The journey is a haze of exhaustion and relief for Crowley. He pays little attention to where they're going, though he expresses interest whenever Aziraphale points something out for him to see or asks what he hopes to find or do when they get to Italy. Crowley finds it difficult to think of specifics beyond an idea of gardens. Truthfully he doesn't yet care much. Aziraphale and away are his priorities, and just now he has both. He doesn't need to find a new purpose or reconcile his recent experiences with his faith yet, not while they're traveling. He can leave mundane details to his demon and sleep, and resting easily in Aziraphale's embrace the way he can't in Heaven's.
In all honesty he wouldn't mind if the journey were longer, boring roads and limited coach space or not. When the journey ends he'll have to wake up, in more than one sense, and part of him cringes from the idea. So much easier for now to the motion of travel lull him, to feel Aziraphale's affection covering him like the warmest of blankets. So much easier to not think.
He rests more easily now with the weight of Heaven's approval burned, and smiles or sighs in his sleep whenever Aziraphale strokes his new-shorn hair or caresses his face.
But miles pass and the journey draws towards its destination, and if Crowley is reluctant to drag himself back to greater awareness it doesn't show overmuch. He knows when it's the last day; Aziraphale's pleasure is obvious, his excitement contagious, and Crowley lets himself be swept up in it, rouses himself to ask questions and notice things.
(So strange, for noticing and questioning to now take effort, when they've been integral to his being for as long as he's existed. But that's too close to other more painful thoughts, so he doesn't think about it. Not yet. Not while they're still travelling)
"Half a day from Florence," he muses, looking out at the rolling hills beyond the tall thin trees that line the road they travel. He glances at Aziraphale and smiles, small and teasing. "Just far enough to not be convienent. Something tells me we'll have to cheat if we want that bed with a soft coverlet on our first night there." He squeezes Aziraphale's fingers with his own. A week has done nothing to reduce his amazed gratitude that Aziraphale's fingers are there to be squeezed. "Do you want to make our own furnishings, or shall we stay a night or two and then visit the city for a few days to buy things the human way?"
I did leave all the scene-setting to you! But you had clearer ideas about what A wanted =)
In all honesty he wouldn't mind if the journey were longer, boring roads and limited coach space or not. When the journey ends he'll have to wake up, in more than one sense, and part of him cringes from the idea. So much easier for now to the motion of travel lull him, to feel Aziraphale's affection covering him like the warmest of blankets. So much easier to not think.
He rests more easily now with the weight of Heaven's approval burned, and smiles or sighs in his sleep whenever Aziraphale strokes his new-shorn hair or caresses his face.
But miles pass and the journey draws towards its destination, and if Crowley is reluctant to drag himself back to greater awareness it doesn't show overmuch. He knows when it's the last day; Aziraphale's pleasure is obvious, his excitement contagious, and Crowley lets himself be swept up in it, rouses himself to ask questions and notice things.
(So strange, for noticing and questioning to now take effort, when they've been integral to his being for as long as he's existed. But that's too close to other more painful thoughts, so he doesn't think about it. Not yet. Not while they're still travelling)
"Half a day from Florence," he muses, looking out at the rolling hills beyond the tall thin trees that line the road they travel. He glances at Aziraphale and smiles, small and teasing. "Just far enough to not be convienent. Something tells me we'll have to cheat if we want that bed with a soft coverlet on our first night there." He squeezes Aziraphale's fingers with his own. A week has done nothing to reduce his amazed gratitude that Aziraphale's fingers are there to be squeezed. "Do you want to make our own furnishings, or shall we stay a night or two and then visit the city for a few days to buy things the human way?"