The Soldier takes the time to put a bullet into the face of the one trying to crawl out of the quicksand, and a second at the green-eyed one and/or the one it just threw at said green-eyes-- though their aim is perhaps not the best, because that's when Crowley screams, so while it will probably hit, it won't be a kill-shot for either hound unless it's very lucky.

They step between the remaining hounds and Crowley, risking a glance down, a crouch to pull at one of the tucked in arms, trying to see if he's been hurt in the chest. He. Doesn't look hurt. Doesn't smell hurt. There's no blood, no seared flesh, just fear. "Crowley-- Crowley, get up--"

Then the invisible hands grab for the Soldier's arms and back, and it surges back to its feet, whirling, trying to throw the multiple grips away, lashing with the knife and snarling in startled fury. No! No surprise touching, no grabbing, and absolutely no getting to Crowley!