A Grip On Reality (Destiel AU)

A Man Who Wasn't A Man At All

I awoke to everything pain had to offer. My head, my gut, my face. I didn't know where I was, but it smelled like a minibar. Or was that me?

I looked around, taking in my surroundings. Wherever it was, it was dark. For that, I was grateful. It was a small room consisting of shelves stocked with booze and what felt like a futon. I felt it in my spine.

I started to remember the events of the previous night. Normally one would look back on something like that in shame, but I just smiled tiredly and muttered, "Awesome."

The door opened, and in walked Bobby Singer. He turned on the light which blinded me, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut.

"Well good morning, sunshine." He greeted sarcastically.

"Ah, haha, fuck you." I grumbled.

"I've got aspirin. You're gonna need it."

I looked up at him, barely opening my eyes. I sat up, clutching my left knee when I realized how crappy it felt. I took the aspirin and glass of water he offered. I popped the pill in my mouth and washed it down with the refreshing water. It felt good on my sore throat.

"Thanks. For everything. For some reason, you've been more than generous."

"You seem like you're strugglin'. I had this spare room back here, and I figured you probably needed a roof over your head for the night. Besides, you were drunk off your ass and Don knocked ya out first punch. I kinda pitied ya."

I grinned briefly, but the smile faded. I didn't need pity. I had two rules; one, never try to hook up at an Irish bar, which in all honesty was a given. Two, never take anyone's sympathy. Ever.

"You've been very kind, but I think I should go." I tried to get up to leave, but I just couldn't walk with my damn leg. I clutched my left knee again, hunched over slightly. I sat back down on the futon, seeing no other option.

"I was gonna take off your shoes. But... well...-"

I cleared my throat. "Yeah. I know."

"Wanna talk about it?"

I looked up at him. "No." I replied harshly.

I stared down at my knee, a little pissed at it. This happened a lot lately, and I was sick of having to deal with the damn thing.

"It's just... your leg-"

"DAMN MY LEG!" I suddenly screamed. "I'm sorry. I just," I buried my face in my hands. "I can't. I can't."

There was a moment of silence until I felt a light tap on my leg. I looked up at Bobby who had an old fashioned cane. It was just a plain old wooden cane.

"Here. Someone left this here and never came back for it. Clearly you need it more than them."

I reluctantly took the cane and used it as my left leg. It was an odd feeling, using a cane to get around, but I'd get the hang of it. I would have to until I could get my damn leg fixed again.

"It'll do. Thanks again."

"Any time."

"Anyone in their right mind would just leave me to rot. And they have. Lots of times. Why not you?"

"Just don't question it. Pretend it makes sense and move on."

I grinned. "Let me just get out of your hair."

"Where're you off to?"

"Oh, I don't know. Wherever the wind blows. And hopefully the wind is blowing in the general direction of a Motel 6."