A/N: After a night of drinking Crowley takes a cab to celebrate his birthday. The date: September twenty-nine, the day he was cured and became human once again. The same day that Sam died.
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Slamming the door shut Crowley reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. Opening it he realized he didn't have anything smaller than a fifty. Crowley stumbled slightly but managed to keep his footing.
"How much," Crowley asked.
"Twelve eighty."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "I don't suppose you have change for a fifty?"
"Nope, sorry."
"Whatever," Crowley muttered shoving the money at the cabbie. "Keep it."
Making sure he was holding the flowers in a way they wouldn't get crushed he made his way into the cemetery. He didn't have far to walk, Lisa had been buried close to the front. He managed to stagger to his bench and drop down onto it. Setting the flowers down he rubbed a hand over his face a few times before dropping it back into his lap.
"Hey," Crowley said quietly. "Sorry about the hour but it is technically a Sunday."
Damn he'd had too much to drink. He always forgot how being drunk felt. It was one of the two days a year he ever drank. His birthday had been lost to him forever ago. He now celebrated his birthday as well as mourned the loss of Sam every year on September twenty-ninth. The day he had been cured. The only other day he drank was May second. May second was Sam's birthday and the day Dean had died. For a time Crowley had wondered if Dean had gone out with the intentions of getting himself killed that night. After a while Crowley had decided he really didn't want to know and stopped thinking about it.
"I know, I know," Crowley grumbled. "I promised I wouldn't show up drunk this year." Crowley shrugged. "What can I say? Yet another thing I messed up." He moved to get more comfortable. Was the bench always this hard? "I never intend to come here on this date but somehow it always happens, doesn't it? It coincided with a Sunday this year and that was all it took. You know me, sentimental and all."
Crowley's eyes settled on the flowers sitting on the bench next to him.
"Oh yeah. Gina's shop doesn't open until seven. The only place that was open at this hour didn't have lilies. Sorry. Maybe I'll bring you some later today. Would you like that?"
Cocking his head he stared at the tombstone in front of him. If he concentrated hard enough he could almost hear what she would say.
"It's never a waste of money to bring beautiful flowers to a beautiful lady," Crowley replied closing his eyes, trying to picture her. He frowned when he realized how hazy the memories were becoming. Crowley bit his lower lip and opened his eyes. "He loved you, you know. He just couldn't handle losing Sam. But then, you knew that. In other news I think I drank too much tonight. I know, shocker, right?"
Crowley leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "Didn't drive though. So that much is good, right? Fuck." Crowley winced. "Sorry didn't mean to let that slip out. I know, I know. You don't like people that drink to excess. I only do it twice a year though, and only one of those days do I spend here. Maybe you could forgive me this once?"
Closing his eyes again Crowley pictured Sam. As always those images came through clearly. There were times when he almost wished they didn't. He didn't know what he would do if his memories of Sam faded.
"Tell Sam I was thinking of him, please. Tell him… Oh, bloody hell. Tell him anything you want. It's not like he can't see me screwing up the second chance he gave me. As always, you've been lovely company. Sorry I couldn't return the favor."
Grabbing the flowers Crowley leaned forward and set them on the grave.
"Until next time."