The thing about sleeping on hardwood floors is that they're less than ideal for sleeping - okay, they're actually pretty shit no matter how much practice you have - which was why Dean was currently trying to get his normal three or four hours of sleep and utterly failing.
Which was also why he heard the quiet… something… coming from Sam's - no, Samantha's - room at about 0300 in the morning.
And, well, he kind of had to go look into it - not because he was worried about Samantha, or because Cas was still sleeping and had early classes the next day, of course, but because they were already getting noise complaints and definitely didn't need more - so he tossed off the sheet he was using and stumbled out of the room as quietly as possible.
Something about the night's hush gave the creaking hinge an impressively loud squall as it opened - he did not cringe, but if he did, it wasn't because he didn't want to wake Cas - but it opened enough that he could peak into the room.
Which was about when he remembered it was nighttime. Or, more specifically, that night was dark and, since humans aren't cows, Cas, he couldn't see in the dark.
Then came another bit of stumbling around in the dark to get to the kitchen, succeeded by the drastically different feeling of fumbling around in the dark to find a flashlight. (Luckily, he'd kept it mostly easy to access… he did not feel like digging through a drawer or two trying to find the tiny-ass flashlight - he'd lifted it off some asshole customer from the garage - without lights.)
Shockingly, the trip back to Samantha's room featured less stumbling. Who knew.
Samantha was still lowing quietly when he re-opened the door and entered, shutting it behind him (not in deference for Cas' sleep, but because it was… practical. Yeah, that). He sent the light playing across the room, trying to find the source of the (sleep-disturbing. Not worrying. He wasn't at all worried) mooing.
It took three passes to realize that she'd yanked down the curtains and that the bundle of cloth in the corner was actually a bundle of cloth and cow.
Which was about when he put together nighttime plus crying to equal nightmare - at least in humans (read: Sammy) but they couldn't be that different from cows… hush it, Cas. - and got his ass into gear.
To be perfectly, absolutely, 100% clear, Dean did not actively care about Samantha (for Cas' sake or for his own). He did, however, care about shutting her up for the neighbors' sakes, though, which was the only - only - reason he crossed the room (absolutely not more quickly than normal) and crouched down beside her, flashlight between his teeth.
Turned out, a cow in a nightmare was a lot like a cat; Samantha was jolting lightly, ears twitching back and forth, the occasional flex of her legs setting the curtains - damn; he'd actually liked those curtains - rustling. The real difference was the damn mooing; more of a keen than a low, it somehow seemed very, very loud in the darkness.
Luckily, a cow in a nightmare was a lot like Sammy, too - nope, still not interested, Cas, shut up, people are not cows - so he at least had a guess of what to do. It didn't take long to twine his fingers in her short fur, alternating scritching lightly at the top of her head with strokes down her nose, and he settled into a rhythm to match her breathing pretty quickly.
She quieted down not long after he began (but, of course, he waited longer than was strictly necessary... For the neighbors, naturally. There was nothing peaceful or calming about petting a damn cow, nope, not at all) and he eventually stood up from his crouch, ignored the way his knees cracked from how long he'd been sitting there (for the neighbors), and eased his way back out of the room. (He was eternally grateful when the hinge didn't screech as the thing shut... Not because both Cas and the cow were sleeping but for his own sanity.)
At least getting into the other room would be easier.
