This story has been posted here before. But I had taken it down to post to AO3 because I plan on going far more graphic with the story. But I had a request to bring it back over here by several readers. I will keep this pretty PG but all smut and violence will practically be cut out of this version of the story.
I will continue to post on AO3 in case you want to read the more graphic version - deeper violence, explicit smut - but yeah, I will be posting to both of these. I would just post all of the chapters I deleted but I've edited the chapters I had.
An average Tuesday, not a case in sight, so Dean took advantage of this to do one thing: be utterly annoying.
Once the beer was gone and Dean was thoroughly buzzed, the archive lost its luster and he moved onto better things.
He spared a glance at the various beer bottles scattered in the maze of books spread out on the long table. Sam would bitch, he was worse than a woman when it came to such things, but then again Dean didn't have any room to talk. His room was spotless and he took great pride in this fact, but the archive wasn't his room so he just shrugged and left his jacket on the back of his chair, idly approaching the hallway that led to the bedrooms and the showers.
He stepped into his room, looking around for something interesting to do.
Things were just too boring for him, he never had a deep attention span and all of this was just too suffocating for him.
Sam had been tucked away in his room all day, pouring over work he supposed. Sam could entertain himself for hours and entertaining himself meant ignoring Dean, which further annoyed his older brother and he had to know that. Of course, Sam wasn't there to entertain Dean on their days off, but it would be fun if they could actually go out and do something. Anything. Dean would take a walk down the damn road if that's what it meant to kill the boredom; of course, he would never say anything to Sam, because that just wasn't him.
Dean pecked around his room, begging God for a coloring book at least. Something, anything, to pass the time.
Like persistently bouncing a small, multi colored ball against the wall of his bedroom; the wall also happened to be the one separating his and Sam's room.
If he were being honest with himself, Dean had forgotten Sam was there half the time, whenever there were lulls in the cases and they were left to their own devices. He was so bored, he didn't even feel like standing up and going to pick up a chick for some real fun times.
But, annoying his brother would just have to do.
"Dean," he heard Sam hiss through the walls and smirked, continuing to flick his wrist and bounce that damn ball. "Dammit, stop!"
"Nah," Dean drawled, the rubber ball smacking against his palm upon return.
He snickered when he heard Sam groan and flicked the ball again. Only this time, it decided to take an abrupt left as it bounced off of the wall and Dean was forced to retrieve it. He groaned and flopped his arms out to his sides, legs dangling as he glared at the ceiling; he rolled onto his side and sat there for a moment, staring at the ball as it lay near his desk. Like it was the balls fault for bouncing. . .okay. That was probably one of the dumbest thoughts he's ever had.
. . .okay, that's a lie.
He stood and trudged over to it, snatching the damn ball up and glaring at it like it had offended his ancestors. "With my luck," he mumbled, plopping down at the foot of his bed. "It did."
He jumped when he heard his phone start to go off and twisted to his right, seeing it buzzing on the nightstand. He flicked the ball away again and let it bounce on the floor, lying back on the bed and stretching to snatch up the phone. His brow furrowed at the strange number and he almost didn't answer it, but he never knew what the calls could be.
He hit Accept and held it to his ear, getting ready to say What? before he tensed, eyes wide as he listened to the other line. "Dean! Oh my God, Dean?!"
He hesitated, swallowing before he sat up. "Who the he-"
He heard something shatter and jumped to his feet, hearing the phone on the other end hit the ground and he heard a woman's shrill scream before it faded, shouting out a lot of curse words and the name Mike; he heard thumping, like someone kicking and then the shrill hiss of nails scraping against wood.
He couldn't hit End, he wanted to but something was familiar about the voice and he had never felt sick when hearing shit like this but…something ached and he listened more. He tensed when he heard soft pats and faint hiccups of a child's sob before he heard flesh brush over the speakers.
"Hello," questioned a little girls squeaky, phlegm riddled voice.
Dean swallowed. "Hi there," he felt awkward but his heart was racing. "Uh. . ."
The little girl hiccuped. "M – Mommy is fighting," she paused to scream and yell out Mommy before the line went dead.