Disclaimer: The Justified characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.
Warnings: language.
Comments are always welcome and appreciated

We Finish Together What We Start Together

Before my time runs out

What if I run away to Mars?

Would you find me in the stars?

Would you miss me in the end,

If I run out of oxygen?

-TALK (Run away to Mars)

Part 1: I can't tell which way's home, I've been gone for so long

Raylan has regrets. Most of them are attached to interpersonal relations and circumstances that were out of his control, but a few occurred on the job. Probably not the things most people might attribute to being regretful; he's made it a point to stand by his professional decisions- good or bad. He's certainly under no delusion that he won't come to regret a fair number of things in the future. Currently, he's regretting the decision to take cover in this particular mine against these particular fugitives.

Working the mine as teen, Raylan learned very quickly to genuinely fear death by way of being buried alive. He and Boyd managed to escape it more than once, mostly just skin of their teeth close calls except for the last time where they actually did get caught up in it and rescue crews had to dig them out. Raylan never went back after that incident; literally fled the state. Boyd stayed on for a bit after that, but even he eventually decided joining the army was better than doing that again. How messed up is that, that the preferable option is being shot at over working in the cold dark earth?

Raylan, Rachel and Tim were assigned to track down three fugitives that escaped their prison work detail. The trio was following up a tip which led them to an old cabin that belonged to the family of one of the fugitives. All other relatives and contacts had proven a bust so far, so Raylan wasn't holding out a lot of hope that they were going to find their fugitives just casually hanging around the property. Tim seemed to have a similar idea, bringing a backpack full of gear and the intention of scoping out the surrounding property in case they were sheltering in the forest.

Turns out the three fugitives had managed to hook up with a few acquaintances while taking shelter at the cabin and decided coming along peacefully with deputy marshals was a nonstarter. Outnumbered three to one and at a tactical disadvantage, the only option they had was to retreat into the woods.

Then dogs were released and saving ammo became a concern and they just needed a place to take cover and catch their breaths while they came up with a viable plan. So, Raylan, led them into one of the mines that cut through one of the hills, with the vague memory of him, Boyd and some other kids using it as a shortcut to get to bush parties. It would have been perfect, except someone in the last twenty years decided to board up the branch of the tunnel they needed to escape through.

Before Raylan could turn them around and get out of the mine, Tim started hollering that they'd been found. The escapees surrounded the entrance, throwing in a stick of dynamite, and a shot at Tim for good measure, and the whole place shook and started tumbling down.

Raylan coughs, choking on the dirt and dust still billowing in the air. It's pitch black and just for a second, Raylan thinks, it finally happened- Boyd couldn't get them out in time. It's Rachel finding her flashlight and breaking the suffocating darkness that brings Raylan back to the present. It's the same nightmare, just with different people. Raylan's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

"You okay?" he croaks, slowly getting up on his hands and knees.

"I think so," says Rachel, sounding equally as wrecked. The light zeroes in on Raylan's position, stays there until Rachel is satisfied her fellow marshal is mostly unscathed. "You?"

Raylan blinks against the light. The space is smaller, debris strewn everywhere, but amazingly they aren't completely buried. "For the most part." He can feel wetness curling around his ear and running down his neck and his whole-body aches. Gently he probes along the sticky trail until he hits the sensitive cut just below his left eye. "Tim?" he calls out before biting down on a grunt forced out by his aching body as he goes vertical.

Raylan takes a few wobbly steps towards Rachel, offering her a hand to help get her to her feet. "Tim?" she echoes, directing the flashlight around their confined space. The space behind them is completely blocked.

"He was behind right you, wasn't he?" asks Raylan.

"Yeah," agrees Rachel. Panic is nipping at the edge of her voice. "He pushed me out of the way."

Tim was on their six as Raylan led them into the mine putting Rachel in the middle. Then there was the gunshot before the explosion. "Tim, holler if you can hear us!"

Silence greets their strained ears.

Raylan pulls out his own penlight, shining it around near the blocked entrance. The beam of light lands on a partially exposed hand. "Tim!" Raylan's on his knees next to the pile Tim's hand is sticking out of, pulling at planks and pushing at dirt before he can even think about it. Rachel's next to him a second later. They uncover his head and upper torso. The debris is lying on Tim, not packed down by weight of the whole collapse. It makes it easier to grab Tim by the shoulders and together the two of them pull him out into the small open chamber.

Rachel's hand is the steadier one to reach out for a pulse. She sags in relief when she finds one, a smile forming on her face as her ear catches Tim's faint breaths. "We need to get this backpack off of him," she directs, helping Raylan roll him over to get the straps free. After, they carefully roll Tim onto his back to assess any injuries.

There's a nasty gash across Tim's forehead bleeding profusely. The blood is already matting his hair. Raylan wipes at the blood, clearing it from Tim's eyes. Ripping at the bottom of his shirt Raylan tears off a strip and hands it to Rachel to wrap around Tim's head. He taps at Tim's slack face, hoping to rouse their friend to consciousness. "I'm going to need you to open those blue eyes for me, buddy," he says loudly, enunciating every word slowly.

Tim gives no response, much to their dismay.

"Head injury… we have to get him out of here," Rachel says.

There's an ominous creak and deep rumble within the mine. Raylan's gut clenches. "We have to get ourselves out of here too." Nobody is coming for them. Not out here anyways, not any time soon. They are on there own for this one and Raylan silently laments that Boyd isn't here this time to save his ass from the deadly grip of Kentucky coal.

He runs his hands down Tim's chest, searching for any other injuries they need to be concerned with or might explain Tim's detachment with the conscious world, though the severity of the gash on Tim's head is probably enough. "Shit," says Raylan as he moves onto checking Tim's legs. He grabs the flashlight Rachel's left propped beside them, taking advantage of the better beam than his penlight has and shines it at Tim's upper thigh. The red blood bubbling up glistens and gleams in the light.

Rachel leans over Tim. "Is that a bullet hole?"

Raylan closes his eyes and sighs. The gunshot they head just before the collapse. Tim's body jerks as Raylan undoes Tim's belt, pulling it free from the loops of his jeans. He wraps the leather strap around Tim's leg and tightens it, applying the pressure needed to slow the bleed.

Tim sniffles, head shaking a little until his whole-body flinches and his eyes snap open in alarm. Arms flail in panic, then he reaches one hand for his gun, the other chasing down the source of pure agony radiating from his head. His injured leg kicks out, and he sucks in a pained breath.

"Whoa. Easy," soothes Raylan grabbing at Tim's hands to try and stop him disrupting Rachel's first aid efforts and doing something stupid like shooting one of them.

"It's us, Tim," Rachel says, all authoritative.

Tim sucks in a deep breath, his eyes finally focusing on Rachel, the wildness bleeding out of them. "Rachel?" he asks, like he isn't sure he can trust his own eyes.

"We're here." She places her hand firmly on his shoulder.

"We?" mouths Tim before he glances over at Raylan who's kneeling next to his hip. "Ah shit," he says squinting, "there's three of Raylan. Barely handle one."

Raylan gives him a small smile but shares a more pointed look with Rachel. "You got clipped on the head pretty good there in the cave in."

"Mmmm," Tim hums as Rachel ties the impromptu bandage tight. "Must be why everything hurts, and I feel like I'm on a waterbed."

"Do you remember what happened?" asks Rachel.

Tim's eyes slip closed, a frown creasing the skin under the bandage. Raylan's ready to shake him awake again but Tim cracks open his eyes and asks, "Did 'em fuckers throw dynamite at us?" affronted by the very idea.

Raylan glances around their dark pocket of space. "Looks like."

"Can you sit up?" asks Rachel.

Tim makes a face suggesting maybe. He manages to get his elbows underneath him, lifting his shoulders off the ground, then promptly turns his head to the side and throws up. Rachel scoots closer, supporting his shoulders on her knees until he's done. Tim raises his hand to wipe at his mouth but doesn't get it much higher than a couple inches off the ground.

Rachel takes out a napkin stuffed in her pocket and wipes his mouth for him. "Can you tell me your name? What day it is?"

"Yeah," sighs Tim, his shoulders deflating a little. "Gutterson. Tim. Sniper in the rangers. Tuesday." His twitches a little, brow creasing like the information sounds wrong to his ears.

"Try again," suggest Raylan, careful to avoid Rachel's concerned look.

"Marshal," he corrects, saying the word nice and slow like he's trying it out for the first time. "Why does my leg feel like it's tangled in barbwire?" says Tim, ragged. He tires to look past his nose to take a look but lets his sweaty aching head fall back against Rachel instead.

"You took a bullet," informs Raylan.

"Took a bullet. Took a cave in. I am batting a thousand," mumbles Tim. "You two… or five alright?" asks Tim, squinting really hard at Raylan, trying to bring him into focus.

"Just bumps and bruises," assures Rachel.

"Nothing worth complaining about," agrees Raylan.

"Some people have all the luck," Tim laments, going rigid as a wave of pain rocks through him. Rachel holds his hand, eliciting a small tight smile from him.

"Let's get you more comfortable," suggest Raylan. He's more concerned then just about Tim's comfort level. They're right next to the debris blocking the tunnel. Digging out puts Tim right in their way and if that effort to get out triggers another collapse or shift, Tim will be buried again. He won't necessarily be any safer anywhere else but if the walls have held so far further back, it stands a better chance of not coming down on Tim.

Tim takes a deep breath and braces himself as Raylan and Rachel grab a hold, Rachel taking his shoulders and Raylan taking his uninjured left leg and awkwardly trying to hold Tim by the right hip to avoid the gunshot wound. Being moved all of ten feet is brutally agonizing and Tim tastes blood as he bites down on the inside of his lip to try and muffle his cries of pain. The world swims and tilts wildly as they sit him up, like a fair ride that tosses riders around like rag dolls, leaning against the cold rocky wall. His stomach rolls hard again. He gags but doesn't hurl. "Shit," he says, shaky, skin pale and clammy.

Rachel sits down next to him, their shoulders pressing together. It's hard not to notice how cold Tim's skin feels against hers. Raylan saunters over to Tim's backpack, unzipping it and rooting around inside. "What do you have in here?" he asks Tim.

"Someone has to be prepared," he pants. He glares at Raylan with one eye.

"Oh, so you have a direct line to Art's office and a couple of shovels in here?"

Tim scoffs. Everyone rags on him for his over preparedness until the unlikely scenarios happen. No one ever complains about him packing his rifle after he has to put someone down that would have killed them otherwise. He closes his eye under the worst part of his head wound, letting out a long breath. "Dying in a cave wasn't something I had to worry about in Afghanistan," he says dryly, then amends, "for the most part."

"So, no shovels," surmises Raylan. He does pull out four bottles of water, a handful of power bars, matches, compass, spare ammo clips, a knife, rope- basically what he assumes is Tim's barest wilderness survival pack. He tosses a bottle to Rachel. "You need to stay hydrated," he says pointedly to Tim.

Rachel catches the bottle twisting the cap off. She takes a quick sip before passing the bottle to Tim, pressing it into his hands. Lifting the bottle, he bashes the opening into his chin and then the side of his mouth before finally managing to get his lips around it. He takes a couple of swallows, looking woozy for his efforts. "I look forward to having to take a piss later," he says.

Raylan's not sure if Tim's complaining about the fact that he'll clearly need help which means he or Rachel will have to help him or if his concern is about possibly having to be vertical. "I plan on getting us out of here long before that becomes an issue," he promises. "You'll have a nice nurse to take care of it for you."

"Oh goodie," Tim drolls, and it sounds extra tired.

"We have to get out of her first," says Rachel, looking around.

Nodding, Raylan tosses the backpack by Tim and begins surveying the area.

Rachel fishes around in the pack for Tim's flashlight and props it up so it throws light against the ceiling and around the space. She gives Tim a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then shuffles over to Raylan. "Are we going to be able to get out?" she whispers.

Raylan hums, pushing at one of the boards that looks like it's holding some weight back. There's always a chance. "Digging around blind like this, we risk bringing the rest of it down on us," he says. Their best bet would be to wait for rescue, if he thought for a moment that rescue was likely to come.

Obviously, they're not talking quiet enough because Tim says, "Don't you have a nose for this sort of thing? Navigating the dark underbelly of the earth and finding tunnels out." He squints like even the dim light of the flashlight hurts his eyes.

Raylan looks annoyed. "I ain't a truffle pig, Tim."

"Well, that's not exactly what they do." Tim points his finger at Raylan with each word, the movement clumsy and really not squarely directed at where Raylan is standing.

She glances back at Tim who keeps blinking slowly, fighting to open his eyes each time. "Can he wait?"

The problem is Raylan's not sure how far from the entrance they are or how much of the tunnel came down. They can start digging but if it's collapsed the whole way through, they're talking a good fifty to a hundred feet of digging. "Don't see as we have much of a choice but to try."

Rachel shrugs off her jacket, walking it back and draping it over Tim. Raylan shucks his jacket and flannel long sleeve, rolling the latter up and propping it behind Tim's head. "Five-star service," drawls Tim with a dopy smile. His head lists to the right, like the gash across his brow is making that side heavier.

"Don't get used to it," warns Raylan. He heads back over to a spot that looks a little more stable than anywhere else. He bites the inside of his check as he yanks one of the large rocks free and waits for any sign it was a mistake.

"Are you sure this is even the right direction?" asks Rachel, joining him and pulling a rock free from the sluff of dirt and debris. One spot in this pocket looks just like any other spot for the most part.

Raylan looks around again. They very well could be working their way in deeper, but Tim was tangled up here so it's a good a reason as any to assume the mouth of the tunnel is this way. The branch he was hoping would take them out is around here too, but being blocked off before the explosion, it doesn't stand that it would be any easier to get through now. "This is the way out," he says with far more confidence than he feels. Along with Rachel, they start moving rocks, debris and dirt with their hands. God damn if Raylan doesn't regret ever stepping foot into a mine- hell, the whole state of Kentucky.