In the grand scheme of things, yes, Castiel has been wearing this skin for far longer than most angels ever would. Years. It's been so long since he's walked the celestial planes that it almost feels like a distant memory, would if he weren't an ancient thing possessed of an impossibly long lifespan. Angels in general don't prefer to inhabit vessels for any longer than is strictly necessary - it's below them, after all, not to mention uncomfortable and restrictive - and while Castiel is, you know, several billion years old, and a handful of them spent in a vessel is as a drop of water in the ocean, it still somehow feels like a very long time. Perhaps because these recent years have been so rife with activity and change that he feels a very different creature from the angel he once was.

What it comes down to, really, is just that Castiel thinks he's people. He's just bad at it.

"Drive? Of course not," he answers, a crease forming in his brow. Why drive when you're an interdimensional wavelength that can hop wormholes and cut through the fabric of spacetime with ease? Cars are so.. slow. And cramped. "Why?"

And you're not answering his questions here, John. Ugh. Humans are impossible.