That's all extremely kind. Soldat smiles, reaches over to pat Quentin's forearm-- it was a good memory, and Quentin is being just great; a little voluntary contact is okay. "It's fine. I can't actually get drunk. Waste of good booze to try. But thanks."

They look down at Quentin's hand, closed over the opal now. "Wonder if it would've helped Crowley. To see that. Or if it would've hurt him. He's a demon, you know. Used to be an angel, did the fall thing. Terrible at being a demon. Too caring."