[Thank fuck for orders, couched politely or not. That makes this a little easier. Not less nerve-wracking, but still easier. He drops his hands and stares at the floor, not quite Soldier-like mission-report posture but close.

Have some really unexpected and possibly disturbing info about your housemate, angel:]

There's. Kinda. Two of us in here. Fuck, that sounds bad. We've been callin' me Sergeant, because that's my rank. From World War II. Also the only damn thing I remember about myself besides my serial number and a couple memories from the war.

The other one's the Soldier, because that's what it's been called for seventy years or some shit, and it's twitchy about actual names. That's the one you guys know and tip-toe around. It's not. Talking to me right now, I think that Word really freaked it out and I don't fuckin'. Know why.

[And he's kind of worried about that. He really thought telling Aziraphale would send it surging back up from to stop him.]