He'd simply been attempting to leave for work. People disappear from Darrow all the time, he knows that. But for all his worry and his anxiety he'd truly believed he'd stay. He'd believed he would have a long life with Dean, with his friends, with his damn pets. As he stumbles out into a dark, smoky bar, clothes shifting around him, he feels his heart stutter with equal amounts of shock and rage. "No," he growls, stepping out of the pantry and into the middle of the room. All it takes is a few careful looks at the clothing, the architecture of the room and he knows where he is. It's wrong. It's completely wrong. He ignores the startled shrieks around him and reaches for the nearest sharp object, rolling up his shirt and slicing a long line.

"No."

He pushes past the growing crowd and start to paint a sigil on the nearest wall, chanting low and desperate as he prays. He prays to find Dean, he prays for his brothers, he prays for his father. He prays for anyone on either side of good or evil who will help him return. His vision is narrow and hears little of the ruckus around him until he is spun around by a pair of large hands.

"The hell're you up to?" a voice demands, spittle flying as Castiel tries to reach behind him to draw another sigil. "Right now, wacko. What the hell are you doing?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord," Castiel grinds out, struggling to get free, nearly blind with rage at his helplessness. "Let me go, right now. I know what this place is and I do not have time for this.I do not belong here..."

He chokes as he's suddenly bodily dragged away from the wall and out the nearest door, a second large man having joined the first. He tries to get his feet under him, hat falling to the ground as he's pulled down an alley and shoved, face first against the brick wall. His cheek throbs and he spits out blood as he tries to move. "Who the hell are you with? You a cop?" he first man hisses in his ear. "You're a dead man, you nut."