Chapter Text
Kevin never thought he would look back on his life and wish for college applications and AP tests. He hated every minute of college essays and the pressure he put on himself. But here he is, in the ass-end of nowhere digging up a freakin’ tablet -- about demons, wishing he was back in high school worrying about AP classes and admissions interviews.
“I’m meant to be a freakin’ mathlete, not a damn prophet,” he mutters to himself as he continues digging. He’s struck every day by the overwhelming ridiculousness that is his life. Every day on the boat, in Crowley’s abundance of seedy lairs, on the run with his mom in decrepit, rundown buildings he kept being hit with the realization that this is it for him, even if they close the gates, he will still be a prophet. He had never wanted much from his life - being the first Asian-American President of the United States wasn’t much to ask, but now that would never be him.
He sighs and turns to listen for the unique sound of the Winchesters approaching. He pulls out the bag with the tablet in, standing as the Winchesters reach him, “You hid the demon tablet underneath the Devil? Seriously?” sasses Dean.
“What, I was delirious.” Kevin says, tacking on ‘I don’t need your shit right now, Dean.’ in his head, “Are you sure this is gonna work?” he asks, handing the now repaired demon tablet off to Sam.
“What choice do we have?” Sam looks almost defeated, the trials are taking their toll. There is a slump to his shoulders which seems more pronounced than usual, extra weight from the trails or maybe he just hasn’t got the energy to keep hiding his despair.
Dean pulls out a small box, pulling open the lid he starts, “Listen, this is a secret lair,” he picks up the key and holds it out, “you understand me? No keggers.” It’s obvious he’s trying to lighten the mood, but he’s off point.
“I don’t have any friends.” Kevin deadpans, feeling much older and a lot more tired than he should.
“Well just lay low, and who knows you’ll be a mathlete again before you know it.”
He waits a beat then as they are leaving he reassures them, “Guys, you’re doing the right thing.” And then he’s alone. Again.
Kevin wipes his hands on his pants, grabs his shovel and his bag and heads to his car, his mom’s car, he supposes it’s his now. Usually Classic FM helps keep his life at bay, it reminds him of playing the cello, at school, at home, for Channing, but today it is just making it worse. He hits preset number two: some rock station his mom liked. He almost hurts when he thinks of her, wondering if she’s alive or dead, if she died quickly or was tortured. He turns up her favourite song when it comes on, singing out of tune pretending that she's next to him, singing just as badly.
Kevin smiles as he remembers all the times he and Mrs Tran had enjoyed the steady beat and crazy guitar skills of Jimi Hendrix in his cover of All Along The Watchtower.He smiles about trips to the supermarket for pasta or bread, about long drives to see grandparents on the other side of the state, and even longer drives to visit campuses across country. His smile turns sad when the song ends and he's left with his thoughts again. He doesn't turn the music down.
It feels like forever before Kevin pulls up outside the bunker, he made only two pit stops - one for gas, one to take a leak. He's groggy and tired, but decides to have a look around the bunker anyway. As he’s walking through the bunker he’s impressed. The entrance had been unassuming, a half sunken door that made him wonder if he was in the wrong place, but the key had worked so he decided to trust that the Winchesters hadn’t sent him to some kind of dank hovel with cobwebs and mice. Kevin was not in the mood to deal with mice. As he descended the stairs he was greeted by a rather welcoming room with walls lined with more books than he thought the Winchesters would know what to do with. He took a moment to acquaint himself with some of the titles, enjoying the semi-familiar feeling of being in a room surrounded by books, even if instead of historical or scientific textbooks these were about supernatural creatures and spells.
Kevin reasons with himself that food is a necessity and finds the kitchen, where he groans in delight to see real food. Man can only live off beef jerky and take-out for so long before craving apples and carrots and God, even bean sprouts would do. He makes a mental note that he knows he'll forget, to thank Sam for getting vegetables before he washes his hands and sets himself to make a meal.
He leans back, stretching his arms above his head and popping his shoulder, “There's nothing like a home cooked meal, is there?” There is a pause in which Kevin realizes there is no one around to address.
“You're losing it, Tran.” He says, to himself, again. He pushes away from the table, assuring himself that anyone would be a little mad going through what he's been through. Freakin’ kidnapped by the King of Hell, and what was up with Dick? He shakes his head and drops his plate into the sink, muttering about ‘dumbass Winchesters’ and ‘stupid prophet status’ and ‘goddamn angels’ as he goes in search of the bathroom.
After visiting the bathroom and having a brief wash, he goes off in search of somewhere to rest. He looks in almost all the rooms, singling out Dean’s room - hard to mistake as anything else with the weapons on the walls and the pictures on the desk - and Sam’s room - harder to tell apart from the others if due to the lack of a personal touch, as if Sam didn’t feel at home or at peace here - and wondering about the two other rooms that have been cleaned out - he claims one of them as his own, laying his rucksack on the bed and pulling off his shoes as he sits down, looking about himself.
He looks down at his hands, not daring to let the flicker of hope he feels inside creep out in case Dean or Sam or even Garth calls to ruin it all.
He looks up, from what he has dubbed the comfiest bed in existence and caught himself in the mirror across the room. He looks tired. There are dark bags under his eyes and his hair is limp and greasy. He looks old. There’s a pain in his eyes that isn’t found in other 19 year old guys.
“I guess I could go for a nap.”
He allows himself to fall back onto the pillow and is asleep before he has a chance to consider what he’ll do with his life now or spare a thought for how Sam and Dean are doing with Crowley.
The next thing he knows is the sound of his name being shouted in deep, reverberating tones in the hallway outside his room, “Kevin! Kevin, where the hell are you?”
Kevin shoots out of bed and races towards the door, sensing that Dean isn’t here on a social call.
“Woah!”
He almost walks into Dean as he opens the door, “Dean, what are you doing here? Thought you were gonna be with Crowley until early tomorrow? The last Trial takes at least 8 hours, there’s no way its over.”
Dean raises an eyebrow and turns on his heel, “C’mon, we need you for something else. Sam’s taking care of Crowley - he’s all chained up, he won’t be any trouble.”
They reach the main room where Kevin see’s Castiel standing to one side, they greet each other with a nod.
“Cas” Dean gestures with his head, as if to say, you can take it from here, big guy. Cas pulls a tablet out of his jacket and puts it on the table. The three of them convene there, Kevin leaning over the new tablet.
“Is this a joke?” Kevin really hopes it is, he cannot deal with this -- he’s just woken up from the longest sleep he’s had for weeks, if not months, and it was still only a few hours. And what about that flicker of hope?
“No, it’s the word of God.” Cas is deadly serious.
“What?” Kevin looks up at Dean for answers, hoping to God they aren’t serious.
“It’s a tablet, translate, that’s what you do.”
“No, it’s the angel tablet,” Kevin pushes himself away from the table, “which I’ve never laid eyes on in my life. And, what, you want a translation in like six hours? When it took six months,” Kevin walks over to the table to his left to pour himself a drink of whiskey, “and a dead mom to translate a piece of the demon tablet?” Kevin sits on the chair in the corner of the study with his drink in his hand, gesturing to Dean with it, “and according to your own words this morning this is not what I do, it’s what I did.” The incredulous tone in his voice rises, “You told me I was out, Dean,”
Dean at least looks a little guilty, “Yeah, well-”
“-And if this is gonna be the ‘guys like us are never out’ speech; save it.” He gestures again with his glass before it crashes to the floor as Castiel grabs hold of the front of his jumper.
“Dean’s right, there is no out. Only duty.”
Dean tries to protest from the sidelines, clearly not at ease with Castiel’s treatment of Kevin.
“Get the hell off me” Kevin tries, weakly and without much conviction. It’s not what he wants to say, but it’s what comes out.
Castiel is holding Kevin very close to his face, trying to intimidate him, though the tone of his voice would’ve been enough to do that, “You are a prophet of the lord; always and forever,” Castiel looks away from Kevin’s eyes and tilts his head, “until the day you cease to exist and then another prophet will take your place.” Kevin is dropped to the floor and pushed towards the table, towards the tablet, “Now are you clear as to the task before you?”
It’s not really a question, but Kevin answers it with a nod anyway, “Then do it, we must go.” Castiel walks over to dean and in a flap of wings they are gone. Kevin is alone.
Again.
Kevin spends a little while just staring at the tablet, he thinks about all the things he should’ve said to Castiel, all the things he would’ve said if he’d been a bit braver, a little less broken. He’s mostly glad he didn’t break down, that he didn’t beg Castiel to see that he’s only human. That human’s get things wrong, they make the wrong choices, they break under the anxiety and pressure of having responsibility. He would’ve suggested that Cas take a look around, at the people that have broken by things a little less important that saving the freakin’ world from whatever has gone wrong now.
“There is no out. Only duty.” the words circle in his head, a mantra that he wishes he didn’t see the truth in. “There is no out.” He gets it, he gets that this is his life now, “Only duty.”. The hiding from demons, the translating tablets that are probably older than time itself, he knows he’s the only one who can do it. But getting it, doesn’t mean he has to like it. “Only duty.” He doesn’t have to be okay with the fact that this life has taken everything from him - His hopes, ambitions, his dreams of the future, his girlfriend, even his damn mom - and that is not okay. It won’t be and whilst he knows he can’t run from this, he will not go gently into that good night.
That being said, he sits down with the tablet and translates until he gets the call, the one demanding information from him.
Dean skips the pleasantries, “What’s the word, Kev?”
With a small defeated sigh, “I think I found angel trials, but I don’t see anything about Nephilim or a Cupid’s Bow, or anything like that" he can feel dean's disappointment seeping through the connection.
"Oh, come on, Kev, we’re on the one yard line, here."
Kevin's mind rolls out with confusion, "And I should’ve mentioned this 6 months ago, but the sports metaphors? You wanna motivate me; Magic Cards, Skyrim, Aziz Ansari."
He can almost see the frown on Dean's face, "I don't know what any of those words mean." There’s a rustling on the other end of the line and then the sounds of muffled talking, he hears a third voice.
"Dean?” Kevin tries, “Dean?" There’s no answer. He listens hard, hearing a woman’s voice over the line, listening to the confrontation. Sam’s gonna die? He feels the air get punched out of his gut,
Dean finally speaks down the line again, “Hey? Right now talk to me is she lying?”
Kevin has nothing but honesty, he can hear the strain in Dean’s voice, the reluctance to let this happen, “I don’t know” He tries to pour his honesty and empathy into his voice.
Either Dean doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care, “Well find out!”
“She’s lying” is all he catches from what Castiel says before the phone goes dead.
Kevin is alone, again. Left out of the loop, again. Left with an endless circle of questions in his head.
Kevin decides that fuck this, I’m not just sitting here when I can help Sam, or Dean, or someone.
He grabs his backpack, he'd expected to have to leave and hadn't settled in. He knows where Sam is, knows the plan, and he's got the tablet with him, his backpack also contains all the ingredients he’d need to take on a demon. He heads for the door, taking a look around the bunker before heading up the stairs.
He hears loud a beeping noise, out of the corner of his eye he sees something start flashing a red-orange colour and what the hell is going on? He looks over the banister, watching as the instruments all light up or beep or whirr, it's a sudden cacophony of sound and light and action when before the only thing was him, his short breaths and the padding of his footsteps.
There’s a loud click from the door and when he tries the handle, it doesn’t budge. The lights continue to flash and the table map lights up, yellow circles illuminating what looks like every inch of the world, “Aw, fuck"