He doesn’t know why he’s here - emerging naked and freezing from an unfamiliar body of water, shivering and injured. He doesn’t know where here is - or who he is.
He just knows that there should have been someone waiting on him.
He doesn’t know how that makes sense, or if this person even exists - but his heart tells him that this is not a figment of his imagination. He remembers nothing but a strong sense of affection and love for the being who must have once stood on the side of the lake, but hasn’t waited long enough - because there’s no-one there now. He’s well and truly alone, and he’s aching for someone that he doesn’t even know the name of - can’t even picture the face of.
When he finally thrashes and writhes through the water and reaches the bank, he collapses down on it, breathing heavily. He’s not worried about modesty - there’s no sound for miles around, and he’s far out in the middle of nowhere, from what he can see. He’s only worried about the deep, burning ache in his stomach for the being that he wants so badly - wants for comfort, for reassurance that he even exists - and so he stands and waits patiently. Just waits.
It’s forty-one hours before he realises that no-one is coming and he gives in to his emotions and exhaustion, undignified tears beginning to spill rapidly from inhumanly bright blue eyes.
Dean Winchester, meanwhile, is miles away, having nightmares about that very same lake that the amnesiac now stands by.