**Greetings! Lately, I've been having a lot of fun telling stories from different perspectives. Relentless is a companion story to See, having the same timeline, but told from Sam and Serendipity's perspective. I hope you enjoy this...I've had a lot of requests to hear more about Sammy and Serra. After this, I will be getting back into my overall story arc at Winchester Ranch.
Let me know how you like Relentless.
Love and internetty hugs,
The Girl With The Dinosaur Tattoo**
Sam, three days to go
Dean had been gone for longer than I was comfortable with and I had no idea where he would be at this time of the night. The Mark of Cain was definitely a possibility for the reasoning behind my brother's absence, and when I called him for the seventh time that night, I knew he had silenced the ring on his phone, completely ignoring me once again. I began a pace pattern around the Men of Letter bunker as I tried to figure out what to do.
If Dean was locked into a rage pattern like he had been recently, he could be anywhere, committing who knows what kind of crime against humanity. I just hoped that it was a monster he was punishing.
My phone buzzed with a text message. I walked back towards my phone that was charging on the small table next to the big comfy chair I favored. Picking it up, I sighed heavily, seeing that Dean had taken the time to text me.
"Everything's fine," he wrote. "Stop calling me."
Shaking my head and pressing my lips together, I held up my phone to tap out an answer. "Where are you? You've been gone for hours."
I didn't have to wait long for a reply. "Don't worry about it. I'll be back later."
I knew right then and there that Dean was done communicating for the night. I closed my eyes and tossed my phone back onto the table, rubbing my face with both of my hands and running my fingers through my hair. The constant stress I felt about handling Dean and walking on eggshells all the time was exhausting. I felt terribly for my brother and knew it wasn't entirely his fault, but the idea that he could be murdering someone wasn't exactly comforting.
Collapsing into the armchair behind me, I leaned my head back on the cushion and tried to stay conscious. I didn't want to miss when Dean would stumble through the door. I had to know what happened.
I heard Dean's keys in the door to the Men of Letters bunker and turned, ready to face my brother. I braced myself for what I might see, hoping that this time he wasn't covered in blood. He came in silently, probably hoping that I was already asleep, but I stood, ready for whatever Dean might throw at me, including a punch or two.
"Where have you been?" I asked, running my hands through my hair and trying not to sound like a worried mother.
Dean shook his head, ignoring me at first as he pulled off his canvas jacket and slung it onto one of the chairs. "Good to see you, too," he muttered, a razor sharp edge to his voice. He tossed his car keys onto the table and they skidded across the surface and tapped the desk lamp. We stared at each other for longer than I felt comfortable and finally, I raised my eyebrows and pressed him into answering. I knew that he was considering hitting me.
I almost didn't understand what he was doing when Dean turned from me and put his hands on the table, taking a deep, calming breath, but then I realized that he was in complete control of his emotions. He wasn't close to rage, and if he had been, it was passing and he was regaining control without destroying anything. I was caught off guard, especially when he began speaking, his voice a low growl.
"I went to a bar," he finally said. "I drank for awhile and now I'm here."
I was so confused that I puffed out a sigh and ran my hands through my hair once more. Shaking my head, I couldn't even form sentences.
"What, Sam?" Dean's voice was irritated, but still calmer than it had been in months.
I went with the usual argument. "If the Mark is affecting you as badly as I think it is, you need to talk about it. We need to figure this out, Dean," I sighed, trying to keep my voice as calm as I could. I paced back towards the stack of research we had done in the Men of Letters library since Dean's stint as a demon.
"I'm fine, Sam," Dean sighed, trying to walk away from me. "Let it go."
I stepped in front of him and held up my hands. "No, Dean. I'm not going to let this go. You're in pain, you're edgy and you're never sleeping. One of these days, you're going to snap and you're going to kill someone you don't want to," I said, too fast, too out of breath. I struggled to keep control of the tone of my voice so that Dean wouldn't get upset. Or, at least, more upset than he already was.
He turned back towards me slowly, taking another deep breath in through his nose. Dean closed his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm coping, Sam," he sighed. "Just let me cope."
I couldn't stop myself. "Is whiskey a part of coping?"
"Yes," he shot back, "but this time there was conversation too." Dean regretted his words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He rolled his eyes and bit his bottom lip, trying to avoid the conversation that was about to follow. The change in his demeanor was immediately apparent and I knew there was more information there.
"Conversation?" I asked. "Conversation with who?"
Dean seemed almost embarrassed as he shook his head slowly and closed his eyes, admitting defeat. "I met a girl," he explained quietly.
"A girl," I repeated in disbelief. Half of me wanted to turn around, expecting her to be waiting in the entryway, but I knew he had come in alone. As I stared at my brother, I knew that something primal in him had changed. He no longer was concerned with what happened to him because of his own selfish desires, but because of Grace. I would never be able to show my gratitude enough towards her, even now.
Back then, I had no idea that this was the beginning of the rest of our lives. Dean had just encountered Grace Browning, his soul mate, his one true pairing, and there was nothing he was able to do to avoid the dedication and love that would build between them. I had no idea that with Grace would come Serendipity, her little sister.
My sunshine mixed with a little hurricane.
My whiskey in a teacup.
My natural disaster.
Serendipity is who I am. She's who I breathe and live for. There is nothing besides her face.
But it hadn't always been that way.