Song-Based One Shots

Stronger Than the Whiskey (SPN)

There he goes again, lost in the drink. The bottle's half empty as he tries not to think. There he goes again.

Dean was slouched in his chair, a full glass beside a half-empty bottle of whiskey. His mind was empty, pleasantly numb, just the way he liked it nowadays. He picked up the glass and swallowed half the drink in one gulp. Staring, he swirled the drink around the glass, the ice long since melted.

"One of these days you're going to drink yourself to death," a voice spoke before seating themself in the seat opposite him.

It was Cas.

"Isn't that the point?" The hunter asked, finishing off his glass and pouring himself some more.

"I'd hope not. Then I'd have reason to worry." The angel was oddly calm considering the topic of conversation.

Dean scoffed. "You always worry."

Nodding, Cas reached across the table and grabbed the bottle, putting it to his lips and taking a swig.

Normally, Dean would be pissed, but the whiskey was working and he found he didn't care as much.

"Well, that was rude."

Cas grabbed the cap, put it on, and set the bottle on the ground. "Now you won't drink it."

The hunter polished off his glass before sliding it across the table for Cas to put with the bottle. "Why you doin' this?"

At this, Cas leaned against the table, his weight resting on his forearms. "Because, despite what you may think sometimes, I do care about you."

Misty eyes were threatening to spill tears, so Dean clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together.

"I'm sorry," he finally choked out after a minute.

Somehow, Cas's face became even softer. "I know. I'll keep reminding you until you don't need it anymore."

He lost control again. The drink takes him down. Despair in his eyes as he tries not to drown. There he goes again.

Entering the library, Sam and Cas were surprised to find it in complete chaos. Chairs were overturned, books strewn across the room and tables flipped.

Nothing good could've happened in the hour they were away. Was the Bunker attacked? Was Dean ok?

"Dean?!" Sam called out.

"What?" Dean answered, but Sam couldn't see him. His voice was near so he knew his brother was close.

Finally, Sam and Cas found the man. Tucked into an alcove near the back of the library, Dean was curled in a ball in the corner, his hands and arms covered in blood.

Sam and Cas rushed to his side, Sam gripping his brother's hands in his own while Cas checked for further injury. Fear coursed through Sam's veins. What happened?

"Get off of me," Dean fought, struggling to push the both of them off him.

"What happened?" Then, Sam smelled it. Alcohol. "Are you drunk?"

"What's it matter?" Dean asked instead, effectively answering his question.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam yelled, ignoring his brother's hiss of pain as he threw his arms back into his lap and stood up. Cas stayed kneeled by Dean's side. There was nothing he could say.

"I thought you were seriously hurt."

With Cas's help, Dean stood up. "I'm fine, Sammy. You two go do whatever and I'll clean this up."

Sam didn't know what it was, maybe the look in Dean's eyes, maybe the sight of Cas being the only thing keeping Dean standing. Whatever it was sent him back to when they were kids and Dean would send him to his room to protect him, to try and hide something.