The reflex is to be reassuring, carefully so, like Dean is a wounded, panicked animal - because that's what he feels like now, more than anything. But then he remembers. Annie. And more than Annie; the unease that's been chewing at his edges for weeks now, long before the party, the way every time they've stepped into this room together has felt like a slow slide out of control, and all that shit at the party that he can't remember but also somehow can't disentangle from the image of Dean's eyes in the firelight.

He doesn't move back, but he also makes no move to undo the other cuff. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Apparently he's not done with questions yet.