Chapter Text
Dean Winchester was pissed. He flung himself into his car, a glossy black Chevy Impala, slamming the drivers door closed, hard, and then instantly apologizing to his baby, guilt washing over him. Whatever his problems, the car wasn't to blame and she didn't deserve his outburst. He smoothed his hands over the steering wheel and tried to get his head together. But the more he thought about the fight he'd just had, the harder it was to tamp down on his fury. Starting up the car, he smiled grimly at the growl of the engine, it seemed to meet his anger with a challenge. Shifting into gear he peeled out of the parking lot, gravel flying as he gunned it hard onto the highway.
By the time Dean reached the center of the city, his anger had gone from explosive to simmering, that was, until city driving started to reignite the flames. He'd hit the city at rush hour, and everyone else on the road seemed to have forgotten how to drive. As he brooded on his morning's drama, and fumed at his fellow drivers, he failed to see the bicycle courier, who shot out of a side street at speed. There was a clatter and a thump, and Dean hit the brakes hard.
'God damn it! What the hell was that?'
Dean threw the car into park, cut the engine and leapt out of the car, ignoring the traffic swerving around him. On the street in front of him, in a crumpled heap was a man and a bicycle. Dean cursed inwardly. How could his day get any worse? He sighed and pulled out his phone to call 911, the guy clearly needed some help, and Dean wondered what manner of shit he was going to be in over this. The guy had put a sizable dent in his car too. Dean cursed again and leaned over the man lying on the floor.
******
Castiel got a lot of grief from his colleagues for the fearless way he rode around the city. His boss reminded him that he wasn't invincible every time he came in banged up, from yet another altercation with a car, or a bus, or a pedestrian, or another cyclist. Castiel claimed the bruises were always the other guy's fault, but Gabe, his boss, knew that the guy took risks, almost as if he was trying to get himself killed. The guy was relentless, but also the fastest courier he had, so he kept his bitching to a minimum, in recognition of the dedication Castiel had to his job. Usually Castiel bounced back from whatever accident he was in with customary grace and grouchiness, but this time was definitely going to be different. The last thoughts Castiel had before he lost consciousness were that Gabe was going to kill him if he wasn't already dead, and that there were pretty green eyes staring anxiously at him. Then everything was black.
******
Dean was panicking. He knew enough about first aid to know not to move the guy lying on the floor, although he did check for a pulse. Finding one, and discovering that the man was breathing only relieved his tension by a fraction. He stood over the man, protecting him from further injury, until, thank god, the ambulance and the cops arrived.
'Dean Winchester, what have you done now? I'd recognize that damn car anywhere.'
A warm voice called at him from the police cruiser as it pulled up in front of the Impala, boxing the unconscious man in, and protecting him from any other errant drivers. Dean couldn't decide whether to be relieved or humiliated. The voice belonged to Sheriff Mills, his boss's long time friend. She was a good person, anyone who could be friends with Bobby Singer would have to have the patience of a saint. But that also meant that she knew all about Dean, all his past transgressions, and all his embarrassing moments. Oh well, better her than a stranger he supposed. He could hear the ambulance arriving too, thank god, he had no idea what to do but leaving the guy lying on the ground didn't seem right.
'Hey Sheriff Mills, this guy came out of nowhere, I hit him, he's breathing but I don't know how badly hurt he is.'
Sheriff Mills ran a critical eye over the scene, and crouched down to take a look at the man lying on the floor, still tangled in his bike. She carried out similar checks to the ones Dean had, he was breathing, he had a pulse, and he did not seem to be bleeding heavily although she could see scrapes on his arms, where his sleeves had been rolled up. She eyed his leg, it seemed to have more angles than it should. By now the emergency medical people were unloading and she handed over what she knew to them, allowing them to get to work. She snagged the man's wallet from his back pocket though, for identification.
Turning back to Dean, she gave the man the same critical look. Dean was tall, easily six feet, and broad, partly from good genes, and partly from the daily workout he got as a mechanic at Singer's Auto and Scrap. He had short, messy hair, on a sunny day it was blond, on a dull day like today, it showed itself as a mousy brown color. Green eyes, wide lips and freckles, he was certainly a good looking man, and he knew it. Most of the ladies in town would willingly testify to the charming power of a Dean Winchester smile. Now though he was pale and scared, his hands shaking. The Sheriff opened the drivers door of the Impala and gestured for Dean to sit down, hoping the residual warmth of the car would help calm him down.
'Why don't you tell me exactly what happened Dean?'
'I was driving, and the guy came out of nowhere, I think he must have come from that side street. He hit me, or I hit him, I guess it's my fault isn't it? Anyway, there was a bang, and I stopped, and when I saw him on the floor I called 911, and here we are. I checked he was breathing and that he still had a pulse, but I didn't move him. I know that much.'
'OK, I'm going to need some details from you. Where were you coming from?'
Dean looked down, sheepishly.
'I just left my Dad's place. He was drunk again. We got into a fight and I guess I was distracted. Is he going to be OK do you think?'
Dean looked out of the window where the Emergency Medical Technicians were carefully loading the cyclist onto a stretcher, strapped onto a body board they'd used to immobilize him. He seemed to still be unconscious.
'I'd say at the least he's going to be pretty sore, and I think he might have a broken leg, but it's hard to say. He was knocked out, so theres a risk of head injury. Thank god he was wearing a helmet. I have a few more questions Dean. Do you want to do this here, or down at the station?'
'Crap. Here's good, I guess, I'd like to get it over with, if we can. I should go to the hospital, see if he's OK.'
'OK, but remember to give his family some space, they might not be too thrilled to see you.'
Dean looked miserably at his hands. They'd stopped shaking at least but he had to resist the urge to bite his fingernails, it was a bad habit from childhood, and he only did it when he was scared or upset. Now certainly qualified.
'Where were you going to Dean?'
'Home, I live about six blocks from here, on Emerson.'
'Do you know how fast you were going?'
'Probably 25, 30 maybe. The traffic was heavy, so, you know how it is around here.'
The Sheriff nodded, and looked around, Dean's assessment of his speed was probably pretty accurate for the conditions.
'Now, look Dean, I have to ask this. Have you been drinking, or doing anything that might have impaired your judgment?'
'Other than fighting with my dad? No. You know I wouldn't do that Sheriff.'
She looked him over again. He looked sober, and was calmer now. She nodded.
'OK Dean, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to take some witness statements, if I can find any. I'll also need to talk to the guy you hit, when he wakes up, uh, Castiel Novak, apparently.' She was looking through his wallet now, for a next of kin or other information about the man.
'If you want to go to the hospital, then fine, you can do that, but if you piss off the family, I'll have to come and get you, stick you in a cell, OK?'
'Yeah, Sheriff, I got you.'
'OK. We're going to take the bike as evidence, and we'll need to take your car too. If you'd killed him, we'd lock you up too, no question, but since the guy was still breathing, and since you called it in and confessed, and since I know you, and I know your boss, I'm going to take you at your word, until I can speak to this Novak and get his side of the story too. Stay put until the forensics guys are done, and then you can go, but don't leave town, understood? I'm off to the hospital.'
'You're going to impound my baby? Come on Jody, don't do this to me, to her?'
'Dean, it's Sheriff Mills out here. And like I said, we could be locking you up too. I can't really charge you with anything yet, it depends what the other guy says, but you could be looking at serious charges here.'
Dean swallowed and nodded grimly. Apparently his day could get worse.
He signed the paperwork confirming that the Impala was to be impounded, and handed over the keys to the forensics guy, who looked altogether too pleased to be driving his baby. He grabbed his gear out of the trunk, and as the car pulled away from the spot where he'd hit the cyclist, where she'd been sitting for two hours or more, he felt a lump growing in his throat. He made a mental promise to get her back and then hailed a cab to the hospital.