So, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Castiel's just told Dean he's an angel, and Dean's reacted in typical Dean fashion, which is to say that Dean has told this nice angel man, "Shove it up your ass!" Castiel absorbs that, and calmly -- infuriatingly so, I'm sure, from Dean's perspective -- replies, "This is your problem, Dean." "Unfathomable depths of rudeness?!" Raoul proposes. "You have no faith," Castiel continues. "Rats!" With that, some sort of holy lightning flashes, illuminating the vast black shadows of Castiel's still-invisible wings as the angel man flexes them outwards for Dean's benefit. Trust me: It's cooler than it sounds. Dean gapes a bit at this, but slaps his game face back into position the instant the display vanishes to spit, "Some angel you are -- you burned out that poor woman's eyes!" Castiel averts his gaze at this, embarrassed, and explains, "I warned her not to spy on my true form," and we know he's not lying about that. "It can be," he continues, searching for the right word, "overwhelming to humans -- and so can my real voice, but you already knew that." "You mean," Dean guesses, "the gas station and the motel? That was you talking?" Castiel, his face open and mild, nods. "Next time, lower the volume," Dean grumps. "That was my mistake," Castiel admits. "Certain people -- special people -- can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong." "And what 'visage' are you in now?" Dean pissily inquires, adding those snotty air-quotes himself because he's still not buying this touchy-feely self-help angel crap, bitch. "This," Castiel hastens to explain -- glancing down at his body while fingering the trench, almost like his clothes are as much an intrinsic part of himself incarnate as his fingers or his eyes or that feathery mop atop his head -- "is a vessel." Castiel seems quite pleased with it, too. Hee. "You're possessing some poor bastard?" Dean growls, offended. "He's a--" Castiel begins, again as if searching for the right phrase. "--devout man. He actually prayed for this." "Look, pal, I'm not buying what you're selling," Dean flatly states, shaking his head, "so who are you, really?" And Castiel, in a nice choice, looks like he actually, honestly can't understand the question, and even knits his unfamiliar human brow and tilts his unfamiliar human head a little to the side like a befuddled puppy as he replies, "I told you." Oh, Castiel. Don't you worry your beautiful little badass, ass-kicking, awesome-in-the-ancient-sense-of-the-word head about it. Dean's just a fucking dumbass.