Dean wasn’t sure why he woke up in a morgue... well, okay, he could come to a probably-valid conclusion about why he was in the morgue like he was, but he didn’t really have any clear memories that lead to that point. There had to be a reason, maybe... was there a hunt? He didn’t think so. And he wasn’t hurt, and hurt people don’t generally end up in the morgue, so if it was a hunt gone south it had gone really south. Which didn’t explain why he was alive again, though.
But that didn’t really matter. What mattered was getting out of here, before someone saw him alive in the morgue (before someone came in, cut him open and tore him apart, maybe he was back in Hell) and... okay, he needed some clothes, too, awkward... He quickly grabbed a spare labcoat and pulled it on, eyes flicking over to the tools laid out, the scalpels, something cold and liquid replacing the blood in his veins for a few seconds while he buttoned the coat up so he was at least covered, vanishing as he shook himself and slipped out of the room.
It didn’t take too long to find a spare set of scrubs, someone’s shoes, and from there the locker where his possessions were kept - amulet back over his head, phone and wallet (with what cash was inside; he left the cards where they were because someone was sure to have seen the many names on them, they wouldn’t be safe to use anymore) in his pocket... his keys weren’t here, and he wasn’t sure what that meant, if that meant Sam had them...
...wherever Sam was.
He had a moment’s panic, wondering if his brother was in that morgue with him, if he hadn’t seen him but he’d been there, but he couldn’t go back and check. He’d come back, later, if he didn’t hear from Sam, because he was going to assume the best, not the worst, he wasn’t going to think that way (wasn’t going to remember what it looked like, seeing Sam dead, seeing him so still, watching his skin go gray). After that, it was just a matter of keeping his head down and slipping out of the building, quiet and not drawing attention and trying not to let being confused make him sloppy. He could do this, he was good at this. Next step would be finding Sam, finding his car, finding out what had happened and getting the hell out of dodge...
...apparently the place, wherever this was, was actively going mental. Things were wrong, he didn’t even know what city this was but he knew for a fact that it should be more active than this. He slipped into an alley, and then checked his phone quickly, frowning. A message that was just coordinates - it had to be Sam, no one else knew to do that, no one would except Dad but Dad was long dead, so it had to be Sam. Which meant he’d be able to find his brother there, probably, which... was definitely a good thing. He didn’t like their being split up, it made him uneasy, especially after...
He kept moving, punching the coordinates into the GPS thing on his phone, and then headed in the direction it indicated, keeping his head down and angled away whenever he passed someone on the street, making himself as close to invisible as he knew how. He didn’t have time to deal with people right now, he needed to find his brother and figure out what the hell was going on.
The place the GPS on his phone directed him to didn’t seem like much - more importantly, it didn’t seem like somewhere Sam would send him. Slowing down, stopping, he looked around, wary. He regretted heading this way so quickly right away - he had no gun, no knives, nothing that would be of any use, and he didn’t know what to expect.
“Sammy?” he called, moving in closer, pocketing his phone. He was here, now he just hoped his brother would show himself, that his unease was nothing, just memories prickling at the back of his mind and not any actual problem he’d have to figure out a way to deal with.