Dexter didn't bother replying, favoring catching his breath over making a pithy comeback. They allowed him to rest sitting there for a few long, awkward moments, both brothers hovering tensely, scant inches away as if he were a risk to lunge at them again.

"Alright, time to get you up and out of here,"Dean said again, impatience showing through his voice.

"I really don't know about walking right now," Dexter cautioned them.

Dean grunted, making a face at Sam, who shrugged, offering, "Well, it's not a big deal, I mean, we got you down here we can get you back out, y'know?"

"As if you have to remind me of that," Dexter scoffed, continuing, "Wherever the hell here is."

"That's need to know, and you're not in the need to know category, OK?" Dean deadpanned.

"What is this, X-Files or something? Why would you even care if I knew where you were—oh, yeah, except that you're both insane, kidnapping serial killing freaks," Dexter snapped.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said jokingly. "Did you know that about us? I mean, get a load of this, I'd never heard anything about it!"

"Yeah, really," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Look, we get it. You're mad. We kidnapped you, or whatever you've decided to think. But, seriously, unless you want to spend the night down here, we ought to get moving. "

"Oh, fuck it," Dexter replied, crossing his arms over his chest, resorting in frustration to the ridiculously infantile strategy of simply refusing to move.

"No, really. Time to get up. We have other things to deal with that need this cell more than you," Dean prompted, reaching for Dexter's arm, motioning for Sam to do the same with a jerk of his head. The two together lifted Dexter to his feet, despite his lack of effort to help.

"Y'know, it would be nice if you'd at least try to walk," Sam insisted, at which point Dexter grunted some nonsense angrily under his breath, but complied, scowling.

Why would I want to help you, he wondered as he did so.

With Sam and Dean supporting him on each side, they slowly made their way across the room, toward the door, which had remained open. They emerged from the cell into a room with what appeared to be a very old security system, which Dexter supposed controlled the door.

As they walked, passing the security desk, his head began to pound, enough that he finally protested. "No, I need to sit down," he mumbled, his vision growing dim.

"Figures," Dean muttered as Dexter fell flaccid onto his shoulder, nearly pulling him over. "I mean, really. You couldn't manage more warning?!"

Sam chuckled at this, helping Dean by taking more of the weight off him. "Hey," he said suddenly. "Y'know, some of those chairs roll from the office area. I could go get one, it'd make getting him out of here a lot easier."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Dean huffed, "Except I am not staying here with him. He's too damn annoying. Don't go whining about me dropping him on you, either. I'll get the chair, and you can manage him on your own."

Sam nodded his assent, lowering Dexter to lie on the floor, as Dean stalked off to get one of the office chairs.

He returned a minute or two later, pushing the chair ahead of him, grumbling as it wobbled back and forth as he pushed it. "Damn thing," he snapped. "You'd think whoever makes them would, oh, I dunno, think to make them more rollable!"

Sam didn't bother replying, instead motioning for Dean to hurry it up and get closer.

He lifted Dexter into the chair, as Dean held it in place so it didn't roll away. "Alright, I think I got it from here," Sam said, taking the chair from Dean, who looked a little too satisfied to not be doing the grunt work. What's with him lately, Sam thought, it's like he taking special pains to point out that this guy is my problem, not his. Only, doesn't he remember, he was the one who had insisted on this life to begin with, before all of Hell and Heaven came crashing in on us? This is part of life as hunters, Sam thought. And that includes taking care of the people we save. Even when they go out of their way to be annoying, like you, he thought.

As he pushed the chair through the long hallway, back toward the living quarters area, Dean having already left him behind to head back to the kitchen, he noticed Dexter stirring.

"Wh-" Dexter muttered.

"You passed out," Sam replied. "We put you in a rolling chair so we didn't have to carry you."

"So...god, I really don't get you guys. Or...any of this shit, really. I mean, was that for real? The...teleportation guy, the...vampire head...?" Dexter asked, shaking his head.

"Yeah, 'fraid so. And, the guy who teleported you, that was Cas. He's an angel. But before you start in on how bad it all was- first of all, I already know. I was there. But you're done with that now, and we're gonna observe you for a few more days. Make sure everything went right, although for now you seem relatively human again. Which is why we're trying letting you out." Sam explained as they arrived in the kitchen, where he saw Dean was standing over the stove, humming a scrap of a Metallica song as he turned on the burner.

"Whatcha making?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I thought I'd fry up a baloney sandwich. I'm hungry."

"Sounds like a heart attack on a plate," Sam replied. "I'm going to have a salad. And uh, what about you...y'know what, I don't think I ever got your name, actually."

"Dexter," he replied, suddenly wishing he'd said anything but. I told them my real name, he thought. I'm a fucking idiot...

"Well. Yeah, good to know your name," Sam said, "But really, are you hungry? You've been out for two days now."

"Sure," Dexter muttered, sighing. Half of him wanted to reject any food, reasoning: it could be laced with something, but he didn't have the resolve to fight that battle. I'm too weak, he thought. Can't even stand. Whatever the hell's really been going on, I feel like shit. so...I passed out, for two days, after...whatever the hell that stuff was they tried to give me to supposedly cure being a vampire and...these are the guys I was going to kill...and now they're cooking and offering me some... He felt as if his head was spinning again, only this time more from the mind-boggling impossibility of the recent turns of events.

"Alright," Dean grunted, reaching for bread and meat which was on the counter beside the stove.