beanside | Fic: Upon My Liar's Chair 16/?) WIP

Title: Upon My Liar's Chair
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for avid_slacker.
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability.

It was funny how different the city looked from about twenty inches lower. And how many people either stared, or glanced and looked away. A few said hello to him, wished him well. Those were kind of nice.

Jensen thought it was kind of funny how hard it was to take those sentiments from someone who knew him, yet from a stranger, it was a balm.

As he was heading towards Stanley Park, a woman called his name, and he paused, looking up where he expected. Instead, another wheelchair,this one an electric powered one, pulled up next to him.

The young woman in it grinned. “You were in your own little world,” she said, laughing. “Also, you're a hell of a lot faster than I am.”

“Sorry,” Jensen apologized.

“S'okay. I was hoping to run into you, actually. Your agent's tired of hearing from me.”

Jensen sighed inwardly. Fuck. Another of the charities who wanted him to be their poster boy. Great. “Yeah, I haven't been talking to him much. Um. How can I help you, Miss...?” he prodded.

“Albertson. But call me Candi.”

“Candi?” Jensen's lips curled in a smirk that felt kind of Dean-like. After three months, it was kind of weird.

“Candace, but really. Every girl should have a stripper name.” She smiled, and lifted a tremoring hand, offering it to him.

He laughed. “Works for me. Okay, Candi, what can I do for you?”

“Actually, it's kind of the other way around. I run a group for people with spinal injuries and other disabilities who don't feel like sitting around on their ass all day.” She looked at the park, then at Jensen. “Obviously, you qualify.”

“I don't know about that. I've been pretty much a couch potato,” Jensen said softly. “Actually, I'm only out because I threw a temper tantrum at the friend who drove me, and made him let me out.” He stopped, blinking. “I have no idea why the hell I'm still talking.”

She chuckled softly. “'sa Bitch ain't it? When you realize that the only person you can actually talk to about this shit is a total stranger?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyhow, we meet every other Thursday, at one of the restaurants in Stanley.”

“Okay,” Jensen said cautiously.

“Think about it, okay? Even if you don't come regularly, it's a good resource. I know right now, you said you're not doing much, but once you go back to work-”

Jensen made a noise.

“Oh, do not tell me that they're giving you grief. You got hurt at work, legally-”

He held up his hand to stop her rant. “No. They're okay. I'm not sure—with Dean's character...how do you work a wheelchair into that?” He realized that he was actually asking, as opposed to his normal brush off.

“Oh, come on, Dean would be awesome in a wheelchair!” she exclaimed. “He'd totally put an airplane engine on it, and be chasing ghosts down at forty miles an hour. Oooh, or get a scooter and turn it into an ATV, with saddle bags for his weapons. Like Arnie in T-2 with the shotgun.”

Jensen laughed. “Oh, my god. You're a geek.”

“And? I just have a different mouse than I used to.” She shrugged. “But back to Dean, I think it would be good. Not to be bitchy, but Kripke has an appalling track record with minorities. They're all dead or evil. Or both. It'd be cool to see someone like me on television.”

“Someone who didn't hop out of the wheelchair the moment they call cut, you mean?”

She smiled a little bitterly. “Yeah. And who isn't going to win an Oscar for their “bravery,” in doing what I do every fucking day.”

Jensen nodded. “I can see that.”

“Plus, let's face it, it'll give you plenty of story to sink your teeth into, not to mention that Sam will have angst galore. I think it'd be cool. But, it's up to you. If you decide that you can't handle the grind, none of us are going to be there saying 'bitch, get off your ass.'”

Jensen laughed again. “Okay. I'll think about it.”

“Cool. And now, I gotta motor. Meeting my fiance for lunch,” she said, laughing.

Jensen watched her head down the street with a pang of envy. Somehow, he wasn't sure he'd ever be that comfortable.

The Fish house proved to be a nice stop for a late lunch, enjoying the view of people passing by. Fortunately, he never went far without his pain meds, so that wasn't a problem.

Afterwards, he did a loop around the park, speeding through straight aways and laughing himself sick when he lost control and had to bail out of the wheelchair just before landing in the Lost Lagoon.

By the time he managed to get the chair out of the water, the sun was setting, and he was soaked. He pulled the card Candi had given him for the paratransit cab and called.

Of course, just like any cab, that was another hour wait, and of course, with his luck, the rain was starting again. Not that it mattered, since his jeans were soaked through, but still, it sucked.

What sucked more? The flat tire his cab got about two miles from his house. Sure, he could have waited a little while for another cab, but it was two miles, for fuck's sake. He could handle it.

Except.

He hadn't been out without someone else driving. And he hadn't been paying all that much attention.

So, yeah, he got a little lost. And yeah, it was raining harder, the lighting crackling overhead. And it was a little cold, and maybe his lips were a little blue. And his cellphone was dead.

But still, by the time he pulled up to his gate, he was feeling a hell of a lot better than he had in weeks.

Then, he realized that he didn't have any keys.