Death: Stupid little soldier you are.
Castiel: Why? Because I dared open a door that He shut. Where is He? I did a service taking His place.
Death: Service? Settling petty vendettas?
Castiel: No. I'm cleaning up one mess after another. Selflessly.
Death: Quite the humanitarian.
Castiel: And how would you know? What are you, really? A flyswatter.
Death: Destined to swat you, I think.
Castiel: Unless I take you first.
Death: Really bought his own press, this one. Please, Cass. I know God. And you, sir, are no God.
Dean: All right, put your junk away, both of you.