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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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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.