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Seeing a bubblegum pink ice cream truck slam into the barrier of a highway and watching the airbags fill the windows while the entire crumple zone shrinks three times in size right before your eyes has made you, Dean Winchester, completely forget about your scurvy.

It's also made you forget about your boyfriend, but only for approximately ten seconds. Boyfriend? Is he your boyfriend? What do you call an ambiguously gay angel who has sexual tension with you so intense that you almost just kissed him, the passion in your heart burning almost as much as the rash on your arm? But this is too much writer self-insert. Dean Winchester doesn't know what "ambiguously" means. He is also straight. Soooooo straight. Definitely straight- right? You shake your head. Man, the scurvy is getting to you.

You and Sam make eye contact. His face is tight, and his mouth is pulled into a straight line. He's thinking the same thing you are: this is bad. You both saunter over to the driver's side window of the truck, shoulders back and hands balled up into fists in case there's trouble. Sam has one hand on his back pocket, where he keeps his gun. You aren't sure why he'd need a gun in this situation, unless a demon possessed the truck. Hey, it's happened before.

You feel a rush of cold air and then the vague warmth of someone standing close to you. It's Castiel. He hovers his hand over the door handle and you hear the click of the door unlocking. Sam throws it open and you both push the airbag aside. It hisses as you press your hands into its squishy surface.

The good news: there was only one person involved in the accident. The bad news: whoever he was, he's dead. Dead dead. Not the kind that you can get pulled out of with nothing but a red handprint from a super hot angel. I mean, he was literally sculpted by the hands of God himself and it shows. He's perfect. Wait, no. There's a dead man right in front of you. And besides, you've never seen Castiel's full form. That's Jimmy. Do you find Jimmy hot? Of course not. Jimmy's a human man. That would make you gay. You're not gay. You're straight. Right? Fuck.

"Dean." Sam's voice is sharp and loud, and there's a hint of annoyance in it.

"What? Sorry."

"What do we do?" Sam scratches the back of his head, pulling out another chunk of hair. He's been losing a lot of hair lately too.

You both turn to look back at the body. It's a tall, skinny man with dirty blonde hair. He looks young, younger than the three of you. Well, Castiel's been alive for millennia, so he doesn't count. His neck is bent at an angle that necks should not be bent at- Sam would know the exact angle, but you didn't need to be a college student to know that it was bad. He- smells. You catch a whiff of charred skin, and notice that he has burns all over his arms. His legs are smushed and so is his face. Actually, his body is so mangled that you're surprised you were able to tell what his hair color was. The dirty blonde is coated with brown clumps of dried blood, just like the blood spotting around your arm hairs. The rest of his body is covered in fresh red blood, running in streams down his arms and to his legs that are so entangled with the rest of the car you're not sure that you and Sam can pull him out.

"Damn."

Castiel nods, and presses his hand to the man's bloodied- forehead?

"He's gone. There's nothing I can do for him." Cas frowns, and you can see his face darken and the concern in his eyes.

"I guess we should call the police," Sam says.

"Good idea, Sammy," you say, but you can't hide the sadness in your voice. You've seen lots of dead bodies before, but it's a shame when it's something within your control. If he'd just swerved a few inches to the left-

Sam pulls out a bloodied lanyard that hangs around his neck. On it are pictures of the man and some other people who are dressed in the same candy-striped pink shirts and sailor hat that he's wearing. More pictures include him and a beautiful blonde woman who seems to be his wife. The lanyard says "St. Louis University of Law". He was a law student. Sam tries to hide his expression, but you see him wince.