All the Mistakes We Once Made Chapter 5, a supernatural fanfic

Castiel started with preachers. Any preacher he deemed hypocritical he smote. Then law enforcers. White supremacists. Sexist business leaders. Motivational speakers. His list of immoral people grew and grew.

Tagging along when Castiel flew wasn't getting any better. Dean began eating as much food as he could just so he'd have something other than bile in his stomach to throw up. Castiel was getting worse. He had moments, Dean could see, where the evil inside of him was forcing its way to the outside. Castiel would stop and grimace; his breathing would grow ragged and he'd need to lean on something. Usually thereafter, he'd go cure someone of a physical ailment to prove to himself that he was good. Dean saw right through him.

Three days later, Castiel visited Crowley's hideout―a trailer graffitied with angel warding. Dean collapsed on the floor. He stumbled to his feet in search of something to vomit in. He heard Crowley swear and decided that, because Crowley is a douchebag, he'd vomit right on the floor.

Crowley glared at him. "Oi!"

Dean leaned on an end table and glared back at him.

Crowley diverted his attention back to Castiel. "I suppose you've come here to kill me. Want a drink first?" Castiel shook his head. "Ah you like to bend them right over, do you? Let's go." Crowley braced himself to be smote.

"I'm not going to kill you, Crowley. I have plans for you."

"Whussit?" Crowley looked angry, and somewhat scared.

"Here's our new arrangement: you return to your post as King of Hell. But, I control where each soul goes. I control the flow; you take what you get." Castiel waited for Crowley's reaction. Crowley looked horrified.

"Hell's getting downsized," Crowley summed up.

"That's a terrible deal! Don't take it," Dean suggested.

Ignoring Dean, Castiel said, "I would do away with it all together, but I need something to hold over my enemies. And we must keep Michael and Lucifer in the cage."

"This isn't a negotiation, is it?" Crowley asked.

"No."

"I'm sold then!" Crowley turned around to pour them drinks, but Castiel whisked away without another word. Dean was growing sick of this.

Another day passed, and, all of a sudden, Castiel's skin was covered in blisters. He and Dean sat at a park bench, talking.

"They're trying to get out," Dean noticed.

"I'm handling it."

"You're melting, Cas. You're the Wicked Witch undergoing Chinese Water Torture." Dean waved his hands and rolled his eyes, knowing Castiel wouldn't listen to him.

"I don't understand that reference."

"You can't control it, Cas. Take it from the guy who's tried to control a pre-biblical force before. It's impossible." Dean reached out to touch his face. His skin broke under Dean's fingertips, and they came away bloody. "Look at this Cas! You gotta face the music, man! Quit playing God!"

Castiel's jaw set. "I can handle it."

"Then heal yourself," Dean challenged him. Castiel brought his hand to his face, but once the light had faded, his skin was just as angry and red as before. The bleeding, though, had stopped.

"Congratulations, you're as useful as a bandaid." Castiel glared at him. "You've got two days left―three tops. Make 'em count."

"Are you asking that I return the souls to Purgatory?"

"That's exactly what I want."

Castiel smiled and shook his head. That damn patronizing smile again… "There's a problem with your plan, Dean."

"I'll find a way. I've been to Purgatory many times."

Castiel was about to ask how, but he was distracted by a prayer in his head. "They've bound Death."

"Ah, that wasn't one of my better ideas…"

"They plan to kill me."

"Yep."

Castiel didn't warn him before dragging him away. Dean hit the carpet at such a velocity that his nose, forehead, and chin got rug burn. He cursed. He rested on his cheek and watched as Castiel and Death went back and forth, Death explaining about the Leviathans and calling Castiel stupid for becoming their vessel (something Dean had said so many times in the past few days he'd sounded like a broken record), and Castiel threatened to kill him. Instead of killing him, though, Castiel freed Death and dragged Dean away, yet again, to "bring justice" to another immoral individual.

Dean barfed onto the linoleum floor. He groaned and wondered where Cas had brought him this time. He sat back, looking around. There was a lot of red, white, and blue. His vision cleared enough to see that they were in a senator's office. He focused on Cas, who was telling an intern how he was a better god than his father. A strange smile grew on his face. For the first time, Dean felt downright afraid of Cas.

It was laughable. Here he was―an invulnerable slave to the Darkness, cowering in fear from an angel. Not even an archangel. That smile though, it was worse than his patronizing one. He felt the air pressure drop slightly, not enough to make him pass out, but enough to make his ears pop. He watched in horror as Castiel, with that beast-like grin on his face, ripped out the throat of everyone in the room. Castiel looked at him, and Dean shrank into the glass door, trying to make himself as small as possible.

The smile went away, and Castiel passed out onto the floor, his blood mixing with the others'. Dean should have gone over and checked that Castiel was okay. He couldn't move though. Terror gripped Dean. He stared around the room at all the dead bodies who'd been brutally massacred moments earlier.

Slowly Cas came to. He stood and surveyed what he'd done, a look of horror growing on his face. Dean heard the chains trembling, and he realized it was him. What if they took control again? They couldn't kill him, he knew, but they could do a lot of damage.

Cas looked like the he was falling under their control again, his lips twitching up into a grin. Dean needed to ground him. It had worked in the past―technically the future―when Cas was under a different mind control. He took the risk: "Cas? Buddy?"

Cas looked over at him, panicked. "I did this?"

"Yeah. They're slipping through, Cas." Castiel looked around. He looked like he wanted to cry. Dean stood up cautiously and said, "Let's go Cas. Away from here."

Castiel nodded and flashed them out, to a forest clearing with a large lake in one direction. It looked to be completely untouched by man. Or at least, it did when Dean regained his strength. Stars still dotted the night sky but to the east there were touches of orange on the horizon. "Where are we?"

"We are in a nature preserve in Idaho. This place is unknown to most humans and completely isolated."

Dean shifted so he wasn't sitting on the chains. "Wanted to be alone, huh?"

"I like it here. I find it calming. I, uh, marred my happy place, so here we are."

"If you stay here long enough, you'll mar this one too."

"I don't plan on staying." Castiel sat cross legged on the ground next to Dean.

Dean tried to figure out what that meant. Was he just facing the truth, or was he downright suicidal? Castiel reached into his coat and pulled out an angel blade and the First Blade. He handed them to Dean.

"Wow, giving your prisoner weapons. I don't know if that's such a good idea, Cas."

"I know what you're thinking, and if it comes to it that's what I want you to do." Cas looked up and stared him in the eyes. His blue eyes were bloodshot, but still they silently persuaded Dean to give into Castiel's will. "Please help me get rid of them."

Dean looked away from his eyes and held out his chained hands. "Yes of course," Castiel said, and he used his powers to unlock the chains.

Dean's wrists were sore. He rubbed at them. "Thank you." He inspected them. "Not as good as the Men of Letters' but they do the job." He tucked them into his pocket and concealed the weapons inside his coat as well.

He stood. "So! You want to return all those souls you're harboring back to Purgatory!" Dean clapped his hands together. What you're going to need is some more Purgatory native blood. I can go―"

"I've got that."

Dean looked at him, confused. "You do? Oh no, no, no, I remember now. Then you're set! The Winchesters will help you." Dean teleported away.

"Dammit Dean!" cursed started with preachers. Any preacher he deemed hypocritical he smote. Then law enforcers. White supremacists. Sexist business leaders. Motivational speakers. His list of immoral people grew and grew.