Instinct (Prophet of the Lord remix)
A while back I wrote (and quickreaver illustrated) a fill for for rokhal's killer prompt over at ohsam
After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection.
Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.
I really wanted to write the same story from Kevin's POV. Here it is - with even more awesome art by quickreaver!
word-count: ~3,000
characters: Kevin, Sam, Dean, Crowley
summary: Sam stopped the trials, but he isn't getting any better. The Winchester's have Crowley trapped in their dungeon, when all Kevin wants is to see the demon-king dead.
(set post season 8)
The library is always cold, Kevin thought to himself as he sat on one of the wooden chairs around the big mahogany table. He could feel the chilled wood through the seat of his jeans.
"Why isn't he getting better?" Dean asked, as he sat down across from Kevin. He could have said 'hello,' or 'good morning,' but he didn't. He never did.
"Who, Sam?" Kevin asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "How should I know?"
Dean scoffed. "You're a prophet of the friggin' Lord. It's your job to know."
Kevin's fingers tightened around his coffee mug as he fought back the urge to punch Dean in the jaw. "Yeah? Well I don't. I only know what happens when you finish the trials, not when you quit. Like a coward."
Dean's eyes turned ice-cold, as did his voice. "Sam is not a coward, and if I so much as hear you think that in his direction-"
"You'll what? Kill me? You really think I give a crap at this point? After what happened to Channing? To my mom?"
Approaching footsteps made them both fall silent, though Dean's glare was furious enough it felt like a snarl.
"Mornin'" Sam said, his voice weary. He shuffled, more than walked over to the chair next to Dean and sat down.
"Sleep okay?" Dean asked.
"Not really." Sam wiped his thumb against the corner of his mouth, removing a small spot of blood. He must have had another coughing fit the night before. "My headache's better though."
"You were hacking up a lung again," Dean said, his eyes tracking the movement of Sam's thumb. "How bad was it?"
Sam blinked hard and looked at Dean. "Not that bad."
"Really? 'Cause your face says otherwise."
Sam rolled his eyes just a little. "I feel fine." He even smiled, teeth showing just enough for Kevin to notice the faint red tint to them.
"You still look like crap," Dean said.
"Maybe it's cancer," Kevin said.
"It's not cancer," Dean snapped.
Sam looked up at Kevin, his face neutral. "Could be anything, I guess."
"You should go to a doctor, figure out what's going on." Kevin said. He meant it too. As pissed as he was at the brothers for not finishing the trials, that didn't mean he wanted Sam to die. Crowley, on the other hand...
"You really think that's a good idea?" Sam asked. "I mean, there's gotta be some weird stuff in-in my blood." He swallowed, and looked almost ashamed. "What if they find something not human?"
"You've gotten blood-tests before, right? I mean, you've been in hospitals." Kevin said incredulously.
"Yeah, they've never found anything conclusive," Dean said, his voice low.
"You mean they found something?" Sam asked.
Dean didn't answer, taking a sip of his coffee instead. He wrinkled his nose as he set the mug back down. "Man, do you even use filters?"
Kevin gave him the finger. It wasn't his fault the Winchesters bought the world's shittiest filters.
"I'm gonna go make some coffee that isn't half grounds," Dean announced, standing.
Sam frowned and watched him go.
"You still feel like you're dying?" Kevin asked. Dean and Sam had told him why they'd stopped the trials. Sam would've died. And okay, Kevin understood not wanting to die, but…they'd lost so much already, and Sam didn't exactly seem like the picture of health.
"Actually, I feel a little better," Sam said, smiling at Kevin. His smile faded quickly when he caught Kevin's eyes. He looked back down at the table. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that I didn't-"
"It's okay," Kevin said. "You didn't want to die."
Sam pursed his lips and spoke so quietly Kevin could barely hear him. "I was okay with me dying."
Kevin swallowed. "Oh." He didn't know what else to say to that, and stared past Sam at the shelf of books behind him. This sucked. The whole thing sucked, his life sucked, and Sam was still dying. And they had Crowley trapped in the basement, but for some reason they hadn't yet discussed when and how they were going to kill him. Which was kind of high on Kevin's priority list.
******
They did go to 'check in on' the demon king later that afternoon. Sam and Dean were determined to get info from Crowley before killing him, which made Kevin's blood boil. He watched from the door, too angry to get any closer, and reviewed the short list of weapons that could kill a demon: Ruby's knife, the Colt, an angel blade…
"You're going to die," Crowley said, his eyes glinting up at Sam. The dim light in the dungeon made him look scruffier than usual, his beard stubble turning grey at the edges.
"Is that right?" Sam asked. His voice sounded steadier than it had in days.
"You're holding the King of Hell hostage!" Crowley growled "You think my people are going to just leave me here?"
Kevin scoffed. If there was one thing he'd learned having been a prisoner of Crowley's, it was that demons' loyalties were about as strong as tissue paper.
Crowley continued his tirade, voice rising. "They will find this little hole you've got me buried in, they will free me, and then they will slaughter you!" A wad of spit flew out with his last few words, and Dean wiped his cheek, unimpressed.
"No. They won't." His mouth curved in a wicked smile. "Nobody can find you here. And even if they could-you really think they give two craps about you?"
Crowley's brow furrowed in what looked like genuine confusion. "They have to care about me. Don't they?"
"They really don't," Dean said.
Sam stood silently beside him, but even so, Crowley's eyes kept drifting back up to Sam, like he was expecting him to say something.
"You ready to tell us what we want to know?" Dean asked.
"Nah," Crowley said. "Nothing in it for me. It'd be a poor business decision. You understand."
"Up to you," Dean said. "We'll just leave you in here then. Guess you like your alone time, huh?" His glance fell down to the demon's arm.
Kevin followed Dean's gaze. There was a tear in the demon's jacket sleeve, right by his wrist.
Crowley looked down at the rip and smiled up at Dean, stiffly. "Had an itch."
Dean turned to leave, Sam a few steps behind him.
******
Intel.
Sam and Dean wanted intel from Crowley. Kevin just wanted him to pay. For what he did to Channing, and to Mom, and to everyone. It wasn't fair. They had that bastard trapped down there and he was still alive. Because Sam and Dean wanted intel.
Sometimes Kevin wondered what he could possibly have done in a past life that was horrible enough to warrant this one.
He lost his patience the next afternoon. They'd spent hours cataloging texts in the library, which was Sam's favorite pastime of late. Kevin participated grudgingly until finally, right around dinner, he dropped the book he was holding, walked over to Dean and said. "Okay that's it. Give me it."
Dean looked at him, clueless. "Give you…what?"
"The angel blade. You guys have gotta have one stashed around here somewhere."
"We do," Sam said, getting up. "Why do you want it?"
"To kill Crowley," Kevin said.
"Whoa there cowboy," Dean said. "We need him."
"For what?" Kevin asked, voice tight with anger. "You've had him for days now and he hasn't told you squat."
Sam took a step closer to Kevin. "I know you've got your reasons, Kevin, but we-"
"He killed my mom. And everything I did-everything we did to try to save the world accomplished nothing. The world's even more fucked now than it was before, and there's no way for us to fix it."
"No, that's not true," Sam's voice was pitched low, his hands up and placating. "That's why we need Crowely. We know how to cure demons now, and once he tells us where they are, we'll track them down, and get rid of them for good."
"You didn't cure Crowley! He's still a demon, and he's just sitting down there‚ probably laughing at you two assholes-"
"Hey!" Dean warned. He was getting pissed. Good.
"Because he knows all he has to do is wait you out." Kevin swallowed. "He's not going to talk. We have to kill him before somebody screws up and he escapes. And if you don't kill him, then I will." He turned on his heel, storming out of the room. He couldn't stand looking at either of the brothers anymore.
******
Dean started guarding the dungeon more carefully after that. He probably figured Kevin would try something. And he wasn't wrong exactly, except that he hadn't been able to find an angel blade, or the demon-killing knife Sam favored. There were plenty of weapons around the Men of Letters Bunker, but not many that would hurt the King of Hell.
It took a long time for Kevin to get an opportunity to sneak down to Crowley. Sam had taken over guard duty, meaning he was pretending to be working in a room a few doors down from the dungeon. Dean left to get supplies and after an hour or so, Kevin decided to put his plan into action. "Any chance you guys have a washing machine here?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," Sam moved away from a bookshelf.
"It's just-I don't have all that much on me and it's starting to get ripe."
"No worries. Just uh-, just give me your bag and I'll take care of it. The machine's a little old. A lot old, actually." Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "But it works really well."
"Thanks a lot," Kevin said. They walked back to his room and after a few minutes, Kevin had stuffed all of his clothing except for what he was wearing into his duffel bag. "And Sam, sorry about earlier, I know I was out of line, but...it's not easy, knowing he's down there."
A muscle in Sam's jaw twitched. "Yeah, tell me about it." He took Kevin's bag, practically pulling it towards him. "I'll be back in a few."
Maybe Sam's not happy about this whole thing either, Kevin thought. Fine then, as long as Dean doesn't get back in the next five minutes, we won't have a problem.
Kevin moved as quickly as he could, heading down the hall to the dungeon.
Crowley blinked when the lights came on. He looked like crap. Skin pale and dark rings around his eyes. Weird, because demons didn't normally work like that.
As he walked closer, Kevin noticed that the tear in the demon's suit jacket looked larger. The edges were stained darker that the rest of the fabric.
"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" Crowley asked, watching the movement of Kevin's eyes.
"Don't really care."
"Ah." The demon looked towards the door. "Where's Moose?"
"You know you look like crap," Kevin said.
"You do care. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."
"Just curious why. Is it because of what Sam did?
"Why don't you ask him?"
"I'm asking you."
Crowley's brow furrowed, and when he answered, his voice was quieter than Kevin had ever heard it. "Heunmade me."
"He never finished the cure," Kevin said, his ire rising again.
"No, he didn't. But he downgraded me plenty. It's not pleasant."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me go get my violin."
"Aren't you going to try to kill me? Vengeance, and all that?"
"Yes. But not now."
"No time like the present."
Kevin turned, afraid he'd try to simply strangle the demon if he stayed in here much longer.
"Your mother loved you so very much," Crowley said.
Kevin froze where he stood.
"She wept when I slit her throat, but not for herself. She just kept saying, 'Who's going to take care of my son?'"
Kevin didn't consciously think about moving, he didn't remember doing it, but he must have because there was someone prying his fingers off of Crowley's throat, and distantly, he could hear Sam saying, "Let go. You don't want to do this."
But he did. He really, really did.
******
"Sorry about this, man, but you've gotta cool your heels," Dean said as he stood next to Sam, blocking Kevin's door.
"So what? You're just gonna lock me in my room? Keep me prisoner?" Kevin knew his voice was climbing, but he didn't really care.
"Of course not," Sam said.
"It's fine," Kevin snapped. "I'm used to it."
Sam took a deep breath and gave Kevin that look of doe-eyed compassion that probably worked on most people. But he wasn't most people. "We're just going to take some precautions so you won't do something you regret."
"You think there's something to regret about killing that son of a bitch? What the Hell is wrong with you?"
"He's our one chance to get rid of all the demons on the face of the Earth," Dean said. "You blow that, you'll regret it. Believe me."
"What I regret is having ever met you two assholes," Kevin muttered. He turned his back on them and walked to his bed.
"Kevin-" Sam said.
Dean mumbled something, but it was too quiet for Kevin to hear. Then they closed the door.
******
Even though his door wasn't locked, Kevin stayed in his room for nearly ten hours. He was still too angry to have dinner with the Hypocrite Brothers. After the time for dinner had passed he waited for the sounds of them heading to bed. At that point, he physically couldn't wait any longer and made his way to the communal bathroom. On his trip back, he passed the kitchen, selected the largest knife they had on hand and stood there turning it around in his palm a few times before heading towards the dungeon.
He wasn't sure the knife would work. He was hoping that Crowley was just human enough for it to at least cause some serious damage.
Even though he was sure neither brother had heard him slip down the hall, Kevin slowed his steps even more when he got near the dungeon door. He turned the corner, squinting in the dark, and was surprised to see that the door was open already.
Maybe they'd decided to guard Crowley from within the dungeon itself. Perfect.
Angry, Kevin continued on regardless, too incensed to turn back. If it was Sam, maybe he stood a chance, and if it was Dean, well, he was itching to fight someone.
By the time he was close enough to look into the dungeon itself, Kevin started getting the sense that something was very wrong. The lights in the dungeon were off, and there was a weird sound coming from the center of the cell. Something soft and wet, like a suckling noise.
Kevin stepped in farther and his eyes adjusted enough that he realized he was looking at Sam's back. He relaxed momentarily, and then he saw what Sam was doing, and who was making the sound.
Sam's mouth was closed tightly around Crowley's neck, above the engraved binding collar, which didn't leave him a whole lot of room.
Kevin had heard the rumors about Sam. He'd even talked to Garth about it, who'd replied in the same zen-like way he handled everything else. "We've all got our low spots."
But this wasn't low. This was monstrous.
The knife shook in his hand as his fingers began to tremble and he backed out of the room, his heel slamming into the door, which made his heart pound so hard it hurt. He slumped against the storage room wall, struggling to formulate a new plan.
Maybe he'd been sloppy, and Dean had heard him after all. If he had, then Dean would come soon and see what Sam was doing. He'd stop his brother and kill Crowley and this would all be over.
Within seconds, he found out he was right, as he heard Dean's heavy footsteps from just outside the storage room. His eyes found Kevin's within seconds, even in the dark, and his face twisted with fury. But something about Kevin's expression must have tipped him off.
Kevin tried to think of a gesture that would convey 'your brother's drinking from Crowley's neck,' but ended up just pointing towards the door with a shaking hand.
Dean stepped into the dungeon slowly, and Kevin waited for the sounds of Dean pulling his brother away, or stabbing Crowley, or yelling, or…anything. But there were no sounds. Dean stayed in the room for three minutes, then five more.
Sam left the room first. His eyes were glazed and looked black in the darkness. Kevin shuddered when he looked at him, but Sam never noticed. He kept walking, out the storage room door and down the hall at an abnormally slow pace. Seconds later, Dean stepped out of the dungeon.
Kevin looked up at Dean hopefully, waiting for a gruff acknowledgement, or a hint of a plan.
Dean glanced at him once, but his face was completely, horrifyingly empty. Kevin's blood ran cold.
There was no confrontation, no instruction. Dean simply turned back towards the exit of the storeroom and followed his brother out.
After a few dumbstruck seconds, Kevin forced himself to his feet and followed Dean's path down the hall. He saw Dean enter Sam's room, and got to the door just in time to see Sam lie back down on his bed and close his eyes. Like nothing had ever happened.
And Dean didn't do a thing, but stand there and watch his brother sleep.
*****
Kevin didn't remember planning to leave. He was distantly aware of packing his bag-grabbing his things from the archaic dryer and stuffing them in on auto-pilot.
It wasn't until he was about half a mile away from the bunker that his brain came back online and he Freaked. The. Fuck. Out.
He fell to his knees on the side of the road, shaking and screaming wordlessly as he tried to process what he'd seen. He didn't have a clue where to go, but he knew he had to get away from the Winchesters. As far as he could. If he was lucky, he'd never see them again.
read the original fic (and see the art!) here
After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection.
Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.
I really wanted to write the same story from Kevin's POV. Here it is - with even more awesome art by quickreaver!
word-count: ~3,000
characters: Kevin, Sam, Dean, Crowley
summary: Sam stopped the trials, but he isn't getting any better. The Winchester's have Crowley trapped in their dungeon, when all Kevin wants is to see the demon-king dead.
(set post season 8)
The library is always cold, Kevin thought to himself as he sat on one of the wooden chairs around the big mahogany table. He could feel the chilled wood through the seat of his jeans.
"Why isn't he getting better?" Dean asked, as he sat down across from Kevin. He could have said 'hello,' or 'good morning,' but he didn't. He never did.
"Who, Sam?" Kevin asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "How should I know?"
Dean scoffed. "You're a prophet of the friggin' Lord. It's your job to know."
Kevin's fingers tightened around his coffee mug as he fought back the urge to punch Dean in the jaw. "Yeah? Well I don't. I only know what happens when you finish the trials, not when you quit. Like a coward."
Dean's eyes turned ice-cold, as did his voice. "Sam is not a coward, and if I so much as hear you think that in his direction-"
"You'll what? Kill me? You really think I give a crap at this point? After what happened to Channing? To my mom?"
Approaching footsteps made them both fall silent, though Dean's glare was furious enough it felt like a snarl.
"Mornin'" Sam said, his voice weary. He shuffled, more than walked over to the chair next to Dean and sat down.
"Sleep okay?" Dean asked.
"Not really." Sam wiped his thumb against the corner of his mouth, removing a small spot of blood. He must have had another coughing fit the night before. "My headache's better though."
"You were hacking up a lung again," Dean said, his eyes tracking the movement of Sam's thumb. "How bad was it?"
Sam blinked hard and looked at Dean. "Not that bad."
"Really? 'Cause your face says otherwise."
Sam rolled his eyes just a little. "I feel fine." He even smiled, teeth showing just enough for Kevin to notice the faint red tint to them.
"You still look like crap," Dean said.
"Maybe it's cancer," Kevin said.
"It's not cancer," Dean snapped.
Sam looked up at Kevin, his face neutral. "Could be anything, I guess."
"You should go to a doctor, figure out what's going on." Kevin said. He meant it too. As pissed as he was at the brothers for not finishing the trials, that didn't mean he wanted Sam to die. Crowley, on the other hand...
"You really think that's a good idea?" Sam asked. "I mean, there's gotta be some weird stuff in-in my blood." He swallowed, and looked almost ashamed. "What if they find something not human?"
"You've gotten blood-tests before, right? I mean, you've been in hospitals." Kevin said incredulously.
"Yeah, they've never found anything conclusive," Dean said, his voice low.
"You mean they found something?" Sam asked.
Dean didn't answer, taking a sip of his coffee instead. He wrinkled his nose as he set the mug back down. "Man, do you even use filters?"
Kevin gave him the finger. It wasn't his fault the Winchesters bought the world's shittiest filters.
"I'm gonna go make some coffee that isn't half grounds," Dean announced, standing.
Sam frowned and watched him go.
"You still feel like you're dying?" Kevin asked. Dean and Sam had told him why they'd stopped the trials. Sam would've died. And okay, Kevin understood not wanting to die, but…they'd lost so much already, and Sam didn't exactly seem like the picture of health.
"Actually, I feel a little better," Sam said, smiling at Kevin. His smile faded quickly when he caught Kevin's eyes. He looked back down at the table. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that I didn't-"
"It's okay," Kevin said. "You didn't want to die."
Sam pursed his lips and spoke so quietly Kevin could barely hear him. "I was okay with me dying."
Kevin swallowed. "Oh." He didn't know what else to say to that, and stared past Sam at the shelf of books behind him. This sucked. The whole thing sucked, his life sucked, and Sam was still dying. And they had Crowley trapped in the basement, but for some reason they hadn't yet discussed when and how they were going to kill him. Which was kind of high on Kevin's priority list.
******
They did go to 'check in on' the demon king later that afternoon. Sam and Dean were determined to get info from Crowley before killing him, which made Kevin's blood boil. He watched from the door, too angry to get any closer, and reviewed the short list of weapons that could kill a demon: Ruby's knife, the Colt, an angel blade…
"You're going to die," Crowley said, his eyes glinting up at Sam. The dim light in the dungeon made him look scruffier than usual, his beard stubble turning grey at the edges.
"Is that right?" Sam asked. His voice sounded steadier than it had in days.
"You're holding the King of Hell hostage!" Crowley growled "You think my people are going to just leave me here?"
Kevin scoffed. If there was one thing he'd learned having been a prisoner of Crowley's, it was that demons' loyalties were about as strong as tissue paper.
Crowley continued his tirade, voice rising. "They will find this little hole you've got me buried in, they will free me, and then they will slaughter you!" A wad of spit flew out with his last few words, and Dean wiped his cheek, unimpressed.
"No. They won't." His mouth curved in a wicked smile. "Nobody can find you here. And even if they could-you really think they give two craps about you?"
Crowley's brow furrowed in what looked like genuine confusion. "They have to care about me. Don't they?"
"They really don't," Dean said.
Sam stood silently beside him, but even so, Crowley's eyes kept drifting back up to Sam, like he was expecting him to say something.
"You ready to tell us what we want to know?" Dean asked.
"Nah," Crowley said. "Nothing in it for me. It'd be a poor business decision. You understand."
"Up to you," Dean said. "We'll just leave you in here then. Guess you like your alone time, huh?" His glance fell down to the demon's arm.
Kevin followed Dean's gaze. There was a tear in the demon's jacket sleeve, right by his wrist.
Crowley looked down at the rip and smiled up at Dean, stiffly. "Had an itch."
Dean turned to leave, Sam a few steps behind him.
******
Intel.
Sam and Dean wanted intel from Crowley. Kevin just wanted him to pay. For what he did to Channing, and to Mom, and to everyone. It wasn't fair. They had that bastard trapped down there and he was still alive. Because Sam and Dean wanted intel.
Sometimes Kevin wondered what he could possibly have done in a past life that was horrible enough to warrant this one.
He lost his patience the next afternoon. They'd spent hours cataloging texts in the library, which was Sam's favorite pastime of late. Kevin participated grudgingly until finally, right around dinner, he dropped the book he was holding, walked over to Dean and said. "Okay that's it. Give me it."
Dean looked at him, clueless. "Give you…what?"
"The angel blade. You guys have gotta have one stashed around here somewhere."
"We do," Sam said, getting up. "Why do you want it?"
"To kill Crowley," Kevin said.
"Whoa there cowboy," Dean said. "We need him."
"For what?" Kevin asked, voice tight with anger. "You've had him for days now and he hasn't told you squat."
Sam took a step closer to Kevin. "I know you've got your reasons, Kevin, but we-"
"He killed my mom. And everything I did-everything we did to try to save the world accomplished nothing. The world's even more fucked now than it was before, and there's no way for us to fix it."
"No, that's not true," Sam's voice was pitched low, his hands up and placating. "That's why we need Crowely. We know how to cure demons now, and once he tells us where they are, we'll track them down, and get rid of them for good."
"You didn't cure Crowley! He's still a demon, and he's just sitting down there‚ probably laughing at you two assholes-"
"Hey!" Dean warned. He was getting pissed. Good.
"Because he knows all he has to do is wait you out." Kevin swallowed. "He's not going to talk. We have to kill him before somebody screws up and he escapes. And if you don't kill him, then I will." He turned on his heel, storming out of the room. He couldn't stand looking at either of the brothers anymore.
******
Dean started guarding the dungeon more carefully after that. He probably figured Kevin would try something. And he wasn't wrong exactly, except that he hadn't been able to find an angel blade, or the demon-killing knife Sam favored. There were plenty of weapons around the Men of Letters Bunker, but not many that would hurt the King of Hell.
It took a long time for Kevin to get an opportunity to sneak down to Crowley. Sam had taken over guard duty, meaning he was pretending to be working in a room a few doors down from the dungeon. Dean left to get supplies and after an hour or so, Kevin decided to put his plan into action. "Any chance you guys have a washing machine here?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," Sam moved away from a bookshelf.
"It's just-I don't have all that much on me and it's starting to get ripe."
"No worries. Just uh-, just give me your bag and I'll take care of it. The machine's a little old. A lot old, actually." Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "But it works really well."
"Thanks a lot," Kevin said. They walked back to his room and after a few minutes, Kevin had stuffed all of his clothing except for what he was wearing into his duffel bag. "And Sam, sorry about earlier, I know I was out of line, but...it's not easy, knowing he's down there."
A muscle in Sam's jaw twitched. "Yeah, tell me about it." He took Kevin's bag, practically pulling it towards him. "I'll be back in a few."
Maybe Sam's not happy about this whole thing either, Kevin thought. Fine then, as long as Dean doesn't get back in the next five minutes, we won't have a problem.
Kevin moved as quickly as he could, heading down the hall to the dungeon.
Crowley blinked when the lights came on. He looked like crap. Skin pale and dark rings around his eyes. Weird, because demons didn't normally work like that.
As he walked closer, Kevin noticed that the tear in the demon's suit jacket looked larger. The edges were stained darker that the rest of the fabric.
"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" Crowley asked, watching the movement of Kevin's eyes.
"Don't really care."
"Ah." The demon looked towards the door. "Where's Moose?"
"You know you look like crap," Kevin said.
"You do care. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."
"Just curious why. Is it because of what Sam did?
"Why don't you ask him?"
"I'm asking you."
Crowley's brow furrowed, and when he answered, his voice was quieter than Kevin had ever heard it. "Heunmade me."
"He never finished the cure," Kevin said, his ire rising again.
"No, he didn't. But he downgraded me plenty. It's not pleasant."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me go get my violin."
"Aren't you going to try to kill me? Vengeance, and all that?"
"Yes. But not now."
"No time like the present."
Kevin turned, afraid he'd try to simply strangle the demon if he stayed in here much longer.
"Your mother loved you so very much," Crowley said.
Kevin froze where he stood.
"She wept when I slit her throat, but not for herself. She just kept saying, 'Who's going to take care of my son?'"
Kevin didn't consciously think about moving, he didn't remember doing it, but he must have because there was someone prying his fingers off of Crowley's throat, and distantly, he could hear Sam saying, "Let go. You don't want to do this."
But he did. He really, really did.
******
"Sorry about this, man, but you've gotta cool your heels," Dean said as he stood next to Sam, blocking Kevin's door.
"So what? You're just gonna lock me in my room? Keep me prisoner?" Kevin knew his voice was climbing, but he didn't really care.
"Of course not," Sam said.
"It's fine," Kevin snapped. "I'm used to it."
Sam took a deep breath and gave Kevin that look of doe-eyed compassion that probably worked on most people. But he wasn't most people. "We're just going to take some precautions so you won't do something you regret."
"You think there's something to regret about killing that son of a bitch? What the Hell is wrong with you?"
"He's our one chance to get rid of all the demons on the face of the Earth," Dean said. "You blow that, you'll regret it. Believe me."
"What I regret is having ever met you two assholes," Kevin muttered. He turned his back on them and walked to his bed.
"Kevin-" Sam said.
Dean mumbled something, but it was too quiet for Kevin to hear. Then they closed the door.
******
Even though his door wasn't locked, Kevin stayed in his room for nearly ten hours. He was still too angry to have dinner with the Hypocrite Brothers. After the time for dinner had passed he waited for the sounds of them heading to bed. At that point, he physically couldn't wait any longer and made his way to the communal bathroom. On his trip back, he passed the kitchen, selected the largest knife they had on hand and stood there turning it around in his palm a few times before heading towards the dungeon.
He wasn't sure the knife would work. He was hoping that Crowley was just human enough for it to at least cause some serious damage.
Even though he was sure neither brother had heard him slip down the hall, Kevin slowed his steps even more when he got near the dungeon door. He turned the corner, squinting in the dark, and was surprised to see that the door was open already.
Maybe they'd decided to guard Crowley from within the dungeon itself. Perfect.
Angry, Kevin continued on regardless, too incensed to turn back. If it was Sam, maybe he stood a chance, and if it was Dean, well, he was itching to fight someone.
By the time he was close enough to look into the dungeon itself, Kevin started getting the sense that something was very wrong. The lights in the dungeon were off, and there was a weird sound coming from the center of the cell. Something soft and wet, like a suckling noise.
Kevin stepped in farther and his eyes adjusted enough that he realized he was looking at Sam's back. He relaxed momentarily, and then he saw what Sam was doing, and who was making the sound.
Sam's mouth was closed tightly around Crowley's neck, above the engraved binding collar, which didn't leave him a whole lot of room.
Kevin had heard the rumors about Sam. He'd even talked to Garth about it, who'd replied in the same zen-like way he handled everything else. "We've all got our low spots."
But this wasn't low. This was monstrous.
The knife shook in his hand as his fingers began to tremble and he backed out of the room, his heel slamming into the door, which made his heart pound so hard it hurt. He slumped against the storage room wall, struggling to formulate a new plan.
Maybe he'd been sloppy, and Dean had heard him after all. If he had, then Dean would come soon and see what Sam was doing. He'd stop his brother and kill Crowley and this would all be over.
Within seconds, he found out he was right, as he heard Dean's heavy footsteps from just outside the storage room. His eyes found Kevin's within seconds, even in the dark, and his face twisted with fury. But something about Kevin's expression must have tipped him off.
Kevin tried to think of a gesture that would convey 'your brother's drinking from Crowley's neck,' but ended up just pointing towards the door with a shaking hand.
Dean stepped into the dungeon slowly, and Kevin waited for the sounds of Dean pulling his brother away, or stabbing Crowley, or yelling, or…anything. But there were no sounds. Dean stayed in the room for three minutes, then five more.
Sam left the room first. His eyes were glazed and looked black in the darkness. Kevin shuddered when he looked at him, but Sam never noticed. He kept walking, out the storage room door and down the hall at an abnormally slow pace. Seconds later, Dean stepped out of the dungeon.
Kevin looked up at Dean hopefully, waiting for a gruff acknowledgement, or a hint of a plan.
Dean glanced at him once, but his face was completely, horrifyingly empty. Kevin's blood ran cold.
There was no confrontation, no instruction. Dean simply turned back towards the exit of the storeroom and followed his brother out.
After a few dumbstruck seconds, Kevin forced himself to his feet and followed Dean's path down the hall. He saw Dean enter Sam's room, and got to the door just in time to see Sam lie back down on his bed and close his eyes. Like nothing had ever happened.
And Dean didn't do a thing, but stand there and watch his brother sleep.
*****
Kevin didn't remember planning to leave. He was distantly aware of packing his bag-grabbing his things from the archaic dryer and stuffing them in on auto-pilot.
It wasn't until he was about half a mile away from the bunker that his brain came back online and he Freaked. The. Fuck. Out.
He fell to his knees on the side of the road, shaking and screaming wordlessly as he tried to process what he'd seen. He didn't have a clue where to go, but he knew he had to get away from the Winchesters. As far as he could. If he was lucky, he'd never see them again.
read the original fic (and see the art!) here