Well, that throws Stark, if nothing else has. Thanks? He peers sidelong at Winchester, not moving his head, just his eyes, looking uncomfortable and confused. After a moment, he makes a dismissive sort of noise in his throat. Since when do people thank him for saving them?

Looking again at the television, he gives up on distraction and turns it off. Sighing, like this is all a big pain in the ass, he nonetheless turns halfway to face the other man, with an air of getting down to business. Or of confession. "It wasn't all me. Waltzing into The Killing Fields and hauling your pretty ass out, I can do; creating a human body from thin air is still beyond me. After your Hellion pal charred me, we went to..." Trailing off, his eyes get a slightly unfocused look. How to explain that part? There's a miniscule shake of the head as he mentally throws explanation out the window. "I took you to Nothing, and that's where the shining white knight put you back together. It was a tag-team effort, so you don't only have me to thank."

That's probably more than Stark intended on giving away, immediately; he still doesn't know enough about this guy to satisfy his own curiosity, much less bare his soul. Grabbing a pack of Maledictions, Hell's favorite cigarette, he uses Mason's lighter to ignite one, following it with a shot of Jack from the bottle.