Dean crawled his way back into consciousness. He was being supported in a sitting position. He leaned against Hadriel, not ready to open his eyes yet.
Except this wasn't Hadriel. This person wasn't supporting him so much as pinning him, sitting down, as something stinging and cold clicked round his wrist. He tried to scramble away from whoever it was beside him. But he couldn't. His left hand was handcuffed to a railing. He yanked at it experimentally, then reached up to see if he could pull it open. His fingers stung when they met the metal. Looking closer, he saw that the surface was scarred with runes and symbols. Symbols that he knew were made to trap angels.
It clicked slowly that someone had been supporting him.
He looked up. He was surrounded on all sides. His senses told him they were all humans, but his eyes told him they were hunters. Men, women, tall, short, all with the same hostile expression on their faces. The man who had just finished cuffing his hand to the railing stepped back when he saw Dean was awake.
He was tall, his hair dark and his eyes hard.
Dean blinked. Everything seemed slightly fuzzy around the edges. His head ached. His back was burning. He needed to... He needed to what? He shook his head. His thoughts were jumbled around, leaving him unable to think straight. Right. Start easy. Where was he? He had no idea. Shouldn't he be able to tell? He usually knew by instinct. And why did his head ache? Why did his back hurt? He felt something warm trickle down his back. Blood. Why wasn't he healing? He started to panic.
"Where am I?" He whispered. His mouth was dry. He swallowed.
"Who are you?" Asked the man.
"I-" Dean tried to think, "I'm an angel." He said at last.
"Yeah we figured that one out for ourselves, Wings. Who are you? What's your name?"
Dean frowned frustratedly. His mind was in turmoil. Focus! "Dean. My name is Dean."
He didn't see the slap coming. A sharp sting, then his free hand jumped to his face. The guy's face was red with anger. He was yelling something, but to Dean, it was just a jumble of sounds. He put his hand over his ear. Finally, the sounds trailed to a stop. The man was staring at him, breathing heavily.
A woman next to him gently put her hand on his arm. "John, calm down."
He nodded briefly after a moment, then turned his attention back to Dean. "Why are you here?"
Dean blinked. "I don't know." He realised.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" John demanded.
"I can't remember. I can't-" Dean rubbed his head distractedly.
John drew something put of his pocket: a knife. The angel eyed it warily.
"Alright, John. Take this somewhere else. I'm not gonna have angel blood splattered across my floor. It was a hell of a job to clean off the last time." The woman had cut it in again.
John glared at her, then conceded with a nod. "Get up, Wings." Dean rose shakily. The room swam around him. He leaned against the wall for support. Dimly, he was aware of someone cuffing his hands together. Then he was shoved out the diner door into the world outside.