I'm to Blame for this Disaster

by skoulsons

Summary:

Skye is buried alive after going through Terrigenesis

Notes:

This stole my lunch money and beat me up but its alright ig

Based around a "buried alive" prompt my friends and I kept rotting over!

Cal was obsessed with bringing his family back together. Obsessed with finding Skye—Daisy—and helping, or making, her change. To reach her potential. As twisted as his ways were, all he wanted was to bring his family back together and be that “picture perfect” example like he believed they could be.

Even if that meant helping Daniel Whitehall. Even if it meant literally stitching his wife, who was cut to pieces, back together. Even if it meant finding help in Raina. Even if it meant killing people and kidnapping his own daughter to make it happen.

Naively, or perhaps rationally, Skye thought her family would be normal. Her entire life's search for them depended on that belief. After home after home of parents who didn’t care, ‘siblings’ who were standoffish, and a system that didn’t have her best interests in mind, that’s all she wanted. And in a world with groups like the Avengers and where the number of strange, supernatural things was only increasing, it’s what she hoped for. Some semblance of basic, easy, and normal. Something secure and constant.

She wanted to give Cal a try. A try at family. But what he wanted, what he longed for, and how he went about organizing it, was not what she wanted. And, after S.H.I.E.L.D., after the time and security that Coulson so willingly and easily gave to her each and every day, stepping away from that wouldn’t be easy.

It made him insane, and working alongside Hydra and evil men who taunted him, it only amplified in him the lengths that he would go.

If it hadn't been for his obsession with the obelisk, the ‘Diviner’, Skye wouldn’t have followed him. She never planned on following him. All it took, though it was an immediate deal breaker in Skye’s mind, was finding him kneeling above Coulson, delivering punch after punch to his jaw.

Anyone who was a threat to Coulson, even her own father, deserved nothing merciful. They had suffered through too much together—the blood of her father could never usurp their shared experiences.

The obelisk was dangerous, and his passion for how it could transform someone dictated any rational, decent thought in his mind. The corpses that followed his fixation with the foreign object would only grow if he continued to be in possession of it, so Skye knew. She knew she had to get rid of it, or at least take it out of his hands. And if anyone could even get close enough to do that, she knew it would be her.

But that choice had consequences.

When she made it into the temple, one thing only led to another. Raina’s devilishly happy grin as the obelisk opened. Trip finding both of them in the temple and getting trapped in there with them—the last place he should’ve ever been. The cocoon that slowly started to cover Raina, and how the same began to form around Skye, starting at her fingertips and the tips of toes, locking her body in place.

Her vision stopped on Trip, his face full of panic as she began to change. She couldn’t reach for his hand, she could barely shout his name before the cocoon hardened around her mouth and concealed her face from him.

The cocoon covered her senses completely, unable to see or smell, let alone think about what was happening. As it began to break off, her vision returned. It was back enough to feel every molecule in her body vibrating with all the intensity of an earthquake as she saw Trip, or what used to be him, as a statue beside her.

The time she was given to react to what became of him was close to none. The world felt like it was falling in slow motion as she burst from her cocoon. Trip was all that she could focus on, his body, stone all the way through, crumbled and returned like dust to the earth. The only reaction her body could manage was a single tear before her vision was covered again.

Skye’s body was sore with a lingering vibration under her skin. Individually, both of her arms felt as if they weighed two tons. Her feet felt the same, and her head beat like someone was driving a jackhammer into her temples. She was covered in darkness, sharp sides of nearby rock jamming into her sides and cramming her underneath even heavier rocks and dust.

“Come… on…” she whispered, trying to push at the rocks that were hugging the soles of her feet until her calves cramped. She tried the same with the rocks above and on both sides of her. At most, her attempts moved a boulder a centimeter or two, but nothing that could give her more room in the small space, or open any hope of escape. With an exhale, she relaxed her neck and legs, giving up on the pointless endeavor. As she let her limbs rest, the rocks above her legs moved and caved instantly, filling more of her breathable space. “Great,” she mocked, unable to move her legs from where they were bent at her knees.

Panic festered in her cramped space. She was taught how to conserve her breath in situations with little air, or when she needed to be silent, but with all that the last day held for her, and now her space closing in on her with no sign of help, she succumbed to the panic.

“He… help…” she tried, her voice covered in trembling. The rocks were unmoving, the silence around her deafening as the equivalent of a skyscraper sat on top of her.

————————

Coulson grunted as he helped Mack out of the temple's hallways. Fitz and Simmons pulled him up from the opening in the floor as he collapsed to the ground beside them.

“Sir…” Jemma started, unable to finish as she checked Mack’s pulse.

Couslon knit his brows at her. “Simmons? What’s wrong?”

Fitz poked his head past her to find Coulson’s eyes. “Sir, we haven’t heard from Trip or Skye.”

“Trip?” He questioned. Coulson swallowed and laid his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath from dragging a nearly dead weight Mack half a mile. “I thought he was with you two.”

“He was…” Jemma started, still examining Mack out of sight from their Director. “But he—”

“He went after Skye,” Fitz finished. “What, with the collapse, we don’t know where they are.” His tone gradually fell as he spoke, becoming nearly a whisper by the end.

Coulson dusted his hands off. “Yeah, I saw Skye… right before the doors shut on me. I couldn’t get to her in time.” He waited a beat before he spoke again, the green from his light illuminating his face as he pointed up at them. “Get Mack and May and get out of here. We don’t know what caused the collapse, or if there’s more to follow. Get those two out and stay back until enough time has passed.”

Simmons spoke over Fitz as she checked Mack’s eyes. “How much time is enough time?”

Coulson paused, not wanting to put FitzSimmons in a possible dangerous situation. They didn’t need any more of those. “Thirty minutes.”

“Sir—” she tried, but Coulson cut her off.

“Thirty minutes, that’s an order. And only if you don’t hear anything by then.”

“But, sir—”

“No, Simmons.” His voice was stiff and his tone was forthright. He needed them safe if the temple was more unstable than any of them were prepared for. They were his agents, and as helpful and integral as they were to the team’s operation, his responsibility was to keep them safe. “Half hour,” he continued, lowering his voice. “Now get out of here.”

She accepted his order and nodded, standing from her kneeling beside Mack. Coulson watched as they hoisted him up from the ground and laid both of his arms over their shoulders. He waited until the white of their hazmat suits and Mack’s dominating form were out of his view before he turned back to the tunnels.

Coulson exhaled again. “Okay. Just gotta find two agents in a collapsed, underground tunnel. Can’t be that hard.” He tried to psych himself up, patting the side of his thighs. “This is nothing compared to dying.”

————————

The only good thing that came out of the collapse was that it took down the walls that led to the inner temple. They shut on their own, Trip only getting in by the skin of his teeth. At first glance, there wasn’t just an off button for them to retreat back into the wall—they relied on the obelisk and whatever voodoo magic that made them open or close.

Coulson didn’t know where Trip was or where he could’ve gone, but he knew where Skye was, at least the last time he saw her. The only thing he had to go off of was the inner temple. That’s where Skye was last seen, and just like a child going to where they last saw their parents while lost in a grocery store, that was the best first place to look.

Everything within the temple was crumbled—the walls, the stand that the obelisk was sat upon, the ceiling. Whatever caused the collapse caved everything in.

For a moment, Coulson’s heart skipped a beat. It was where he last saw Skye, and where Trip may have ended up. The rocks scaled well over Coulson’s head, some much larger than Coulson would ever be able to lift on his own. Some looked like they were mere inches from causing more of a collapse, and Couslon could hear smaller pebbles and dirt still falling every few seconds from nearby crevasses and openings.

“Skye…” he whispered. He laid a hand on the top of a rock beside him, looking into the inner temple. “Please don’t tell me you’re in here.”

He felt a pull, an inclination.

Something.

Something told him to search. Something told him to scale the rocks in front of him and get in the middle of it all and dig. To drag and roll boulders that were three times his weight. To dive head first into dust and rubble until the palms of his hands were calloused and bleeding.

For Coulson, believing that something—a feeling, a voice—would have given him a nudge toward a goal wasn’t far-fetched. Living in a world with super soldiers, warriors from Asgard, and seeing things like the Chitauri flooding New York through a hole in the sky was crazy, but it was their normal. Plus, he was killed and then resurrected. Nothing ever felt too out there.

And while the bulk of those supernatural things, feelings, and people were bad, or at least skeptical, some were good. Some were well-meaning and selfless.

That is, if the feeling in Coulson’s chest was really some unnamed, hidden force.

His first thought was that it was. It made sense to associate such a strong feeling—a pull—to something supernatural.

Or it was his love for the girl. It came from the part of his heart that reminded him of the restless nights that would follow him if he didn’t search every square inch of the temple looking for her. If he let himself, for even a second, rest while knowing that she wasn’t yet safe and found, he’d carry that guilt with him forever.

He would never give up on her. He couldn’t. And if finding her meant straining every muscle, moving every rock until he physically couldn’t move anymore, or until he dropped dead, he would.

She meant the world to him. And he knew that if it were her looking for him, she would move Heaven and earth until he was found.

So he dug.

And dug.

And dug.

He was tasting sweat and the old blood on his face from his fight with Cal from hours earlier. His hands were scraped and his hair disheveled as he grabbed the sides of another boulder. Pulling it towards him, he let it roll slightly before he adjusted his hands on it, directing it away from him. As he rolled it to a stop, it sat unevenly and rolled back toward him, a jagged corner of it catching his pants and tearing a chunk of fabric off.

“Dammit,” he spit, limping in place. He placed a hand to the bare skin and pulled it away, blood forming a small puddle in his palm. “C’mon, Phil,” he chastised, wiping the blood against his clothed thigh. With a sigh, he leaned down and grabbed the torn fabric of his pants. He took a chunk of it in his mouth and tore, creating a long enough strand to wrap and tie around his wound. “She needs you,” he whispered, tying the fabric tightly over his wound.

As he straightened his back, scanning the rest of the pile of rubble he hadn’t made a dent in yet, something caught his eye. He leaned in, stepping closer to it.

“Skye!” His shout rang within the still standing walls, echoing around the chamber they were in. He approached what he saw—her bare arm—and kneeled awkwardly beside it.

Rocks surrounded her arm on every side, but he stuck his hand in and held her wrist, pressing two fingers against it. He exhaled as he felt the beat of her pulse. It felt normal, though faster than what he would consider normal.

“Skye, can you hear me?”

No response.

“Skye, are you there?”

Silence.

“Okay, that’s fine.” He looked out toward the opening he came in from. “Simmons should be down here soon to help get you out.” He turned back to her, adjusting his grip on her wrist to hold onto her fingers. He looked at the rocks that towered above her—up to the ceiling of the inner temple, and exhaled. “I don’t want to move anything else. I'm afraid I’ll crush you if I do.”

A noise came from within the rock, and Coulson contorted his body to look into the hole her arm emerged from. “What?”

“Please don’t crush me,” she croaked.

A light chuckle escaped his lips as he smiled. The rock beneath him wasn’t comfortable enough for a seat, but that wasn’t a concern for him. He awkwardly rested against it, gripping her fingers tight. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too,” she managed. Skye let out a dry, empty cough from inside the rocks as a beat of silence passed. “Help?”

His sigh was defeated as he glanced toward the opening again. “I… don’t know. I can’t contact Simmons from here.”

Coulson could practically feel Skye’s eye roll. “You can go get her, you know.”

“No, I told her how long until she needed to come looking. I’m not leaving you under two tons of rock.”

He could be frustrating, but his devotion was endearing. Skye was fine right now, no immediate danger, so he could stay. She could speak, which meant she could breathe. As long as she was alive, they were fine.

Coulson adjusted the way he was sitting, angling himself against another rock to sit parallel to her. “Did you see Trip before the collapse? FitzSimmons said that he went after you.”

The silence that met his eyes was the same when he helped Melinda home after Bahrain. The silence as Andrew asked “how is she” was a feeling he never wanted to experience again. It made his hair stand on end then, and it did the same to him now.

Silent grief was felt everywhere. It wasn’t spoken words that could only meet someone’s ears, it was a feeling that trickled into every pore of someone’s skin and infiltrated their own thoughts. It could make them smell the one who passed—a scent like cologne, flowers, or the scent of conditioner that lingered in their hair. A phantom presence could be felt beside them or in the palm of their hand from a forgotten handshake, gentle, nonchalant touch, or a hand to their shoulder.

Coulson closed his eyes, squeezing Skye’s fingers tight. “I’m sorry, Skye.”

She squeezed his fingers back and sniffled, awkwardly trying to angle her cheek to the top of her shoulder to wipe her tears. Frustrated, she sighed, her voice weak and burning. “I’m sick of being in here.”

“I know,” he said. Following her cue to move on from Trip, at least for the time being. “Are you okay, at least? Physically? No broken bones or anything?”

Skye cleared her throat. “Yeah, I’m… clear, I think.” She adjusted as best she could, which was only a few centimeters of leeway in every direction. “Just super cramped.”

“Good. That’s good.” He flexed his wounded leg out in front of him, the fabric tied to his wound was noticeably darker, clearly drenched in his still-bleeding wound.

Maybe Skye was right. Maybe leaving to get Simmons was a better idea. They would have better things to patch him up with, or he could at least get out of the field and keep weight off of it while FitzSimmons went in for Skye.

Coulson quickly pushed the thought down. He was in much more intense situations, and there was still a possibility that Skye’s predicament could get worse. And Trip’s fate was too fresh in her mind.

He couldn’t leave her.

“Just… save your breath, please. I was searching for a while.”

“Aye aye, captain,” she whispered.

Coulson never let go of her hand as they waited for Simmons—all ten minutes of silence that they sat in. For them, silence was never something unbearable. Neither of them ever needed to fill the air with meaningless words. They were often content in each other's space, no matter how chaotic or quiet the world around them seemed to be.

So, despite the temple having nearly caved completely in, Coulson in a terrible physical shape from the last two hours, Skye crushed under thousands of pounds of stone, and Trip’s fate fresh in their minds, they still managed to find contentment in each other's presence. Their circumstances never dictated that.

Her hand in Coulson’s helped. His timed check-ins as he rubbed his thumb across her fingers was a reminder that she didn’t need, but one she wanted, one she cherished, more than she ever would’ve told him.

In time, Jemma was there, extra agents by her side and some sort of machinery Coulson wasn’t able to name to help with the heavy lifting.

Coulson helped to maneuver Skye out of the cramped space after they removed the larger rocks that surrounded her. She held onto his arms as he pulled her out, and continued to find support in his shoulders as she stretched her legs and found the strength to stand.

He stood still, offering his strength to her in whatever way she needed. “You okay? Do you think you can walk out of here?”

Skye’s eyes widened as she gripped his shoulder. “I think so,” she tried. “Head feels… like it’s vibrating, though.”

“Well, you were buried alive, and we don’t know what the obelisk did or how it might’ve affected you.” He stepped to her side, allowing Skye to thread her arm through his for support.

“That’s true,” Jemma said, cutting into their conversation. “I’m sorry, Skye, but we’ll need to quarantine you. I want to run some blood tests and monitor you for a few days.”

Too exhausted to fight Jemma’s words or acknowledge them beyond surface level, she sighed. “Yeah, I figured.” She gripped Coulson’s arm as she fought for her balance. “After the last day, some solitude might actually be nice.”

“Also—” Jemma started, meeting Skye face to face. Her tone was urgent. “Have you seen Agent Triplett since the collapse? We’ve yet to find him.”

Skye’s face fell at the question. She tried to forget about it after insinuating it to Coulson, but with Jemma voicing the question again, it was hard for her to continue to compartmentalize him anymore. She swallowed as she remembered the look on his face—fear and worry. Panic.

That’s how he died. Fearing for her life, not even for his own. Worrying for her life and what the crystals were doing to her.

Unbeknownst to Skye, he kicked the remaining crystals, hoping that, maybe somehow, it could reverse what had already been done. Maybe destroying them could’ve stopped the cocoon from forming or could’ve reverted any dangerous effects of it. In Trip’s mind, maybe Skye could’ve lived if he’d destroyed it.

It was the cost of not knowing what they were getting into.

He died in an attempt to save her life, and she didn’t even know. All that was left to see was a defeated, faceless statue return to the earth.

“He…” her voice was weak, emotional. She could feel the beat of her heart behind her eyes as she clung to Coulson’s arm. “It was before the collapse. He’s…”

She shared a look with Coulson as Skye pressed her cheek further into the top of his arm. It was an emotional look, and one of understanding—Coulson knew how his death was going to affect her, too.

Simmons still had work to do in the tunnels, and because of that, she pushed past it for the sake of those responsibilities. She laid a hand against Skye’s arm and held it there. “Get some rest,” she advised, keeping it there until Coulson walked out of reach with her.

He didn’t say a word to Skye as they walked back to the opening. No jokes, no humming of an old tune, no reassurances. He kept himself completely still, a rock, for Skye to depend on. She clung to his arm tightly as the light from the opening grew ever closer to them.

Losing an agent was never easy. Ward’s betrayal for Hydra was one thing, losing a man, a good man like Trip to the inevitable, permanent state of death was another. Those emotions, Coulson knowing Skye and how she will find a way to blame herself, and whatever the hell the obelisk did was all too much for her.

Once back at the base, Coulson, with the help of Fitz, helped her to adjust into quarantine. She was too tired to fight the precautions and talk about the ridiculousness of Fitz having to wear a giant hazmat suit to even be in the box with her. Coulson didn’t mind the proximity—he never did, but Fitz urged him to keep his distance now that they were back in the base. His samples were taken, too, and the second that Fitz was done, Coulson pulled up a chair and stayed outside of Skye’s box.

FitzSimmons was going to be preoccupied with tests and experiments to give her enough emotional support. Bobbi and Hunter had their perks, but being so new to the team and not having seen what happened to Skye in the temple, they wouldn’t have been what she was looking for. Mack was nice, but they weren’t close; his element, when not in the field, was in the hangar, or helping Fitz. May wasn’t exactly anyone’s go-to for emotional support, and Trip…

Even if Skye didn’t want him, Coulson was going to stay as close as he could. He was down there with her. He experienced her father, and it nearly cost him his life. He was the one who found her buried alive and refused to leave her side.

But she would want him there. She wanted him there after she was shot, after she found a trace of her father in the abandoned house, after Ward kidnapped her. She always wanted him there. He was comforting, more than anyone else on the team—something she valued more and more every day. He was honest and warm, and his silence felt just as encapsulating as his hugs.

Grieving Trip wouldn’t be easy. Finding, and perhaps taking down, her father wouldn’t be easy. Dealing with Raina wouldn’t be easy.

But before that, before Coulson spent his time worrying about those things or bringing them to Skye’s attention, he stayed outside the box. He watched her as she rested, adamant to be the first she saw, the first she spoke to, and the first to bear any bad news to her.

He didn’t feel like a Director checking in on a wounded agent.

He felt like a father taking care of his sick kid.

Notes:

Hopefully this was enjoyable :) Comments are always appreciated <3