Castiel hadn't assumed his father had been adding to the City numbers, though he quietly filed away that the being had the ability. He had learned to keep track of any information he came across, since the Winchesters had taught him very well that you never knew what you'd need to know or be able to use later. Not that he had any plans on doing anything later, but prepared was always best.
He gave Jesse a long look at the request, and then shook his head, having another drag from the cigarette before taking it out to tap the ash.
"I had a great deal of time to be angry with you in the dead world," he said, looking at the glass of alcohol. "There's no point in it, it never helps resolve anything. And I never know if it's part of somebody else's game." Castiel was sick of being manipulated, sick of being expected to do things that were meant to be unintentional. He was sick of his plans and hopes falling to pieces, and hearing somebody stronger and more etheral than himself boast that it had always been intended to come out that way. He wanted to be told what was good, and what to do to achieve it, or he wanted to be left out of the plans altogether.