Bingo!

Chapter 4 ~ sadness and Da Green Stuff

Trigger warning - PTSD episode, self harm, etc. If you don't want to read the chapter but you want to know what happened, leave a comment here or at the bottom, so that someone can summarise for you! (this applies to any other chapters too, so I won't repeat this if they come up btw)

Dean blearily blinked as the sound of his phone ringing woke him up. (Don't ask me what the ringtone is, I'm giving you guys a healthy dose of imagination on this plus I'm hella lazy) He rolled towards the edge of his bed and looked at the time on his alarm clock. It read 1:34.

It was three days since his date with Cas, and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

The phone didn't shut up, so Dean groped around on his beside table and found it vibrating like a dying washing machine, just about to fall off. He lifted it to his ear, dropped it, and tried again, and managed to answer just before the last ring/note/insert noise here rang out.

"Sammy? You ok?" Dean's voice was all gruff from sleep.

"Dean? Please Dean, I need help, I'm freaking out and I need help and I'm freaking out and I need help and-" Sam's voice was a garbled hamster coming over a crappy connection, but Dean picked up on the general message pretty quickly.

"Ok Sam, calm down, what's wrong?"

"I just, I woke up in the night and Abigail threw up twice in her cot and Jess should be here but she fucking isn't and I need some fucking help Dean please I need you to come over," Sam nearly screamed over the phone. Dean heard a stifled sob, and then Sam broke down.

Dean took a deep breath before he replied. "Ok, should I come over to you? Will that help?"

"Yes, yes yes Dean please I need someone to help and mom isn't answering her phone and-"

"Ok, ok, can you cope by yourself for a bit? I'll be there in a bit," Dean said, and he pressed end call on his phone without waiting for an answer. Then he switched off the app and looked at the text app. He really, really wanted to call Castiel.

Then he shook his head slightly (think water-in-dog's-ears kind of shaking) and chucked it back on his bed. After that it took him five minutes to throw on jeans and a t-shirt and his leather jacket, kind of slightly vaguely brush his teeth and get out of the door.

It was still really dark outside - although he didn't exactly know what he'd expected, what with it being half one in the morning - and threw himself into the impala, but he could barely stand touching her right now. It reminded him of too much. Then he shook himself again, nearly broke his hand slamming the door shut, and slammed the brakes, and he shot off into the night.

The motorway/highway was as quiet as Dean wish it was in his own mind, and he got to Sam's in only half an hour, on a journey that normally lasted twice that. He veered and wobbled into a random parking space on Sam's street, and walked up to and knocked loudly on the door. No one answered, so he tried the handle (as opposed to just KICKING IT OPEN like not-civilian Dean would do). It was unlocked.

He stepped inside cautiously, but the hallway was clear, apart from a couple of pairs of mismatched boot scattered on the floor. Dean kept going into the main house.

Here there really was a scene of devastation. The dollar-store rug was flipped over a lamp that had apparently fallen off a side table, and there were horrible dents on the wall, where Dean knew Sam's fists would strike when he threw a punch (from painful experience). He gulped and kept going.

Abigail was crying somewhere above, and Dean paused. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam said, from behind him. Dean spun around to see him, curled up on the sofa. His otherwise fabulous hair was a mess, and he had scratches on his arms and legs. Dean rushed towards him, but Sam freaked out.