"You're welcome." The meal was exactly what he'd wanted. Food was more than fuel to keep his now human body moving. When he found something he liked, it was something to be appreciated, right down to the tingle the spices left on his lips and tongue.

"We need another box of shotgun shells, rock salt, silver nitrate, three firing pins, sage that doesn't come from a grocery store," and hadn't that been an interesting argument with Dean. Close enough doesn't count in spellwork. "Yarrow and three more journals. But it can wait until the case is over with."

He'd become the defacto inventory specialist for the brothers. Lucifer may have lost his grace, but he hadn't lost his intellect. Everything they used, he remembered and there was a constant running list in his head of anything they might need along the way.

"I don't think FBI agents do much shopping for supplies along those lines."