"Oh," he says. "Er. Thanks."

Switching hands, and employing the help of his teeth to tear open the flimsy plastic wrapping, Crowley shakes the ashes from his palm, vanishing the insistently gooey clumps with a thought.

If it takes a moment for him to grip the chopsticks entirely steadily, the look he gives Raguel as the angel resumes his seat is more than enough to dare him to mention it.