He stood still for a moment to listen but all he could hear was his own thumping heart beat. Then he noticed a dark patch on the wall just outside the flashlight’s reach. He pointed the light at it, horror settling in as he realised it was fresh blood. Horror, but also relief: he took off running down that shaft, now following macabre breadcrumbs instead.

After a few minutes of turns, stabbing pain with each step, he found a wider room of sorts, tunnels branching off in different directions. But in the middle of the room was Cas, crumpled on the floor surrounded by shredded limbs and bones of past feasts.

He wasn’t moving.

Dean ran to him, dropping to his knees and sliding to a stop in front of him, throwing the light to the ground beside him.

“Cas, buddy – hey.”

He put his hand on Cas’ jaw, tilting his face up so he could see Cas’ eyes. Unfocused, darkest blue in the dim light, but alive.

“Dean,” murmured Cas, a slight slur to his voice. “S’not a ghoul.”

Dean couldn’t help the short laugh that broke from him. He also couldn’t help the gentle swipe of his thumb across Cas’ cheekbone where a bruise was beginning to bloom.

Cas stared at him, eyes wide but beginning to refocus.

“No idea what it is though.” Dean took his hand back from Cas’ cheek, instead reaching for his shoulder. “We’ve got to get out of here for now, come back when we’ve –”

A snorting growl behind him cut him off, and Dean leapt to his feet as he turned, taking the flashlight with him. The creature was emerging from one of the tunnels, finally Dean got a half decent look at it - and immediately wished he hadn’t.

It was at least seven feet tall, mostly humanoid but huge, wider than an average fridge, and rippling with muscles along every inch of its naked body. The head was broad with long snout and dark raging eyes, and a large horn on either side curled upwards.

Everything clicked into place: a minotaur.

He’d never heard of any outside of Greece, but a huge bull-man was sizing him up and realising he was weaponless, and Dean was used to adapting quickly.

He grabbed a bone from the pile, a sharply broken femur, and ran straight at the minotaur. He heard Cas yell something, but he ignored it; the minotaur charged him, aiming with a horn this time instead of the flat of its huge forehead.

Dean ducked out the way at the last second, aiming for the back of its head with the bone, but he was caught by a huge arm slamming into his side instead. He fell sideways, grunting in pain as his broken rib howled, but he held onto the femur tightly.

Before he had a chance to recover, another fist caught him in the side of his head and he felt the rough earth scrape his face before he felt pain from the hit itself.

He pushed himself up quickly, wiping blood and dirt from his face, and had turned to attack again when he realised the minotaur had turned its attention back to Cas, who was standing on shaky legs, a rock in his hand.

Dean ran.

The minotaur charged but Dean had a head start; he leapt onto its back, wrapping one arm around its huge neck and thrusting the sharpened femur straight into its jugular.

It screamed and tossed its head, trying to throw Dean off as blood pulsed from its throat. He pushed the bone in further with a horrible gurgling noise, and then he let go.

As he dropped back to the ground, the minotaur swung its huge head in a last ditch attempt to gore him, then went down with a heavy thud.

Cas stood next to Dean as they waited to make sure the creature wasn’t going to get back, and after a minute Dean realised Cas was actually watching him, not the minotaur.

“What?”

“You’re a very good hunter.”

Dean looked at him. His eyes were focused again, though Dean still couldn’t read the expression he saw there. Cas was looking at him as though he was awed, though one eyebrow was slightly raised (and wasn’t that interesting), and he felt a weird self-conscious blush coming on.

“Nah,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging it off with a weak smile. “I just killed Buttercup, wasn’t that hard.” Cas frowned and opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, so Dean quickly moved on. “Come on, it’s gonna take us hours to get out of this place. Least if we get lost we can use Bessy over there for a barbecue.”

“Dean,” Cas said very seriously, and even though he was sure he was about to get reprimanded, there was something in his voice that made Dean stop and look directly at him. He had some scrapes and blood and bruises, and he was holding his left arm gently, which Dean would have to look at properly back at the motel, but otherwise he didn’t seem too badly hurt. Apart from his own bruising, cuts, and cracked bones, he could probably take another one of Cas’ tongue lashings. Although he’d rather a tongue -

“Thank you.”

Oh.

“Yeah, uh,” muttered Dean awkwardly. “No worries, man. Any time.” Not that he ever wanted to be gripped by that fear again. “Come on.”

Quietly, they began to follow Cas’ blood trail back down the tunnels. It was slow, the aches and exhaustion settling in long before they were back in the waning daylight but finally they were out, and as Cas shouldered both bags and helped Dean through the forest, a weird feeling sat in Dean’s gut. It lasted the whole trip back and when they got to the Impala and Cas got behind the wheel (“You have at least one broken rib, you’re not driving.”), Dean realised what it was.

Oh.

Shit.

to be continued …

Stay tuned for 'part three: after.' coming soon!