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[Castiel isn't sure what compels him time and time again to appeal to Dean's reason. The mortal is now so far beneath him, his own bright, righteous soul pale in comparison to the millions that clamor and sift inside of Castiel that nothing he says, does, thinks or feels should matter.

Still. He was a favorite. Castiel knows all, but more than that Castiel knows Dean, and knows that if there is a chance to end things Dean will take it. He despises being controlled but what Dean doesn't understand is that he was always controlled. He was controlled even by his precious free will, risking the damnation of the entire world for its sake. Castiel, in his infinite wisdom and power, is a far better god for Dean than free will is.

Castiel will make the world perfect, safe for humans and angels. He'll right the wrongs his brothers did, fix the messes his Father left and do what Dean could not. He'll save the world and keep it safe, as its Beloved, as its great and powerful Lord.

But Dean must understand. He must.

Castiel appears in Bobby's house, beside the couch on which Dean lay. He stands and waits for him to awaken, much as he did days (eons) ago.]

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Maybe you didn't start with one, but the Cas I know would never do this. He was too good for it. Maybe cared too much. Definitely cared too much, considering you made that stupid deal with Crowley!

[Dean pushes himself to his feet, wobbling only slightly, and rubs his hands together. He's scared for himself, but he's even more scared for Sam and Bobby and the incredibly idiotic angel/god standing in front of him.]

You grew a damn heart, Cas. Why'd you throw it away?

I threw it away for you. I dealt with Crowley to save this world you loved.

[Cas lowers his hand, but the wind and rain still doesn't touch either Castiel or Dean, leaving them in a bubble of frigid serenity.]

The being you see before you, I became for you. Always for you, Dean Winchester. Everything.

But I see now that my...'heart' was in the wrong place. I shouldn't have pinned my hopes on one single, fallible man. Protecting you, giving everything for you brought me nothing but hardship and agony. Now, I can do what I was created to do; maintain order. I can take up the mantle left behind by an absent Father, one your species curses and calls upon with such frequency that there's never a moment of peace. I will free my brothers of the burden of a concept they cannot understand, and of the responsibility of looking after a world so steeped in darkness it can barely breathe.

I'm stepping into the shoes no one wanted to fill, Dean, and I will restore the peace this world so desperately needs. Judge me for it, if you will, but I am far above your judgment now, Dean.

I didn't want you to, Cas. Not for this. World's broken, Cas, I get that, but it worked. You're just doing the apocalypse all over again.

[Castiel's expression darkens and he reaches out to fist a hand in Dean's shirt. They appear in a dark room; a mimicry of the warehouse where Dean tortured Alastair with no doors, no windows, no vents. The marred devil's trap is still on the floor, Uriel's wings still burnt into the concrete. The rack where Alastair hung still sports chains and blood and the room smells like copper and salt and burning flesh.]

You will be made to understand.

[Well! Isn't this nostalgic?]

Cas. [Dean glances around the room, more careful now. Like he's talking to an angry cat.] Why are we here?

This room means much to you, as it meant much to who I was.

Get on the rack.

Means much to me is kinda stretching things, don't you think?

[No pun intended.]

What are you doing, Cas?

[Castiel snaps his fingers and Dean appears on the rack, chained.

He waves his hand and a second figure appears, identical to Castiel in every way but without that hint of madness and power, without the pressure that comes with millions of monstrous souls simmering inside.

That Castiel turns to the nearby table, which is littered with instruments of torture Dean might find familiar. His favorite arsenal of his final ten years in Hell.]

I have no time for this. I'll leave you to discover the truth for yourself.

[God!Castiel vanishes and leaves Dean with the Castiel apparition.]

You--

[DEAN WOULD LIKE THE TELEPORTING TO STOP, THANKS.]

Wait--Cas! Wait! Dammit, Cas, this is not the way to make me love you!

[It is, however, a pretty good way to make him very, very afraid of Castiel.

Dean struggles against the chains, very stubbornly not looking at the table of tools. He'd rather not remember what any of those felt or looked like.]

Brother, [says the Castiel apparition, his voice heavy with reluctance and rough with exhaustion. His back still to Dean, he selects a knife and tests the edge of it against his thumb.

When he turns to look at Dean it's as if he doesn't quite see him. Eyes meet eyes, but Castiel doesn't register the figure tied to the rack as Dean Winchester, as further evidenced by what he says.]

I don't want to do this. Please, just tell me who broke into the vault and I will leave you in peace.

This is--you're not real.

[It's not real and he knows it's not real because Cas hasn't worn that face in weeks. Also, Castiel's never called him 'brother'. Dean addresses the ceiling instead.]

Okay, Cas! You've had your fun!

[Castiel starts shaking his head even as Dean turns his head to the heavens, speaking over the end of his sentence.]

I can't. You know I can't. It hurts me to do this to you, Brother, but I have no choice.

[He takes the knife and slashes a cut across Dean's cheek. The point passes harmlessly through the flesh, leaves no gash or blood, but the pain blossoms as if the knife itself burned with hellfire.]

What the--

[Anything else Dean has to say is cut off when the phantom knife slices across his cheek. Dean doesn't quite scream, but he growls, gritting his teeth against the pain of--whatever it is. A projection? Mind control? He yanks on the chains.]

Cas! Enough is enough!

[Castiel's expression goes blank and he begins to methodically carve the knife along Dean's chest. The blade still appears to pass harmlessly through cloth and flesh, but the pain is still very, very real.

It's only when Castiel's hands mime pulling something lose that it's obvious what he'd been doing to his Brother.

Flaying him alive.

The knife carves strip after strip, Castiel pulling the flesh aside, until he reaches deep enough to dig the point into bone, digging the knifepoint into a clavicle.]

Who raided the vault, Brother?

[On the upside, the Castiel-apparition isn't doing Dean any physical damage. On the downside, it's doing a pretty heavy dose of psychological damage. By the time it finishes flaying whatever angel was strapped to this thing last, Dean is sweating heavily and wheezing.]

Cas.

[Why is he bothering? Seriously. It's not like the apparition can hear him and he doesn't even know if Mr. I'm-a-God-now Castiel is listening.]

Cas, c'mon. Come back. This isn't you, I know this isn't you. Just come back already.

[Castiel snarls, wrenches the knife from Dean's chest and storms a few feet away. He leans over the table of instruments, knuckles against the surface.]

...why don't any of you understand?

[He stands still for an uncomfortable amount of time.

In a sudden burst of rage he sweeps the tools to the ground, sending them clattering before turning and storming over to Dean, pointing the knife toward his face.]

No. Raphael's plans to open the Cage will not come to pass. I will die before I let that happen.

[Castiel's angelic sword drops out of his other sleeve and he hefts it, turns the hilt in his hand and buries it up to the hilt into Dean's chest.]

[Hearing all that might be more effect if it weren't for the giant phantom blade stuck in his chest--seriously, Castiel, how was this a good idea? Instead, Dean's a little busy struggling for air, vision going black around the edges. The injuries might not be real, but the pain is, and his heart and lungs are convinced they've just been stabbed.

He manages to gasp out one last "Cas" before blacking out.]

[Castiel arrives after Dean passes out on the rack and the phantom image of his old self vanishes.

He watches the man slumped against the chains, breathing haggard and pained, and his expression softens. Without the use of his power he unravels the chains, slips Dean from them as carefully as one would handle spun glass and lays him out on the floor.

He brushes the sweat-damp bangs away from Dean's forehead and for the first time something rings inside of him like a gong with the word no, no. The thrum of power and souls drown it out but its echo bounces inside, over and over, and Castiel swallows hard against it.

When Castiel stands, he is without his coat. It's been balled up and placed beneath Dean's head with a single thought, and he vanishes to leave Dean to wake alone in the cold. He has other matters to which he must attend.]

[Dean wakes back up pretty quickly, all things considered. He's a bit sore from hanging in the rack, but whatever's left over from the apparition doesn't seem to have done him any lasting harm. Just a minute or two later, he's blinking his eyes open again, staring at the ceiling.

Cas hurt him. Cas actually, deliberately hurt him.

That's hard to wrap his head around. It's an emotional gut-punch.]

[When Castiel appears again, his skin is visibly degrading. Sores spread across his face and hands, and his eyes are sunken into his head like a man starved.

He stands not a foot away and stares down at Dean.]

[And nearly all his anger fades the second he sees the state Castiel is in. Something is horrifically wrong.]

What the hell, Cas?

[Dean sits up, only belatedly realizing that his head hadn't been on the floor. A quick glance behind reveals the trenchcoat-turned-pillow and Dean's heart softens entirely.]

Cas, something is wrong. We both know it. What's happening? What are you doing.

You defy everything I've known for eons.

[Castiel's head tilts slightly.]

It makes me so angry. You make me angry.

Yet after my lessons, after a cruelty I tried to impress upon you, your heart softens and still you plead to fix something that, still, is not broken.

Dean Winchester. Why?

Oh, you are broken. You're very broken. Not-broken people don't look like...that.

[Dean gestures to the sores on Castiel's face.]

You have made one hell of a mess, but I am not turning my back on you, Cas. I just...I won't do that. Not to family. Not to you. I can't.

This is nothing. This vessel simply isn't equipped to handle my power; when I finish my work, I'll repair and reinforce it.

[He fixes Dean with a heavy stare.]

I should kill you and be done with it. Send your soul to its afterlife. Remove you from your misery and my own.

Cas, c'mon. Let me help you. You've always stepped in when we needed it-- [Okay, not always. Dean is exaggerating for effect here.] --let me return the favor.