#first fic

Summary: After John Winchester goes missing, Dean recruits his little brother to help find their father. Only, Sam isn't the only one Dean has dragged into the mission.

Warning(s): Mentions of death. 3rd person, Sam's POV. She/her pronouns used, no "y/n."

Sam Winchester wasn't having a great night, to say the least.

It started when his older brother broke into his on-campus apartment, telling him that their father was, "on a hunting trip" and "hasn't been home in a few days." It ended when that same apartment had gone up in flames with his girlfriend, Jessica Moore, dead on the ceiling.

Now, he and Dean were driving down the road to...somewhere. Dean was, unfortunately, extremely stubborn, and he refused to say much about wherever they were going or why they were going there. All he had said was that he needed to, "pick something up."

So, nothing vague at all.

The night was dark as Sam stared out the window. Not even two hours had passed since Jessica had died, and yet, so much had changed. He'd left Stanford behind, and he'd told Dean he would agree to hunt again, if only to find their father. He may not like the man, but if John Winchester had gone missing in search of the demon that had killed Mary, and now Jessica, then maybe they could find the demon, too.

"Seriously, Dean," he tried again. "Just tell me where the hell you're taking me."

"Somewhere, Sammy, I told you," he said dismissively. His eyes scanned the road ahead, illuminated by the headlights of the '67 Impala. "I got something to-"

Sam scoffed, cutting him off. "Yeah, you got something to pick up. From where? And what are we picking up? From where I'm sitting, we have everything we need to find Dad and this demon."

"Exactly. From where you're sitting." Dean barely glanced at his little brother, but he caught the irritated look on Sam's face and the raised eyebrows. He sighed heavily, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Just...trust me on this one, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

For the rest of the drive, there wasn't much talking. Sam stared out the window, mulling over everything that had happened. Dean focused on the road, foot on the gas, driving wherever they were going with purpose. It wasn't until they pulled up outside a decent motel in Modesto about an hour and a half away from Palo Alto that the silence was finally broken by the sound of the Impala's engine dying.

"We're here," Dean announced with a heavy exhale.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking through the window up at the motel. "Yeah?" he said. "And what do you need to pick up from here?"

Dean didn't even look at Sam. "Her."

From the front of the motel walked a woman. She was pretty, sure, but she didn't really look like the kind of person who Dean Winchester, of all people, would know. She looked like she belonged in a library - not in the Impala, not on a hunt. Sam couldn't help but be skeptical.

The woman did seem confident, however. She walked up to the driver's side door, where Dean had already rolled down the window. She leaned down enough to look in. Her eyes landed on Sam first, and they narrowed slightly, flicking up and down his body in a way that made him want to shift in his seat. She looked like she was analyzing him, like she was trying to figure out who he was and why he was there.

She said nothing, however, and instead looked at Dean. "You realize I had five hours' notice? Five, Dean. It takes 45 minutes to get to the airport, then almost 3 and a half hours to fly here. That doesn't leave much time for me to pack and find a motel and tell my boss I'm taking yet another leave."

Okay. So, she spoke her mind.

That wasn't the surprising part to Sam. The surprising part was the way Dean had the audacity to look guilty. Actually guilty.

"Sorry, sweetheart. But we may need your expertise."

"May."

"Better safe than sorry."

The woman, whoever she was, gave him a flat stare in response. Her eyes flicked to Sam, then back to Dean. "I assume that's your brother?"

Dean nodded. Sam didn't appreciate being talked about like he wasn't there, but he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "And you would be...?"

Rather than letting the woman answer for herself, Dean introduced her with a big grin. "She's a lore professor. PhD and everything. I swear, she knows folklore better than Dad," he told Sam. "She's helped me on a few cases. Figures out what I'm hunting before I can."

Sam tried not to look as impressed as he felt. This woman knew folklore better than John Winchester? That was saying something, especially when Dean was the one to say it.

Dean turned back to the woman. "So, Doctor," he said in a teasing tone, glancing briefly at Sam as if smug about having a woman with a PhD on their side, "you gonna help us or not?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" She sighed, shaking her head a little like she couldn't believe she was agreeing. "Let me get in."

"Perfect. Get in the back. Sammy Boy's claimed your usual seat."

And so, just like that, two became three. Dean, Sam, and this woman with a doctorate that Dean somehow knew.

Very nervous to post this, but let me know what you think please!!!! Or advice on how to do the layouts/writting! 

Thank you! 

 Hope you enjoy!! 

Title:

What Remains Of Me. 

Pt. 1

“Good morning, Maggie.”

I greeted her as I walked down the stairs of our home in Alexandria. She was curled up on the couch, sipping tea and reading a book. Seeing her so calm still felt unreal. A year ago, the idea of any of us sitting safely in a warm house would’ve sounded like a fantasy.

My thoughts drifted back to the day she and Glenn found me, months before Alexandria, long before any of us knew safety was still something we could have. Back then, Rick’s group was scattered across miles of back roads and forest, all of them searching for shelter, food, anything. Everyone was desperate, starving, and worn down to the bone. Which I later found out was the result of the fall of their previous home, a prison, then the horrors of a place called Terminus. 

Maggie and Glenn reached the cabin first. I’d been living alone there for half a year after my parents died. I wasn’t the same person I’d been before the world fell apart. None of us were.

It took time for me to trust them — especially since the first thing they did was try to break into my ‘home’. Before that, the only people I’d met were cruel, desperate, and dangerous. People who taught me that trusting strangers was a mistake. It’s how I watched my parents get torn apart by the dead.

Even now, the memory is burned into my mind. I know it always will be.

“Good morning, Leah.”

Maggie looked up at me as I finished going down the stairs.

“Where’s Glenn?” I asked curiously, rubbing a bit of sleep from my eyes.

“He’s helping Rick rearrange a few things in the armory,” she said. “Speaking of, you need to think about heading to the tower soon for watch.” 

My stomach dropped. “Shit, what time is it?” I asked nervously. Scared of the answer.

“7:45.” She replied, sipping her tea and raising her eyebrows at me.

Great. Fifteen minutes to chug a coffee, brush my teeth, get dressed, and be on the tower by eight.

I spun into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee machine. The pot was still warm, Glenn must’ve made some earlier. So I grabbed the handle and poured the remaining coffee into a mug. I took a quick sip to test the temperature, then downed the rest in a few gulps.

The empty mug clattered into the sink as I turned and bolted back up the stairs to get ready.

I rushed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth in a hurry, then went into my room. I felt the heat from the sunlight that poured through the window; it was going to be real hot today.  I stumbled around the room, yanked open the dresser, and pulled out underwear and a bra. From the next drawer, I grabbed the first pair of jean shorts I saw and shoved them all on, then found a deep blue tank and tugged that over my head. It still felt surreal that I could grab clean clothes from a dresser in my room.

When I was dressed, I crossed the room to my weapons. I cinched a wide braided leather belt over my shorts, clipped a drop‑leg holster to the strap, and slid my knife into the gap where the leather had been worn smooth by use. On the other side, I snapped my 9mm into the holster at my hip. I knew Alexandria was safe, but I still couldn’t sleep without my weapons within reach. I ran down the stairs, called a quick “bye” to Maggie, and was out the door. I picked up my pace, cutting across the street toward the tower, not taking my time since I didn’t want to be late. Another thing for Carl to be annoying about...

“Hey, moron!” an all‑too‑familiar voice yelled from behind me.

I kept walking, then glanced over my shoulder and rolled my eyes. Of course. Carl Grimes. He’d been insufferable since the day we met, and I’d never bothered to pretend otherwise. We argued about everything; there was no real reason for the dislike, just a friction that never smoothed out.  And the fact he was an asshole.

We were almost nineteen, and his best insult was still “moron.” Pathetic.

I flipped him off without slowing down and kept moving. 

I heard his steps get louder and quicker behind me like a pissed‑off puppy. “Really nice of you to show up, princess. Why don’t you stop wasting time and go do your job?” he snapped. Tilting his head to the side, the wide brim of his oversized sheriff's hat casting a dark shadow over his face. 

Princess.

That word always made my blood boil, even before the world ended. Especially coming from him. His voice was always mocking and sarcastic, laced with venom.  I knew it was his way of saying I was dead weight to him.

I stopped in my tracks. I turned to face him and found that same smug smirk. “I would if you hadn’t called me a moron a minute ago and then followed me around like a lost puppy,” I shot back. I put my hands on my hips, giving him a mocking head tilt of the stupid one he always does. 

The smug smirk on his face vanished, replaced by something harder. I felt my own grin creep up. it was too easy; I’d gotten to him. He took a daring step closer, the dark look in his eyes making it clear he wasn’t backing down. He never did, and neither did I. I remembered how annoyed the group  got while we were on the road, constantly having to be around each other, always fighting.

“Careful, princess,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

I ignored the way my heart quickened at his tone. Before I could fire back another sharp blow at his infuriating nickname, gunshots cracked across the morning like a storm. My snapped my head toward the noise, towers that had been quiet a heartbeat ago erupted with tracer fire over the fence.

“Carl! Leah!” Rick’s voice cut through the chaos. “Get up on that tower now!”

I sprinted toward the tower Rick had pointed to, my boots hammering against the dirt as gunfire cracked through the air. By the time I reached the ladder, adrenaline had already taken over. I climbed as fast as I could my hands slipping once, the ladder slick with morning dew, before pulling myself onto the platform at the top.

Chaos swallowed everything. Bullets tore through the air from every direction, some ricocheting off metal and biting into the herd below. The walkers’ groans rose in a swelling chorus, desperate and guttural, echoing off Alexandria’s walls like a deadly warning.

I grabbed one of the mounted machine guns stationed for this tower, fingers trembling a little as I loaded the belt. The moment it clicked into place, I opened fire. The recoil slamming into my shoulder. I kept firing, round after round, watching walkers drop and pile against the fence, their weight bowing the metal inward.

I didn’t realize Carl had already climbed up beside me until the deafening roar of his machine gun joined mine. The tower shook under the combined force of our fire and the dead trying to claw their way through below us. He stood close—closer than he needed to. Jaw tight, eyes locked on the herd with his usual unwavering determination. I could feel the heat radiating off of him.

I kept firing from the tower, each shot pounding out a rhythm that held the walkers at bay. We’ve definitely dealt with worse herds, but this was still a ton. The biggest herd I’ve seen trying to get in. Then I saw something that made my blood run cold. A section of the metal wall was buckling under the relentless pressure of the herd. The steel groaned and split just enough for the dead to start pushing through.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t wait. I dropped down from the tower, my boots hitting the ground hard as I sprinted toward the breach.

Walkers were already pouring through the gap—three or four at a time, those rotting hands clawing at the air as they stumbled into Alexandria. I raised my weapon and fired, taking them down as quickly as they came through. But more kept coming.

Suddenly,  I felt someone beside me. I glanced over quickly and noticed it was Carl. He didn’t say a word, his face angry as he fired at the walkers. A roar of blood in my ears as my heart hammered with every shot. Each shot I fired was a statement. This was my home, and I wasn’t about to let the dead take it. Not again. 

Finally the flood of walkers died down and so did the gun fire. I fired a straggler in the head as it tried to come through the gap. 

“All clear!” I heard Rick announce to everyone. I aimed my gun to the ground with a breath of relief. 

“What the hell was that!” Carl suddenly yelled at me, his voice cutting through the fading rush of blood in my ears.  I took a step back at his voice. “What?” I shot back, confused and already annoyed. “If you wanna go and get yourself killed, be my guest,” he said sharply, referring to me jumping off the tower straight towards the gap of walkers that were barrowing through. “But don’t put it on me to come save you.” He spat out.

 “I didn’t need you to come save me, Carl. I had it.” I snapped at him, absolutely absurd, he’d think I’d ever need him to save me from anything. “Didn’t look like you did.” He barked back. His blue eye was burning holes in mine. Before he scoffed and started walking away. “I did! You didn’t need to follow me, you know what, right?” I called out to him, my voice laced with anger. His steps faltered slightly, but he kept walking. 

You take the cane out of his hands, throwing it to the side as you take a couple of steps back. You then return to kick him a bunch of times, the rage that you feel seems to have no end. You are tired, your head hurts, you want to go home, this idiot is causing you problems, your head hurts, your head hurts...

(Near the Thames, The Next Morning) You open your eyes to the yellowing wallpaper in your room and the sound of a busy street outside. You get up with a groan, your bed consists of a basic wooden frame and a thinning mattress, so you don't usually get the best sleep at night. You get dressed, quickly and have some porridge that Cora left you. Quickly walking through the streets you spot Mrs. Everly's shop, its a smaller shop, but its just the way that Mrs. Everly likes it. Pushing open the door, you see huge rolls of fabric, there isn't a huge variety of kinds or patterns, but you are used to that.

(London, Near the Thames)

You were walking down a busy street, the sky slowly turning into a pink and purple color. At least, you hope it was, the air was thick and filled with smoke. You look over a railing, stretching your neck out over the grimy water of the Thames, you see the grey and black metal of the factories looming over the wide river. Hearing a yell, you push yourself off of a railing, out of the way of some children running past you, likely returning home after a long day of work. You decide it's time you do the same and start walking home.