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Crawly’s never sure what drew him to Uz in the first place.
The town is full of scents, dazzling to a human and almost overwhelming to his snake form. It's intoxicating and he's spent the past few days criss-crossing the streets, admiring what the humans have come up with. Short-weighting customers and handing over faked coins are two things he's eager to include in his next report downstairs and he's very taken with the idea of date wine, which is so thick and syrupy that it seems to resist being poured.
A couple of times, he thinks there's a flicker of familiarity. Not Aziraphale—he'd know the angel anywhere, has known him lost in a sandstorm and in the deep quiet of a blizzard or the clanging of a battlefield—and not Hell, because it's not threatening, but someone else he knows.
That makes it a short list, and he mulls it over in the evenings, when the desert city is too cool for his comfort. He's found a room on the edge of town, where his eyes are the least of anyone's concerns and everyone else in the building has a vested interest in not raising the alarm about anything.
It's slightly more productive than thinking about Aziraphale, at least.
Another two days pass before he feels it again; stronger this time, less like a memory of a dream and more like recognition. He puts the silver bracelet he’s been looking at back on the stall, shakes his head at the merchant and turns around, scanning the crowd again.
"Crawly? What are you doing here?"
Oh.
He recognises Adam now. He's come to stand alongside Crawly, leather satchel slung over one shoulder as before, hair just touched with grey now, and immediately at ease in his presence in a way most humans aren't.
His blue eyes are brighter under the fierce sun, reminding him vividly of Aziraphale. Probably not a good time to wonder why so many of his human friends have looked like the angel.
"I didn't know you were in Uz, Adam," and despite himself, there's a softening in Crawly's voice. He'd enjoyed the time they'd spent near the Nile a few years back, playing cards and drinking in between jobs for the pair of them.
In return, he gets a sharp grin. "Call me Elihu, if you don't mind. Look, are you busy tonight? I'm staying just up near the fountain and the inn does really good lamb and wine. You should come. I've got a couple of new games that you'd probably like, I remember you were fairly good at them."
He had been as well. Card games that didn't have souls attached were a lot more fun in his opinion. And it's lonely, being on the outskirts like he'd been then and almost every other time, not part of the humans' groups and not part of Hell either. Throwing himself into card games had hurt a lot less than some of the other options.
"Sounds good. I'll be there before it gets dark. You want me to bring anything?"
"Nah. I'll order for us. Don't be too late, he won't do second helpings.”
Crawly's smiling as they part; still smiling when he finds his way across the city later. It's rare that anyone actually seeks him out to spend time with; rarer still that it's someone he would have chosen to spend time with anyway. Amazing how one kind interaction can make a whole city less lonely.
***
The conversation flows well enough; they're both slightly drunk fairly fast but not enough to stumble over the rules of the new card games. Crawly sticks to human rules for shuffling and dealing and is fairly sure that neither of them cheat in the game itself either. Most of it is catching up, stories of travel and trade, and he gets the feeling they're both being evasive about friends or family, so they skirt back to adventures and strange places again.
"What was the name thing for, then?"
"Sorry?" The cards get shuffled almost faster than Crawly can follow them; he's sure there's no cheating going on, but he's also not sure how human fingers can move that fast.
"You said call me Elihu. Earlier, in the market. Secret identity because you're not meant to be here or something?"
The cards still for a moment. "Not exactly."
Crawly opens his mouth. Feels the sudden tension in the room, sees the quick glance towards the closed door and the shuttered window. Stays silent.
"I uh… I changed it. Last year? Winter last year, yeah."
"Changed it?" That comes out a bit higher pitched than he would have liked. "I thought..." Actually, he's not sure what he thought. Name changes at weddings, and nicknames bestowed by others, but he's not seen anyone change their name before.
The cards flicker back into movement. Elihu glances up at him, then looks away. "Why not? Old one wasn't doing much for me. Didn't like the memories with it. Thought this might be better."
"You… you just decided? To do that?"
"Yeah. Weren't like anyone was going to stop me, was it? Just cos they gave it to me. Anyway, I haven't seen him for years, bastard that he is, so I don't care. He couldn't do anything about it. Do you like it?"
Crowley gets up and gets more wine for them both to save finding an answer.
***
Crawly doesn't sleep that night. He tries; the night's cold even under the mound of blankets and listening to his own thoughts for hour after hour in the dark isn't very pleasant, but he can't shut them off.
He'd had a name in Heaven. Part of him, given with love and affection or so he'd believed. Sometimes he can almost remember it, like a dream mostly faded before he'd woken up. He'd liked it, he knows that, although he hadn't liked anything else about the place.
Lucifer had named him like a dog, like the snake he was. He's seen humans give more care to naming their pets. The name had stung from the second he'd heard it, but it had been like the brand on his face: fixed, immutable.
There's meant to be magic in names; he's heard enough of the humans' stories about that. That a name could shape or change something, and he'd never even considered the possibility of changing the name right back. Shaping it the other way around.
The idea, terrifying, intoxicating, feels like hope.
***
Crawly dares to try it in the market for the first time; ordering a crate of oranges, saying he'll pick them up tomorrow and when the vendor asks for his name, he answers with a lie. He manages the actual name well enough, even manages to step a couple of paces away before the enormity of it hits him.
Maybe it's not as direct as yelling at Lucifer's face, or outright refusing a job, but it's still rebellion. He can remember the last rebellion all too well, the cost and the grief of it all. The screams.
"Are you alright?" someone asks and he nods. Then shakes his head. Turns and flees as though physical distance would be any barrier if Hell were listening.
It's fine. He's been wearing this name a few thousand years, what's the rest of eternity? Serves him right for getting too close to the humans and their stupid ideas.
Only… the next few nights are the same whirlwind of thoughts. Perhaps if he only tells humans in passing, he can put it down as lying or betraying their trust or something. Hell might even like that. Or he could say it's to confuse them.
The next time, he orders a piece of jewellery to be made up and gives a different name. This time, he manages to get home before he has a panic attack about what he's just done. Nothing happens. No-one comes for him.
After that, it gets easier still. He chooses the names at random, never bothering to consider if he might actually like them. They're throwaway things after all, fragments of dreams that he won't have a chance to make real, but it's good to play pretend.
***
"Crawly! Drink?" Elihu’s halfway to drunk and wearing the most ridiculous robe Crawly's ever seen, a bright mismatch of different colours and textures stuck together so that it stands out even across a crowded inn room.
Thinking about that as he winds his way through the crush is almost enough to distract from the sting of his name. He should have stopped playing with it weeks ago, not allowed himself the freedom of being someone else, however briefly; switching back hurts worse each time.
Still, the wine's good and the company better, and they're still there a few hours later when Elihu says "I hear you've been playing about with your name a bit."
He doesn't choke on his wine only because he sharply reminds himself that snakes don't have gag reflexes so neither does he. "How..."
"There's not a lot of tall skinny redheads around here, for a start. And Liv recognised you the other day but didn't like to say anything. Plus you paid her almost double for that chain you ordered."
"I..." He tries to find the words. Tries to work out why he's talking to a human about this, for Someone's sake. "I thought it was neat what you did. That was all. I wanted..." to get one of Hell's marks off of him, and that's probably the clearest realisation he's had about it so far.
Elihu stares down into his drink, and Crawly's glad of the privacy he's offered. The rest of the crowd are too intent on their own drinks and conversations to pay any attention to them.
"To see what it felt like being someone else, maybe?"
He doesn't think someone else is quite right but nods anyway. Someone free, maybe.
"When I couldn't decide on mine, I imagined someone I loved saying it to me. Wondered what would sound best in their, in his, voice," Elihu says a moment later. "That might work for you. If you wanted to."
Crawly nods again, beard catching against his chest, not sure why he's agreeing but knowing he desperately wants this conversation to end. Neither of them mention names again that night.
***
It's so easy to conjure up Aziraphale's voice. Fussy, inquisitive, warmer than anything Crawly knows. Less easy to put a new name into it when he's not even sure what he'd like as a starting point. What Aziraphale, who seems so immune to change, might make of him trying to claw out a new identity for himself on a deeper level than the costume changes he's always favoured.
But he tries.
Tries to imagine Aziraphale asking him to dinner, or complaining about the state of the records he's been expected to deal with, or softly catching his attention to point something out.
It takes him a while to realise the main drawback is that he believes anything would sound good in Aziraphale's voice.
But still. Try as he might, he can't imagine Aziraphale reacting with scorn. Concern, yes. Curiosity probably, but he can't imagine scorn.
And… they've kept everything else secret from Heaven and Hell. If Crawly asked, if he found the courage somehow to say 'keep this a secret between you and me,' would Aziraphale go along with it? Understand why he needed it? Give him a chosen name?
***
He finds out how Bildad sounds in Aziraphale's voice later that summer. Not the name or the way he would have chosen, but Aziraphale accepts it without blinking. Without challenge or doubt.
It makes imagining his own name a lot easier the next time he tries.