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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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[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.

I need no one's help, [Castiel snaps and the word resonates like a thunderclap; sharp, electrified, shaking the bricks in the room with its intensity.] Least of all yours. You're nothing but a man; a mortal, with thirty-two years to my hundreds of millions. What could you possibly offer me that I can't simply take?

A little human perspective for one thing. Some empathy. From the looks of things, I don't think you're gonna get a lot of that from the other angels.

[DEAN STOP BEING UNAFRAID OF HIM

Castiel scoffs and looks away.]

I don't need human perspective. Your minds grasp so little- something like human perspective is worthless.

[NO CAN'T MAKE HIM

Actually, he's pretty afraid right now, because, well, Cas has kind of gone off the deep end and that is undeniably freaky. On the other hand, he's more afraid for Cas than of him, which is trumping a lot of things.]

Not so worthless to the humans that live here. The way things are going, Cas, they're not gonna call you God. It's gonna be the opposite.

Why?!

[Castiel makes a fist at his side. Normally he wouldn't let one ant's words affect him, but he'd been listening. He'd been hearing the panic in the hearts and minds of the masses, the fear. They were supposed to love him.

He was finally exacting justice. Why couldn't they understand?

A dark whisper inside of him, something that didn't sound like him, his Grace, even the other souls, hissed that fear was just as good as respect. Did the same thing. He shook it off.]

Why won't any of you understand? I'm trying to protect all of you-!

Cas. C'mon, we get it. I get it. But what you're doing--it's wrong. It's not just wrong it's--look at you, Cas. You're not just killing other people, you're killing you.

[Please let Cas get that.]

You couldn't be more wrong, Dean. I can't die. I'm God.

[Castiel probably knows it somewhere, but that part of him is too buried in monster souls, too sleepy from the steady hum of power, too scared of the darker voices starting to whisper to reach out to Dean.

He retreats.

Castiel's expression smooths into the serene and he smiles slightly, reaching out to touch Dean's shoulder. They appear in one of those usual nondescript crappy motel rooms the Winchesters seem to favor. He crosses the room, calmly sits down on a chair near the table.]

I have a few moments to spare with you. Why don't you sit down and tell me exactly what you want from me? [Castiel says it like he's humoring a small child throwing a tantrum. He waves a hand over the table and a cold bottle of Dean's favorite brand of beer appears, dripping condensation onto the scratched and grainy wood surface.]

[Dammit. He was so close. He knows it.

Another teleport and Dean staggers back a step. Hey, isn't this...the first hotel room Cas visited him and Sam in? It sure looks like it.]

You...

[He points, shaking his finger a little.]

You're not Cas. Because, see, I--I know Cas. And this isn't him.

[Castiel sighs, shakes his head patiently.]

We've been over this. I'm not the Castiel you know, because I'm God.

Now, sit down and tell me what you want. [He taps his fingers against the tabletop in a marching beat; with every tap, Dean will feel compelled to take a step toward the table and join him as ordered.] You should feel honored, Dean. God doesn't often give an audience to anything, let alone a human.

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