Supernatural Preferences!!

Destiel Story

A/N:
I got this as a request for caxxtiel. She completely made up every last bit of it. I'm still not sure how to cope. It's very, emotionally, dramatically deep.

Prompt: depressing Destiel story.

WARNING: Be prepared to cry...

*~*~*

Dean and Cas are already together.

They have, in fact, been together for a few years, but something about their relationship just dwells on violence.

They know why. Claire died. They had adopted her as their daughter, and everything had been fine until she had wanted to go on a hunt with them.

And she had died. Right in front of them.

From that day forward, everything was quiet. Still. Tense. They both knew something was missing and neither knew how to bridge that hole that Claire's death had left them with.

So they grew angrier, and Dean shrunk back into his alcohol and Cas shrank into... whatever he's into... Bees? (A/N: I've got no idea what he's into.)

And as their misery and depression grew, so too did the amount of fights they had. Neither knew why.

They loved each other, but they could also have full on brawls over something as insignificant as which mug to use for coffee. And so the depression between them grew. And grew. And grew.

And as that depression grew, their fists got bloodier with each other's emotions and well-beings... and blood.

One day, Sam had rounded them up for a hunt. Quiet as usual. Tense as usual. Only, this hunt didn't go as planned.

Cas and Dean were bickering, as usual. "I'm so tired of your crap, Cas! I'm trying the best I can!"

"What, like you did with Claire?"

And suddenly the wraith they were hunted had swirled around Castiel's human body and left nothing but a pile of bones.

Sam had had to drag Dean away, the broken mess of a man he once was crumbling away to little more than a mind that knew how to function his body.

He was broken inside, but he had no show of that on the outside. He was grizzly, like always, tough, unmoving, grief less that the man who he loved with such a burning passion had died in such a meaningless way right in front of him.

And when he got home that night, he wanted to cry, be able to do anything, ANYTHING that showed he loved that man, but he couldn't. All he did was sit at the dinner table. All he did was shower. All he did was get into bed. And the worst thing about it?

Nothing had changed.

Dean killed himself the next night, eyes only gathering a little moisture in them before he went to join Cas in heaven, because damn it, if anyone belonged in there, that beautiful, blue-eyed man did.

And Sam.

Poor, poor old Sam. Sam wept and screamed over the loss of the only real family he'd ever had, for his brother who raised him and protected him and for the dark-haired angel who saved the man that saved Sam countless times.

He wept for both of their sorrow; for how much they loved each other and for how much that destroyed them. He wept for Claire, for the girl that meant no harm, for the girl that made them happy and that left them breathless. He wept.

And for centuries that weeping continued, although perhaps not in the way you would think it did. Always was he sobbing on the inside, screaming, curled in a ball of misery and pain and heartbreak.

He was always crying out for all of those who he had lost.

Without anyone to help him, Sam drank. And drank.

He eventually became a furious old drunk, lying in the hospital bed one day for liver failure because of his alcohol abuse.

"Hell you lookin' at?" he would spit at anyone who would look at him with pity. Everyone knew him.

He had tried suicide multiple times, through pills and overdoses, always wanting it to be ungruesome. Not bloody.

He had seen enough blood in his lifetime.

And if they had read his file, they would know about his family history. Abandoned. Raised by a thirteen year old. Hunted. Lost, found, died, repeat. Then his brother died-suicide. They knew he had lived a terrible life, and they felt sorry.

He hated that.

And he died in that hospital, a shell of a good man filled with sorrow and covering with hatred. A corrupted man.

Broken.

Like everyone in his life, he died used and abused and terrified.