'You son of a bitch. I believed in …'
you trail off awkwardly. What was the point in telling your father-who-doesn't-care that you believed in Him? All it would succeed in doing is giving Him a vindictive satisfaction.
Why? Why would He bother creating so much just for it to burn?
Perhaps that is His form of fun. Perhaps He finds it enjoyable to create worlds, races, lives, hopes, and then to rip them all away. To watch them burn.
You want to hate Him now – He doesn't care if the humans burn.
He doesn't care if Dean Winchester burns.