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Something Kevin’s learned the hard way: when Dean says to trust him, don’t.
He could hear the barely disguised panic in Dean’s voice when he demands Kevin look for ways to clamp down on an angel. He’d have to be blind not to notice the weird ways Sam had been acting since failing to close the Hell gates, the way he ran off with no explanation or went so still, so deathly silent, staring at Kevin like he was studying him, a hawk's expression before it swooped. Sam's voice buzzed in Kevin’s ears in ways he let be written off as migraine auras or leftover juice from the trials. It should have been something Kevin saw through earlier, but he’s exhausted and hungry and hurting all the time. Now, on top of that, he’s terrified.
Because the pieces are falling into place and Kevin’s got a paper with his name scrawled on it clutched in his hands and the sigils on the wall are different than they were when Kevin made them and Dean isn’t someone he ever should have trusted.
He leaves Dean thinking he’s talking to his brother. It crosses his mind, for a moment, that that’s selfish, throwing Dean to the meat grinder for a few seconds more to escape, but then he remembers how Dean didn’t even bother to tell him what he was doing. If not for the paper in Kevin’s sweaty palm, with his name, only his name, drifting lazily out of Sam’s jacket, he might not have eavesdropped. He might have been left a sitting duck. So screw Dean. He’s Kevin freaking Solo.
That makes a nervous laugh erupt from his chest. He knows where his feet are taking him, even if he’s doing everything in his power not to think about it. The safest place in the Bunker. It’s a dead-end, Kevin knows that, but where else is he going to run? If he’s lucky, he hides until the storm blows over. If not-
He’s not thinking about if nots. He’s thinking about surviving. He drags the door to the dungeon open and shuts it behind him. All he can hear is his heart pounding as he backs away from it. Should he bar the door? Can he? What is there to-
“-vin. Kevin!” An annoyed growl from behind him. Kevin nearly jumps out of his skin. Crowley rolls his eyes, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. There’s a scrap of paper there. A crayon. Kevin squeezes the name in his fist harder. “What do you need now? Another translation? A spell, maybe? Or is are we getting dirty again?” Crowley glances suggestively at the tools on the wall and then back to Kevin. He looks Kevin up and down. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kevin thinks he hears something, and his head jerks back to the door. “Well, maybe not so surprising in your line of work. Is that-“
“Shut up,” Kevin whispers. “It’s going to hear you.” Crowley tilts slightly in his chair, as though he can look past Kevin and through the closed door.
“Don’t tell me you’ve let another ancient horror out of a jar.”
“Shut up!” Kevin hisses. Crowley’s smile, what there is of it, falls. When he speaks again, the taunts are gone.
“Kevin. What did those idiots set free?” There’s another noise from outside, or Kevin thinks there might be. He’s not sure. Anything could be a sign of danger. Desperately, he grasps for one of the hammers on the wall. It has a familiar weight to it. He’s used it on Crowley… more times than he would like to admit.
Kevin feels like a mouse in a trap, caught wrong, his neck not snapped properly, squirming and squeaking.
But this trap has the king of Hell in it. Kevin’s out of options.
“Can you kill an angel?” he asks. Crowley leans back in his chair.
“Do you have one of their blades?” Kevin shakes his head. “Mm. Gun loaded with grace bullets? A very sharp needle?” Kevin doesn’t even bother to answer those. “Then, no, I can’t kill an angel.”
“If it gets in here, it’ll kill you.” Crowley grimaces.
“Not exactly what I had planned for today.” He lifts his cuffed hands expectantly, and when Kevin doesn’t move, he says, “Well?”
“What?”
“You said it yourself. We’re both going to die. Set me free, so that we don’t!” Crowley’s voice rises in aggravation. Kevin is about to shake his head, but that’s when he hears it. Crowley does, too. He tilts his head, listening as Kevin does to the echoing sounds of footsteps. They’re slow. Searching. Still far enough away that Kevin knows they have a few minutes more to live. He holds his breath. “Make a choice, Kevin. The angel hunting us or me.”
“Like you won’t kill me the second you’re free.”
“I’m telling you I won’t. You can trust me, or you can walk out those doors right now. Better a quick death than waiting in here scared out of your wits.”
Crowley sees as well as he does that there isn’t a real choice. Kevin drops the note he’s holding and goes for the keys to his shackles.
“Cuffs first,” Crowley instructs as Kevin’s shaking hands try to fit the key into the lock. Crowley’s taken the paper and crayon, and he’s scribbling away quickly. “Then, you have to smash those marks on the floor. You’ve got the upper body strength for it. I’ve felt it when you hit me.” The cuff around Crowley’s neck falls, and he rolls his head. The cuffs on his wrists are easier, and then Kevin is down on one knee unlocking his ankles. Crowley finishes writing before he stands. “It’s going to make a lot of noise, so when your angel friend gets here, do exactly what I say, or this will just be a lot of wasted effort.”
Kevin stares at him. For a moment, the surreality of the situation is almost too much for him to handle. Crowley has tortured him, he’s killed Kevin’s mom or good as, and now, he’s going to save Kevin’s life. Crowley snaps his fingers and points at the ground. Kevin is shocked back into movement, lugging the hammer in his hands up and smashing it into the ground. It doesn’t have to make a big crack. It only has to sever the mark enough that Crowley’s free to do whatever he wants.
He’s beside Kevin in a moment. His hand covers Kevin’s arm. They can both hear the footsteps outside drawing closer, lured by the sound of the hammer. Crowley slides the drawing he’s made to Kevin, and Kevin recognizes it as an angel banishing sigil, the kind he might have thought to use himself if he wasn’t panicking. “Give me your hand.” Kevin does, and he cries out when Crowley digs his nail into his palm hard enough to tear it open. It bleeds freely. “Copy this onto the table in your blood,” he says, “and as soon as it’s done, slam your wound against it as hard as you can.” Like Kevin needs to be told.
“Why not your blood?” Kevin says. Years of this and his pain tolerance should be better than it is, not make his eyes water from a cut. He doesn’t let that stop him, pushing his fingers against his bleeding palm and scrawling the symbol onto the table.
“Has to be human. Stay behind me.” He doesn’t have to tell Kevin that, not only because Kevin isn’t going anywhere but because Crowley is the one who chooses to step between Kevin and the door as it opens. Kevin draws frantically.
“Get out of the way.” That’s Sam’s voice. That’s not Sam. Kevin’s ears are buzzing again.
“Oh, good choice. I prefer Sam myself. Never possessed him, unfortunately. I’m sure you've noticed his little tattoo when you’ve admired him in private.” Crowley’s voice is as glib as it was when Kevin entered. He reaches back, and he braces one hand against Kevin’s side as though he’s making sure he stays put. Kevin’s not even sure if the angel possessing Sam can see him where he’s hidden. It makes no difference; it knows he’s there. But Crowley won’t let it see him.
“You are the demon they keep locked up,” the angel says. “I’ve watched you talk. Let me have the prophet, and you will live.” Crowley clicks his tongue.
“Give me a moment to think about it.” This symbol is hard to draw, harder in his own blood. Kevin’s not sure if there’s enough to finish it. He digs his own nails into the wound to free more. The scent floods his nostrils and makes him want to gag. He smears it into the shape of the sigil. “It happens that I’m very attached to this adorable little prophet. What more do you have to bargain?”
“Only your life.” Kevin hears the angel take a step closer.
“I see,” Crowley drags the word out. He’s buying time. Kevin only needs a few more seconds. “In that case, having fully considered every facet of your offer, I’m going to have to-“ Kevin slaps the sigil. The broken skin of his palm screeches in agony, but not nearly as loud as the angel screams as it’s forced out of the room. Kevin’s eardrums feel like they’ll burst. He covers them to no effect, only warm blood coating the side of his head. A moment later, it’s all over, and the room is dark and quiet again. “Turn you down,” Crowley finishes. The hand at Kevin’s side falls away. Kevin leans on the table, swallowing down air until his lungs hurt. He feels Crowley pat his shoulder, and he flinches from it.
“Well done, Kevin,” Crowley says, and whatever note is in his voice, Kevin doesn’t want to analyze or worry or think about it.
“And now you kill me?”
“No. No,” Crowley huffs. “That was a deal we made back there. My freedom for your protection.” Adrenaline is a nasty thing. Kevin’s got too much first-hand experience. He might actually throw up. “We made a good team.”
“Fuck you,” Kevin says. Crowley chuckles. He's free to go. There's nothing Kevin could do to stop him. For some reason, he stays, and he speaks again, his tone serious once more.
“I’ve been meaning to ask something for a while now. I told you that your mother was still alive, and I wasn’t lying about that.” Kevin’s head shoots up so fast, his vision dances with black spots. “It seems exactly like the kind of rescue mission the Winchesters would love to undertake for family.”
“She’s as good as dead,” Kevin repeats what Dean said, but the words sound even more hollow now.
“That’s what I thought,” Crowley says as he tries to place his hand on Kevin’s shoulder again and Kevin moves away. “I tried to warn you. The Winchesters burn people up. I’ve been around them a long time. I’ve seen it again and again. What do you think would have happened today if you didn’t come looking for me?” Kevin’s hands curl into fists.
“He didn’t tell me. He put an angel in Sam, and he didn’t say anything. It could have killed me whenever it wanted.” If his voice shakes, he hopes it sounds like the anger he’s finally letting out rather than fear.
“Years of your life gone. No closed hell gates. One mother you miss dearly that they wanted you to condemn rather than look for. Countless nights letting you abuse that irreplaceable brain of yours. And one near-death experience because despite everything you’ve given them, you weren’t important enough to be in the loop.” Crowley counts out the score. Kevin squeezes his eyes shut. His nails dig back into his already injured palm. “Does that sound like a life you want to keep living?”
“You’re doing the ‘work for me’ speech,” Kevin says. The last few times he heard it, Crowley had a one hand outstretched and the other holding a knife. He doesn't think he needs a threat to coax Kevin onto his side anymore.
“I am,” Crowley answers, “and do you know what you’re doing? Considering it.”
Kevin doesn’t want Crowley to be right.
“Look at what I’m offering. Protection from anything who tries to hurt you, whether it’s coming from Heaven or Hell. Lavish living arrangements, food, housing, you name it. The first thing we’d do is pick your mother up and make sure she’s kept safe with you. Is the deal sweet enough?”
“You want me to hand over myself and the tablets to help you rule Hell?”
“You'd be helping people. Hard to see it from your, or Sam and Dean’s, point of view, but I kept Hell organized. If Abaddon’s left in charge, she’ll bring her reign of terror to Earth as soon as the deals she’s collecting early dry up.” He pauses. “But screw helping people. Be a little selfish for once, Kevin. Haven’t you given enough?”
Kevin takes a deep breath.
“Yes,” Kevin whispers.
“Couldn’t hear that.”
“Yes!” It’s freeing. He’s tired. He’s done. The Winchesters promised him this would be over by now. He thought he lost his mother for this fight. Dean couldn’t even give Sam up when he was willing to die to finish things.
“That’s what I thought. You go fetch your tablets, your notes, whatever you think is important. I’ll meet you at the exit.”
“What are you-“ By the time Kevin has turned around, Crowley is gone.
Alone in the dungeon, he’s left to wonder if this was the wrong choice.
His hand stings. He hisses in pain as blood continues to drip down his palm. He looks back at the angel banishing symbol, at the walls around him, and he walks out without any more doubts. He’s had a bag ready to go for ages, even if he could never convince himself before now to leave. He had nowhere else to go, and even if it turns out he's exchanging a prison with the Winchesters for one with Crowley, at least he knows Crowley will feed him better. He sweeps his notes into his backpack, filling it near to bursting but he can’t leave any of his scribbled thoughts behind or risk losing days of work. The tablets go in another bag that he slings over his shoulder. They spark outraged pain in his head at being jostled like trash, but he shoves it away. He’s been hauling them around for years. He’s used to it.
Crowley is waiting by the stairs, as promised. There’s no blood on his hands or his clothes, so Kevin has to presume that if that angel didn’t kill Dean outright, then he’s still alive somewhere in the Bunker. It doesn’t matter except to lend some peace of mind that Crowley didn’t go straight from his newfound freedom to murder.
“There you are,” Crowley says. He motions Kevin closer, and hesitantly, he comes. “No second thoughts, I hope?”
“None.” Crowley holds out his hand. Kevin lifts his injured one, and when Crowley nods and flexes the fingers of his outstretched hand, Kevin lays it in his. Instead of some sort of painful retribution for the days Kevin has blown off steam hacking away at him, Crowley draws out a pristine bandage. “Where did you get that?”
“I stole it. Hold still.” Pressure on the wound stings a little as Crowley wraps it. One hand keeps Kevin’s still, and the other winds the bandage around and around his palm, securing it. Staring at his hand, Kevin realizes it’s the one that Crowley once cut a finger off of.
And now, he’s making a pleased noise as he checks the bandage is tied properly.
“That will be enough for now. Once we’re somewhere a little more secure-“
“After we get my mom,” Kevin insists.
“After we get your mom. It’s at the top of my priorities, I promise. Then, I’ll see if I can throw together a spell to have you good as new.” Kevin adjusts the bags he’s carrying. “Ready to leave?”
“More than.” They climb the steps side by side. Kevin doesn’t look back at the Bunker.
“Since this is a deal we’re making, we’re going to have to follow protocol,” Crowley says off-handedly as the Bunker door swings shut behind them and Kevin hauls himself up the final steps. He can’t tell if he feels like he’s going to pass out because he hasn’t slept in days or because he’s finally out of the rush of nearly getting killed.
“What?” Crowley stops and turns to him.
“We have to do it right. Pucker-“ Kevin’s brain catches up with what Crowley wants before he finishes speaking. He’s the one who grabs Crowley’s coat and yanks him down to get it over with.
As things go today, kissing Crowley isn’t that bad. He’s awful, and Kevin still hates him, but the kiss itself isn’t horrible. Crowley’s hand on his shoulder isn’t horrible. Kevin pulls back, letting Crowley go, realizing a moment too late that Crowley would have to let himself be pulled for Kevin to be able to drag him around.
“Happy?”
“Hm. Really, we made two deals today. You owe me one more.” Kevin makes a face.
“Bite me.” Crowley smiles, and it is disturbingly fond.
“All in due time. I’ll collect on that second kiss later. What say we go pay your mother a visit. I’m sure she misses you.”
By the time Dean wakes up from being knocked out on the cold Bunker floor, Sam is gone, Crowley is gone, and Kevin is long gone and never coming back.