"All right." Yeah, the thought that Crowley (or Aziraphale, for that matter) has another form has not and probably will not occur to the Soldier unless somebody drops some hints. For now, they're mostly calmed down and getting cramped down here against the wall, and they've made the executive decision to Not Think About Crowley Sleeping for now, so they lever themselves back to their feet, careful not to spill the rest of the tea. "I'm going to start lunch. Do you want anything?"