Nevada. He should have known that, but this town -- city -- whatever it was, wasn't right. No place looked like this in his present time.
Castiel was tired. To the point where even cleaning himself up into presentable made him sway a little on his feet, but he steeled his nerves, ground his teeth together and continued carrying on. There was nothing else that could be done about it. Perhaps just sitting down for a while would help, would give him a second to pull himself back together and let his Grace replenish itself in ways that it hadn't been able to while he was in Purgatory.
He squinted thoughtfully at Sam for a moment even as he started walking in the direction he assumed the restaurant was in (if he didn't move now, he wasn't going to be able to at all). "No. I see that," he said -- focusing right now on Sam because he clearly wasn't alright. "You aren't from the right time. When are you from? And there's something…" He tilted his head to the side, and frowned deeply. "What have you done, Sam?"