I don't recall asking you for anything save to bury Castiel's body; I'm just talking to talk. Seeing as I'm going to die in the next two weeks, I don't have the energy to constantly be furious with your inability to see the truth. You'll come to terms with your end in your own time, just as I have with mine, young Padawan. Besides... there is always going to be one constant in the world and that is finding you reprehensible. Consider this a dying wish, checking your penmanship and reminding you that I won. Or lost, depending on your perspective.

[He slides the flask back into his coat, turning back to face the wall completely, looking back at the sigil work. He pauses before beginning to draw, in Enochian, fingers moving smoothly against the wall. When he's finished, Crowley stares at it for a moment before sliding his hands into his pockets.]

That would be his name, for your reference.

[And Crowley brushes past her, to move to a window, so he can see outside.]

Don't put him near the ocean.