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He’s never been much good at keeping up with humans. They flit in and out of life too quickly; they ask too many questions that might result in things like Holy Water or a flaming cross, they have a tendency to remind him of other humans he’d liked who died centuries ago.
But retirement seems to have made things a bit different.
Fewer people in the South Downs for a start; neighbours he actually talks to, people who stopped to admire Bentley one day and so got off to a good start with him, people who Aziraphale’s meet at the book clubs and everything else he’s amusing himself with now.
And he doesn’t have to worry about any of them being Hell’s agents.
It’s… Crowley doesn’t want to say ‘nice.’ Demons aren’t meant to want nice things, after all. But it is nice. Having people in his house who are company rather than a threat; having the freedom to chose who he wants to talk with.
He stretches, feels the bones in his spine cracking. He probably looks slightly inhuman doing it.
Tracey, opposite him, doesn’t spare him a second glance. She hadn’t reacted to the wings; a few extra vertebra aren’t exactly daunting and besides, she’d realised last year that Bentley has a tendency to drive herself and not said anything about it.
‘That bloke at the garden centre kept getting my name wrong,’ she complains.
Crowley looks up at that. ‘How’d you mean?’
‘Oh, I don’t think he was doing it on purpose. But he called me Trish, and I hate that. Spent ages getting everyone to call me Tracey, and now I’ve gotta do it all over again.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he says. ‘Aziraphale was the only one who listened when I changed mine.’
‘You changed your name?’
He can’t help smiling at that. Tracey’s a wonder but still very human; more likely to be impressed with mundane things like that than by stopping time or saving the world.
‘Yeah. A few times, really.’
He sees the question in her eyes; too polite to ask. But he’s a demon, and therefore on the side of low level rudeness in general and he answers the unspoken request.
‘She gave me a name when I was created. Can’t remember it. Maybe Aziraphale does, but he’s never said. He’s never changed his name, you know what he’s like about altering things.
‘Hell gave me a name when I ended up there. Think it was Lucifer not remembering who we’d all been and not wanting to admit it, really. Course, he got to name himself. Bringer of Light. Guess we all should have figured out what was going on with him sooner than we did.
‘Didn’t like that one. Felt like they’d named me like a dog…’ he half reaches up towards the tattoo, catches himself in time. He’d seen cattle brands millennia later and felt his stomach twist in sympathy with the protesting animals twisting away from the hot iron.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tracey says and the simplicity of it makes him smile. He can sense the genuineness there, the sincerity.
‘Anyway, I changed it. Just by a couple of letters. Crowley was close enough that I figured Hell would let me get away with it. They’d got a bit more slack by then, long as it wasn’t causing them any paperwork.’
‘Did they make you do forms?’
That startles a laugh from him. ‘Nope. I just started using it. Got in a fight with a couple of imps over it, they all decided it was game for a laugh. Think I spent the next three centuries either getting stuff sent back to me because ‘I’d used the wrong name,’ or having Beezlebub and Dragon get pissed cos they’d tried summoning me and it hadn’t worked. Course, to summon someone you need to know their true name and they weren’t having it that mine was changed.’
‘I probably shouldn’t bitch so much about the deed poll then,’ Tracey replies. ‘Had to go to court to do it, horrible smelly room it was and the woman looked at me like I was stupid. She had that posh accent, you know the one from the telly?’
Crowley nods. Wonders if she’s ever noticed that Aziraphale’s got the same cut glass accent, or if his bastard streak overrides that.
‘Mum called me Marjorie. I said it made me sound like something you’d use to bake a cake with. Oh, she went spare when I told her. Said it was her Mum’s name and I was being an ungrateful little bitch.’
He doesn’t say anything. He thinks she’s a long way away now, half lost in memories and probably none of them were good.
‘Still, I told her I was working and it was my money so I could do what I liked with it. You can guess how that ended up.’
Crowley nods; he probably can guess, actually. Same old patterns, same old cruelties disguised as family love.
‘Ended up going to London cos that was were everyone was going. Wasn’t gonna stay there long but you know… life happens. And nobody there knew who I was before. So they didn’t give me any grief.
‘Any time I went back home, it was all Marjie this, and Majorie that. Couldn’t make them listen.’
‘They should have,’ Crowley says and he’s not altogether sure if he’s saying it to Tracey or to himself. ‘Aziraphale listened to me.’
‘And the Sergeant listened to me. Funny what love can do, isn’t it?’
He nods. ‘Aziraphale got so flustered when I’d told him I’d given myself a first name, he nearly forgot that we were standing in an active war zone and the Nazis were about to drop a bomb on us. I still wish he’d been a bit less interested in the whole thing.’
She smiles at that. ‘I know you love him but honestly, he is incredibly easy to distract. I can just imagine him doing that… why did you pick Anthony?’
‘A story for another day, I think,’ he sidesteps. ‘You want me to have a look at that cactus or not?’
Tracey realises the conversation’s over; brings the offending plant out for him to look at, bustles off to make tea while he’s checking it, and he lets himself wonder how strange and beautiful it is that a demon should have human friends.