Crowley squints and makes a face that might be more telling than anything. Is he being fucked with? It feels like it. He doesn't like that.

"Are you going to pass judgement upon me for my answer?" he asks before pursing his lips. He's tired of that, too. "I do what I want when I want to. That might mean going on a mission, it might mean sleeping for the week."

His tone is a little more blunt and less casual than it had been. He's lived millennia taking sides and following orders. After all of that frustration, he'd broken free of both, only to be thrown onto a train that expects things of him and assigns him a team to follow. No thank you. He's retired.