Why wouldn't you be. He just raises his eyebrows at that. You really have to ask that? Sam said yes, in your world. He gave Lucifer his true vessel and let him reign Hell on Earth, literally. He wouldn't blame you if you were holding a bit of a grudge against his brother. But apparently, you don't. Fair enough. He inclines his head, shrugs a little. "Suit yourself."

He makes as if to get up again, but then you point out that you don't have a bag. He looks around. Do you want to bring your stuff? The pictures and books? He supposes it would make sense if you wanted to bring them. He thinks he has a bag in the back of the Mustang, but something in your expression stops him from pointing that out. You want to sleep here. And tomorrow morning you want to go to Target—the Target you work at, he assumes—to buy one. That's not an unreasonable request. He is asking you to give up everything you've worked for in the past few months. So he nods.

"All right. You can pick up your outstanding paycheck." He gives you a slight smile. It's the middle of the week. They probably owe you a few bucks, which would probably cover the bag. No reason to waste that money. He glances around the room. There's no second bed, and the only available surface to sleep on seems to be the floor. He's slept in worse places. Looks back up at you. "You got a second comforter?"