[ Don't pick him up and put him on your shoulder, Crowley mentally repeats in his head, expression gone a bit glazed. Eventually he snaps himself back to reality. ]

You have lost a few inches, I'll give you that. They don't just have, I don't know, another drink that'll fix it? Any growing cookies?

[ He pauses, remembering where they are. ]

...Or was it cakes for growing?