Everyone sits at the table. Sam and Dean by me then Maggie and Jesus and then Michonne. Rick sits at the other end of the table, facing me directly as the head. My leg bounces beneath the table.

I'm staring down at my hands clasped in my lap, wondering how I start this story. There's so much to tell, and none of it good. The memories are clawing at the back of my mind and I'm glad my hands are clasped so no one sees them shaking.

They wait with anxious gazes as the silence continues. I clear my throat, try to open my mouth, and close it again. Everything in me is fighting this. What I did was never supposed to be known. Yet, I'm sitting here now, back in Alexandria with the people I walked away from. I should know better by now that never means at some point. Heaving a long breath, I force the beginning out.

"When I left, I didn't have a plan. I just knew that I had to get as far away as fast as possible in case you guys came after me."

A grimace tugs at Rick's mouth. "We tried. There was nothing to follow. Daryl spent months out there looking for traces of you."

My throat tightens, chest heavy as I listen to his words. Part of me wants to apologize, but it's too little, too late. Besides, I don't owe them the apology anyway.

I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat, pushing through. "I tried to fight the Mark for a while, staying away from others and only killing walkers when I absolutely had to. I'd like to say that I did good, but that would be a lie."

I grip my thighs, blunt nails digging into the denim. This part is child's play compared to what comes next.

"There were a few angels that I crossed paths with. Demons were nonexistent which was most likely Crowley's doing. After the angels, I thought about tracking down Metatron. It was useless, though, since nobody knew anything. So, I survived. Fought the effects of the Mark and covered my tracks. It was good, for a while at least."

If only it could have stayed like that.

My hands are clean now, but Crimson paints them when I look. That's something I wish Cas could erase for me - what my hands look like coated in blood. It's too easy to picture nowadays.

The others sit with rapt attention, hanging on my every word. I chew on my lip, eyes lowered on the table and trace the natural wood grain.

"I never left Virginia," I admit. "The plan was to get enough supplies then I would leave. Go as far as I could."

A snort almost escapes me. How stupid I was to believe that I could just run from the Mark. I shake my head, looking up to lock eyes with the intense gaze of Jesus. There's a small crease of confusion between his eyebrows, bearded mouth turned down in a frown.

"You remember me, don't you?" The look of confusion deepens as the others gawk and their attention darting between Jesus and me.

He stares, the gears turning in his head. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling vulnerable because this is where the real story starts. Slowly, a soft grin frames the man's lips.

"Now, I do. When we first met there was something familiar. I'm better with faces than voices."

"What do you mean?" Sam questions.

"When she showed up at Hilltop, she wouldn't show her face. You wore a bandana, tinted ski goggles, and a hoodie."

"Yeah," I start again, branching off Jesus's words. "It was a couple of months after I left you guys. I had no clue if you had met Hilltop or not. So, I concealed my identity. I couldn't risk news getting out that I was there."

"Smart," Dean compliments. "Although, if Jesus had described you, I'm sure we would have known."

I manage a smirk. He's probably right. Why would somebody go that far to cover up their identity unless it was for a reason? The smirk fades, though, knowing what comes now. Glancing over at Jesus, I know he does too.

"Jesus gave me a couple of supplies. Enough that I could start planning to leave the state." My fingers tap against my biceps, tightening my arms around myself as my legs bounce uncontrolled beneath the table. The memory echoes in my head like a horror movie - the damn dun dun dun of the Jaws soundtrack.

"While I was there, some people showed up," reluctance thick in my voice as I avoid the piqued interest of the others. "They were well off, armed, and they called themselves the Saviors."

All eyes widen, staring at me shocked and my stomach tightens, knowing that they would be surprised. This whole time they were so close to me and none of them knew. They don't even know that I was watching them, aware of their involvement in their own way.

"You know about them?" Rick bewildered with my admission. Not able to look at him, I go back to staring down at the table

"I know more than that."

The memories fight their way forward and I swallow hard, ending the silence because the longer I prolong this the more unbearable it will become.

"Jesus told me about them. Explained who they were, roughly where they dropped off supplies for those assholes. I left Hilltop knowing what these men were like and I couldn't let them find you."

At least that's what I told myself. Now, without the Mark clouding my judgment, I wonder if my intentions were to satisfy the craving of that monstrous brand.

Every part of me pleads not to go on. It physically makes me sick remembering what I did, what I became.

Confusion lines the group's faces before Rick speaks up. "What do you mean? Aria, we took them out. They're no longer a threat," Rick explains and I laugh.

It's a malicious sound with no trace of humor as I shake my head. The sudden change puts everyone on edge, my voice dark and eyes glinting with something the others won't recognize.

"Oh, I know what you did, Rick. I know exactly what you did and you're an idiot. That shit doesn't stink attitude better be fucking gone or I'll beat it out of you. You have no fucking clue how damn lucky you were at that outpost. No fucking clue."

Anger seeps into his shoulders, but I ignore it. They don't know how much bigger it was, how pissed he was and the resources they had.

Another sharp laugh escapes me. "You think you took them out but all you did was stop one outpost, Rick. There was half a dozen more. Some right by Alexandria, no more than twenty miles away. Not to mention, Sanctuary, the home base of the Saviors. The one and only place where you would have found Negan."

He pales, everyone at the table growing uneasy with my blunt truth. I see the renewed fear, the reality of the situation because they don't know. Don't know that the Saviors are no longer an issue because that's my secret.

"How do you know all of this?"

"I told you. I couldn't let them find you," I answer for Maggie. Her nose scrunches, puzzled, and I elaborate, jumping back into the story.

"I went to that outpost, staked it out for a week or so, followed a few of the groups that left. One of them led me to the gates of Sanctuary. It was an old factory surrounded by a fence of the dead. They had impaled heads on sticks, corpses chained to the walls. It was fucked up but it was smart. I did some surveillance. Watched them for a week. I learned their schedule, followed the patrols and where they led. Then I approached them."

Sam and Dean tense, the two seated on either side of me. Nobody will like this, though. What comes next, how the rest of that year unfolds - it's going to change their perspective of me. It has to. There's no brushing off what I did. If I can't look at my own reflection then they shouldn't even be able to have me in the same room.

"It was a patrol. A standard sweep of the surrounding area for any strangers, swarms, the usual. I led a group of walkers to them. They were overwhelmed, unprepared like I planned. I waited and when they were on the verge of dying, I saved them."

"Why?" Michonne asks with a slight edge of incredulity to her words. I don't answer her, not yet at least. Instead, I get to my feet, burning off some of the anxiety as I pace.

Nobody pushes me to continue. They all wait with bated breaths, patient beyond what I expected. It helps, but it just makes this harder because they are so understanding.

They shouldn't be.

Running my hands through my hair, I take a second to prepare. "You have to understand that everything from here on out, I did because I thought that I was protecting you," I explain, talking to the floor. There's no way I can look any of them in the eye from here on out. The looks - I don't think I can bear to see them.

Silence fills the room, nobody saying a word, but the gazes trained on me say everything.

What did you do that's so bad you have to justify it?

Letting out a heavy sigh, the words spill from me. "They were grateful, offered to take me back to home base when they found out I had nothing. They took all my weapons away and took me to meet their boss."

"The fuck you want?" A deep, gruff voice booms from behind the office door.

"Got somebody here to see you, boss," the guy on my left answers with a pleased grin.

The other man on my right is bored, playing around with the scope on his rifle to stay entertained. Except for the dark splatters of walker blood, I'd say they're well off if their hygiene and decent clothes are any clues. Not to mention, that both look to be well fed and nowhere close to underweight like most.

I glance down at myself, noting the amount of blood, dirt, and sweat soaked into my clothes. Not that I care anymore. Luxuries don't exist when you live on the outside.

"Who the fuck is it?"

"New person."

Heavy steps sound, the rustling of clothes being thrown on mixed with soft whispers.

"Come in."

They open the door, revealing a decent looking office. My eyes land on a pretty blonde, her hair mussed and lips kiss swollen. She sits on a couch, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, but her shirt is inside out. The room stinks of sex, but nobody acknowledges it. The woman drops her gaze when I meet it, red painting her cheeks. I keep my expression blank, taking in my surroundings with leisure.

"Well, fuck me sideways. Who the fuck is this?"

Finally, I look at the man with the foul mouth. He's rugged looking with dark hair slicked back and a greying beard. The guy is built - broad shouldered and muscled. A slim but fit build with a commanding air around him. Confidence and arrogance exude from him as he sits upright, a sly grin on his lips as his dark honey eyes trail over my body. I stare at the man, uninterested.

"I was out with my men and we got overrun by the dead. She came out of nowhere and saved our asses, sir. Took 'em out single-handed with a knife."

The leader snorts, a soft chuckle following as he looks at the two men flanking me. I see him looking for a lie in the men's faces. He doesn't find one.

Leaning back in his seat, pants slung low on his hips and a stark white t-shirt loose on his wide frame, he rubs his chin and points at me. "You're telling me this little woman took out a mass of corpses?"

I don't miss the hint of impress underlying his words.

The two guys nod and the man stands, coming out from behind the desk to stand before me. He's tall, a little taller than Dean. His hands are stuck in his pockets as he looks down at me. I meet his stare, nothing to give away because there's nothing left inside me.

"Well? Are you going to say anything or are you a mute?"

"Depends. What do you want me to say?"

He grins, all white teeth and scruffy cheeks. There's no fear, no hesitation. "A name would be pretty fucking nice."

A beat - one solid moment of silence to give the impression of a debate when there is none. I have nothing to lose. Only everything to gain.

"Red."

"Red? What kind of fucking name is that?"

"My parents liked uniqueness," I defend, almost bored.

A glint shines in his light hazelnut eyes - a dog who got a whiff of a trail. "You some kind of hippie, Red?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "Do I look like a tree hugger?"

A deep laugh burst from him. Shaking his head, he answers, "Not at all. You look like the kind of woman that likes it hard and rough."

His grin is leering and I glance at the woman on the couch. Her eyes are a defeated grey, like a storm brew inside them. She looks impassive at the guy's blatant flirting as she watches us.

The leader extends his hand to me, the Mark purring with delight.

"It's a fucking pleasure to meet you, Red. My name's Negan, and welcome to Sanctuary."

A/N:

◑.◑ So...that happened.

I know that when I talked about a sequel, people were wondering how I was going to do the whole Negan and John Winchester thing. WEll, this is how I did it. Negan is his own dude. I could have made them the same, but it never dawned on me to do that. Plus, the way the rest of this plays out, you'll understand why Negan isn't some demonic version of John Winchester.

We're finally getting into what all went down. I know the chapters are short and I leave you hanging a lot of the time, but it builds the suspense better this way :) Plus, I'm lazy and have a crap load of other obligations and this works for me.

I'm going to be on vacation starting next week. Which means that I may be late in updating. Sorry!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the update! Thanks for those of you who comment and follow/favorite ヽ(^◇^*)/