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."

"There's a motel not far from here. Just a block or so. The Nite Owl Motel, take a left down this road, and it's pretty straightforward from there. Can't miss it. You have a ride?"

"No, and I'm not lettin' you drive me, cause I know that's where you're goin' with this."

"It's no trouble, really."

"I can't. You've done too much already."

"Z, this bar doesn't open till noon. It's nine thirty. I can't stay here with nothin' to do for two and a half hours."

"Do you live here?" I asked, having a feeling he did.

"Yeah. Cause unlike you, I have roots here. Which means I have a constant roof over my head, with a fiancée and her daughter."

I scoffed. "Really? You are getting married?"

"Hell yeah, I'm gettin' married."

"I just... for some reason I can't see that."

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

I shook my head. "Nothin'. Now I'm gonna go catch a cab or something. I might even walk. Or limp. Whatever."

I hobbled out of the room, making my way to the front door. I turned around to see Bobby behind the counter. "And Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

I smiled. "I think this is my new favorite Roadhouse."

I began walking down the sidewalk toward the motel. I kept an eye out for a cab, or anything that looked like a cab. My poor excuse for a leg slowed me down a bit, but I managed.

I kept thinking about Dean. I remember clearly, he was there. Why was he in Iowa? It didn't make a lick of sense to me. Maybe it was just the universe's way of saying that I fucked up. That I shouldn't have taken this turn in life. That I should right my wrongs.

I noticed a small black car roll up next to me. The driver rolled down his window. "Hey, buddy, you need a lift?" He asked.

I considered my options here. Say yes and get a ride to the motel, or say no and avoid the possibility of being molested. It was a no brainer.

"Yeah, sure, I guess."

I got in the passenger seat and buckled up.

"Where to?" He asked me.

"Uh, the Nite Owl Motel nearby." Is he gonna rape me?

"Sure thing." He flashed me a reassuring grin. Yeah, he's gonna rape me.

We drove down the road in silence. It soon became overwhelming and I turned on the radio. Apparently this guy enjoyed country music. Because the first song that played was just toying with my emotions. A song I hadn't listened to in years.

"Every little thing that you do!

I'm so in love with you!

It just keeps getting better!

I wanna spend the rest of my life!

With you by my side!

Forever and ever!

Every little thing that you do!

Oh!

Every little thing that you do!

Baby I'm amazed by you."

I fought the tears back. I couldn't cry. I wouldn't. I hadn't cried since... December of 2014. One tear. It was just one.

"I'm Guy by the way. You?"

I sighed. "Z."

"Z. Just one letter. I respect that. You seem like you got a lot of moxie, Z. I respect that, too."

I just stared out the window. Does this man ever stop talking? I just became numb to it all. The music, the rambling, I just drowned it all out.

I didn't hear a word he said until he asked me, "So, ready to go to hell?"

I looked over at him with a stern expression, my hand instinctively moving to the pocket on the inside of my jacket. "What?"

"You heard me." He was just too fucking perky.

"You're gonna keep driving until we get to the motel." I growled.

"Oh, honey, you're not gonna make it to the Nite Owl. Not after all I've heard about you, Castiel."

"How do you know my name?"

He looked over at me, his eyes flashing black. "Surprise." He smiled maliciously.

I dug through my pocket until I could grab my flask filled with holy water. I soaked him in it, causing him to scream, his skin all steamy. The car began to swerve and I dropped the flask on the floor, the remaining water soaking into the carpet. I reached in my other pocket and retrieved my emergency saltshaker, choking him with the salt.

"Go back to hell, motherfucker."

The car began to jerk and I hit my head on the window. Just as I did, smoke began to pour out of the demon's mouth, and the remaining meatsuit slumped over in the seat.

I checked for a pulse, but he was dead. My eighteenth demon encounter, and my eighteenth dead meatsuit. Typical.