Truth told, Cas didn't really understand what the harem saw in his empty sermons either. He'd long since given up trying to make them remotely profound – there was a time he'd made the effort, fumbling over extended metaphors about seizing the moment and trying make the square peg of Heaven's Will fit the round hole of Man's Desire, but he'd realised along the road that it didn't matter what he said because it wasn't about theological truths or philosophical tangents. All anyone really wanted was to rail against the coming of the night, to have some flimsy way of justifying abandoning the Old World and all its pesky morals without admitting that they were animals now, or might as well have been – a ravenous pack huddling in the dark, lashing out at their foes, not looking further than feeding and fucking and making it through the night. It wasn't pretty, so they clung to what they could, and he supposed a former angel was as good a focus as any.
At the mention of said pack's 'Alpha' (for better or worse) Cas snorted - “And how is our 'glorious leader'?” - rolling a second joint with all the careful concentration the first had demanded, tucking it behind his ear before reaching for the one she had started smoking. Not that he had anything in particular against Dean – maintaining a grudge was more exhausting than he'd expected, so it was easier to just stop caring about the failures and the betrayal and the fate he'd been consigned to.