Aria's POV

The handle of the knife slips in my grip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Thick crimson trickles from my hands with each splatter staining the concrete.

"W-why?" croaks the faceless individual.

I almost feel bad - the feeling somewhere in the depths of my soul making an irritating presence. Her features are blurred, mangled and smeared in her own blood. Dripping from my hands, the red continues to fall, a steady metronome for the little time she has left in this hell.

Releasing a breath, I wipe the blood off on my jeans. The curl of my lips is natural — a predatory grin that makes the woman whimper.

"Because I can."

I jolt awake, hand shooting to my hip with my fingers already curling around the handle of the blade there.

"Easy, Aria, easy, it's just me," Dean soothes, my mind still working to wake up.

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head, and realize that there's a fierce grip on my right wrist. Opening them, I lock eyes with Dean to find the tip of my knife poised for the steady pulse in his neck. Grin crooked, he loosens his grip as I drop my hand.

"You shouldn't be smiling at someone who holds a knife to your throat," my words blunt. I sheath my knife and sit up.

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "Get ready. We're going out."

My nose wrinkles in confusion. "Rick said he wanted to talk to me first." I stand, twisting my back with a couple of loud pops as the joints crack.

Dean waves my words off before heading to the front door. He grabs two handguns, tucking one into the gun holster on his thigh and holding the other out to me.

Hesitation sits heavy in my gut. Rick made it quite clear that I was supposed to see him first thing. Everyone seemed welcoming last night, but I know that they're still wary. It's in the subtle glances. The way they ever so slightly shift away from me when they pass. I can't blame them. They shouldn't trust me. I still don't know why Sam and Dean do.

"Aria."

I cross an arm over my chest before protesting. "I need to talk to Rick, Dean."

"You can talk to him when we get back from my patrol. Aria, I know you're dying to get out of this house. So, let's go," the oldest Winchester persuades with a gruff authority.

He's right and I chew on my lip, staring at the proffered weapon. I've been anxious since we drove through the gates yesterday, jumpy sitting inside this house with so many memories.

"Fine," I succumb, taking the weapon in hand.

Alexandria has changed in the last year. The place has expanded with a whole new addition and farming and homes. It's amazing how much it has flourished when thinking of all the hell these people first endured. Walking the streets with the sun barely up, I take it all in.

New faces move about in the early dawn. Weapons are strapped to their thighs, slung across shoulders. Smiles are shared but there is a shadow to it, one that speaks of nightmares of the past. The people are carefree but with an edge of weariness in their shoulders.

I breathe in deep, relishing in the warm summer air. Even that smells different now than it did a year ago. It's sharper, definite, and worn - reminding me of old leather that has battered years of wear and tear but holds strong nonetheless.

Dean leads and I follow. His plaid shirt fits tight across his broad shoulders with threads worn thin in the elbows of the rolled up sleeves. A handgun sits nestled in a black thigh holster, a new look for the hunter. In all the years I've known Dean Winchester, there are only one or two instances in which I have seen him wear a holster.

Yet, another thing that has changed in your absence.

The gates of Alexandria stand in front of us. There's a guard tower now, other posts littered around the community. I stay behind a step while Dean has a quick word with the guard at the gate. She casts me a weary look and I rack my mind, wondering if she was around when I was still here. I shift on my feet, looking away from the guard as I let my short hair fall into my face.

My foot taps against the pavement, impatient. At the same time, my heart thuds hard and fast in my chest, anxiety taking root. I squeeze my eyes shut, draw in a quiet gasped breath, and then the gate roles open.

"Don't forget about the delivery today." The guard reminds Dean as he walks past the secured walls.

"I won't. We're going to do a perimeter check and then secure the surroundings a mile out," the hunter responds. He receives a nod and then the gate slides closed behind us.

Abandoned vehicles line the road into Alexandria, a stark difference to the open one that I originally arrived on. Sharp spears protrude from the vehicles, a couple of walkers impaled on them. They're decaying hands claw at the rooftops, jaws moving languidly as they make throaty, drawn out groans.

Dean nudges my shoulder, nodding his head to the left. "We'll start this way. Check the walls for any abnormal signs. After that, we move out into the surrounding woods."

"Lead the way." He grins, taking lead, and I follow.

The woods are alive with critters scurrying through the trees. Insects buzz, creating a steady background hum that is both reassuring and annoying. Sunlight trickles through the dense canopy of leaves, casting dark shadows in the thick of the woods surrounding the wall.

I don't stare into them for too long, glancing every so often to watch out for threats. It's more of a distracted look. The truth is nature will warn its children of danger. You only have to learn to speak the language and then you can walk blindly amongst the beauty of the world.

Forcing my attention off of the woods, I take in the corrugated steel walls. Nothing has changed in the year I've been gone. The barbed wire I lined the tops with remains in place. Even the exposed support beams are still protected with the sharp wire. Most of the upgrades to the wall were done on the inside. Protective sigils mark the walls inside the community along with extra support beams. There is also a border of iron at the base of the wall, encircling every inch of Alexandria.

A soft grin tugs at my lips, pride swelling in my chest.

The two of us make it around the perimeter with no incidence. After a quick water break, courtesy of a flask of water Dean brought, we start the mile-long trek out along the perimeter of Alexandria.

Silence continues between us, another new concept. There's no awkwardness or strain to the quiet. It just exists. Yet, despite the peacefulness, it's fragile, ready to fall to pieces at the slightest nudge - which has nothing to do with Dean.

I'm the cracked glass, the one that will shatter at a second's notice. The idea is foreign like most things nowadays. Like a baby colt struggling to understand the concept of legs, I'm awkward and unsteady.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked about the changes," Dean comments, his gravel thick voice disturbing the natural quiet of the woods.

We walk side by side, shoulders brushing every once in a while. I stare off into the distance, scanning for a walker or a larger threat.

"What's there to ask? You did what was necessary in order to protect what was yours. It's smart, efficient, and I'm assuming effective by the lack of disturbance of earth and damage to the wall."

Dean hums, gun in hand. The grip is tight enough to be prepared but loose enough to show that the hunter is not on edge. My grip, however, is painful. I force my fingers to relax, an ache starting in the joints.

"You haven't asked about much of anything since you've been back."

"I didn't expect to come back," I murmur, that void in the pit of my stomach giving a dull pang.

"So?" The hunter questions, ignoring my heavy words. "Aren't you curious as to what all changed?"

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I decided not to answer.

Dean sighs. "I'm not pushing you to talk, Aria."

"I know."

Silence fills the space between us, heavy with emotions that I don't know how to deal with. I ignore it, focusing on the forest around me as we continue our patrol.

We're close to a mile out now with the sun up in the sky. No more of the dusky dawn colors. Now it's a crisp blue and soft white clouds.

The heat has grown too. Beads of sweat gather at the lining of my hair, threatening to drip down my face. Even the forest seems to be more awake now. The drowning of insects crying and birds chirping are livelier.

Spending a year living in the woods, my body became attuned to the natural warnings nature gives. It's subtle, not a noise or scent. No, instead it's a minute change in the atmosphere — a sudden weight to the air filling my lungs and caressing my skin.

I pause in my step, Dean halting too. His emerald gaze weighs on me with questions. Ignoring him, I let instinct drive my every move now.

With no reason, I head west, my gut screaming that the source of this change is there. My steps are calculated, silent against the soft earth of the forest. The gun in my hand remains ready with the safety unlocked and my finger resting on the trigger. It goes against my training, but this world requires you to shoot first. Hesitation will get you killed.

There're voices, a soft whispering of them. I lock eyes with Dean, pointing a finger towards the right. He nods, hands tightening their hold on his pistol before moving. Splitting up gives us an advantage over whoever these people are. It's two against an unknown number, a feat that I don't mind taking on my own. However, my life isn't the only one on the line again.

The idea of protecting others again is foreign, setting me on edge as I pick my way through the forest — watching for any surprise encounters. Just because I heard them doesn't mean they didn't hear us first.

I take cover behind a thick tree trunk, crouched down low as I peer around it to get a visual. One man, young and dressed in patched jeans and a ragged long-sleeved beige shirt, walking between the trees. He has a handgun, grip loose but prepared. I watch him trudge through the forest, quiet but not as quiet as he should be. Mumbled words fill the silence as he grows closer, mind preoccupied even though he keeps a watchful gaze on his surroundings.

Clicking the safety off, I shove the gun in the back of my jeans.

Through the thinning forest I can make out a group of people. Four people armed with rifles and handguns stand around a car and a truck, which has a load of supplies in the back. I can't hear what the four are talking about, but they crowd around something. Firing my gun will expose me and put me at a disadvantage.

My attention flickers back to the lone guy who grows closer to my position. I scour the surrounding area quickly for a sign of Dean but don't find him.

Shit.

Indecision claws at my mind. It makes my stomach sour and chest tight. I know what I would do. I know what I want to do. The real question is should I do that? Do I have to?

A sharp snap of a small branch yanks me from my mind. Instinct takes over and I'm moving before I know it.

The guy was right on top of me. I shoot up from my crouched position, eyes on the gun, as I grip his wrist in one hand, the other gripping the barrel of the gun. I twist, dislodging the weapon, throwing an elbow at the stranger's face. A crunch resounds in the quiet, a muffled yelp escaping him as he stumbles. I empty the chamber and the magazine in seconds, tossing the gun aside as I advance.

The knife at my hip makes its way into my hand. I aim for a jab at the man that he dodges. A trail of blood trickle down his lips, breaths gasping as a result of most likely a broken nose. I block the sloppy punch, sweeping my leg behind his and tripping him. He falls to the dry earth with a grunt and I follow. My knife comes down, aimed at his heart.

Last second, the man recovers, eyes wide with fear and desperation and an emotion that I've seen all too much in my recent past. It turns my gut sour, my grip faltering in the stalemate.

His arms tremble, hand tight around my wrist as he huffs, desperate to keep my knife from driving down into his heart. I grit my teeth, avoiding looking at the man's space dark eyes.

My slip up gives him the upper hand to push my arms away as he twists his body to throw me off. I hit the ground, my fingers still curled around the hilt of my knife. The stranger lunges and collides me with as we roll, limbs grappling as we struggle.

Dirt clings to my skin, thick on my tongue as I find myself face first in the dirt. I drive an elbow back, catching the man again in the face. My muscles burn, chest heaving, and I channel it, letting my mind go blank so that I can finish this fight.

"Don't move!"

There's a flurry of movement behind me, the distinct clink of bullets lodging into their chambers, waiting to riddle me. A muddle of voices mesh together as the group approaches, a set of four footsteps, I count. But that's not everybody I realize, hearing quickened steps approaching.

I keep my gaze narrowed on the stranger. He's on his hands and knees, spitting blood before he wipes the back of his hand across his nose. One of the people moves in my periphery, a woman with football pads protecting her chest and a bow and arrow slung along her back.

"Wait! She's with me!" Dean's voice pierces the hum of heated conversation behind me.

In the distance, there's the roar of a bike and a truck. My stomach clenches tight, eyes slipping closed because I know the hum of that engine.

"Dean," a measured, friendly voice greets. "Glad to see you're back."

There must be a silent exchange, but all I can focus on is the sudden cut of that engine and the slamming of car doors.

"Jesus!"

My eyebrows draw together, the name familiar. However, I don't get to focus on it because that's Rick's voice and his running steps.

A hand lands on my shoulder, my body reacting before I can stop it. I grab the wrist but there's a fierce grip locking around my own and I open my eyes to see emerald ones. Dean manages a forced grin, weariness lining his face.

I drop his gaze, staring at my dirt stained jeans as I release his wrist. He squeezes my shoulder, murmuring low enough for my ears. "I'll deal with Rick. This was my fault, all right?"

There's a protest on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. What's the point of arguing? Rick told me last night that he wanted to talk to me. I knew I shouldn't have left.

"Dean? What-" Rick's words cut off with a furious huff. I don't have to look at the man to know that his ice blue eyes are taking in the injured stranger and me. Put the two together and there's not much I can dispute. Not that I'm going to. I attacked first.

A breath escapes Dean as he stands, his hand falling away from my shoulder. I can still feel the guns of the others trained at my head, feel penetrating gazes drilling holes into my skull. One set in particular that even a year later I can't forget.

"Dean says she's with you." Jesus, the guy with the friendly voice, explains.

"She is," Rick affirms. Tension hangs in the air, electrifying it. In my periphery, I note the clenched hands of Dean, knowing that there is a stare down happening between the two.

"Look," Jesus starts, placating. "Let's get the car fixed and deal with this once we arrive at Alexandria. Danny, you okay?"

"She broke my nose," Danny, the stranger I attacked, answers. His words are nasally, but the edge of heat is not lost. "But I'll be fine."

"Rick? Dean?"

The silence is suffocating, the guns aimed at me setting my hairs on end, and that one heated glare making me question whether the Gates of Hell have opened up beneath me.

"Daryl, let's see what's happening with that engine. Danny, you can come with us back to Alexandria. Denise can take a look at that nose. The rest of you, we'll meet you back at Alexandria. Use the walkies if anything else comes up."

The others move at Rick's orders, the tension dissipating. I keep my gaze on the ground, watching the feet that pass by. Once there's a bit of distance, that charge hangs in the air again.

"We're going back now. Daryl and the others will handle the delivery. The rest of us are going to talk like we were supposed to." Rick's words are ground out, laced with a raging fury.

"Whatever you say, Grimes."

A pause and then Rick's steps sound, growing softer as he gets farther away. Dean's hands unclench finally.

"Come on, Aria. Let's go." He offers a hand, but I ignore it. Without a word, I grab the knife that I dropped and sheath it at my hip. My muscles protest while aches bloom up my arms and across my torso.

Dean's calloused hand grips my wrist, my name falling from his lips in a worried plea. "Aria?"

But I can't. My head is too full. That anxiety unfurls in my chest, its poisonous tendrils slithering through my veins. I'm not prepared for this. There's no choice, though. It's time to face the final judgment.

A/N: Hey! A new update that's on time! First off, thank you to everyone who is reading and all those who comment, follow, and favorite. You all rock!

So, Aria didn't do what she was supposed to. What's new? Dean is a terrible influence too, pushing her to come with him. Now she's in big trouble. Kinda. Sort of.

I hope you're all excited for the next chapter because that's when we're going to start digging into the lost year. I wonder what our dear friend has been up to...