Knocking On Heaven's Door

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

The lever had been pulled and with it, the death of every single Mountain Person. The ones who had helped them. Innocent men, women, children . . . all of them. But Bellamy couldn't think of that right now. The adrenaline was still coursing through his veins. Despite the lack of rest and nourishment the past few days, the task was still not over. Things had not gone according to plan, but he and Clarke still found a way to save their people. They were making their way through Mount Weather, the corpses everywhere. It was a horrible, gruesome sight. They had decided to split up once their people were secured. Bellamy told her he would meet back up with her once he secured the area. With that, he turned to go the opposite direction while the others checked on each other, and reunited with their friends and family.

Bellamy was cautiously walking through the hallways. Depsite the radiation exposure, he was still on high alert for anything that could catch them by surprise. It was so quiet. Eerily so. It left him unsettled, threatening to allow the thoughts and emotions to start taking over . . . but he couldn't let it. Not right now. Their actions would haunt them for a while but now was not the time to let them. He and Clarke were not quite finished. They had to see this all the way through. Perhaps it was these very thoughts that temporarily distracted him, to the point of not suspecting anyone was waiting around the corner for him. So when he turned it, he was greeted with a syringe peircing his neck. The familiar face that soon became a blur, was recognizable. Cage. Bellamy staggered to the side, Cage grabbing his arm, which was hardly a gesture of kindness.

Bellamy felt the cold metal of chains bound around his hands -- almost like the ones he was initially restrained with during the torturous de contamination process. Whatever the drug that was now going through him, left him feeling as if he was in a daze, unaware of his surroundings, but still somehow concious. All he could do was hazily be dragged along with cage, trying to protest but with nothing else in Bellamy's system apart from the drug . . . it was an impossibility to resist. It wasn't until he felt the change in temperature that he realized he'd been dragged all the way outside . . . and he did not see a single one of his people in sight. Was that the case? Or was it the drug? What was reality and what was a hallucination was difficult to separate.

[Clarke Griffin]

While Bellamy went to secure the Mountain and the area, Clarke and Monty went to go see their people. They met Jasper, but he could not be Clarkes priority, the others had to be. Her and Bell splitting up made sense. She could help treat the people as her mother was out of commission and they needed help of someone who knew at least a little of medicine. It would keep her occupied initially as well. Clarke found herself in many hugs, but she kept her mind occupied with the wounded, until someone – it sounded like Octavia, but she couldn’t be sure, as the moment it was mentioned her ears started to ring, as if she could hear the blood flowing through them – asked for Bellamy. It was only then that Clarke noticed he was still not back. The mountain should be secured by now. Clarke immediately set up a search party. She herself returned to the control room to see if they could see him. There was no trace of him and sadly there were no recordings anymore. They had destroyed that. Before they left, Clarke looked at the lever once more, praying that Bellamy would turn up alright, but there was a sinking bad feeling, like something bad was about to happen.

They searched for hours, but his trace was lost before the doors of the mountain, because of the tracks of the Arm there. There was no way to follow him and the man who held him captive. It was Cage. Cage wouldn’t survive long, but Clarke feared that the same was the case for Bellamy. She knew he’d go back to Camp Jaha if he got free, so while a few guards still searched the area, Clarke joined the rest of their people on their way home. They needed her now, especially their friends. Clarke didn’t want to stay, not by a long stretch. She didn’t feel whole, she wanted to find out who she was, to cope, but what choice did she have? Someone had to be there for the other delinquents, so she would stay. For now she cared for the people, while they walked back to Camp Jaha. 

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy's protests were to no avail. His malnourished state gave Cage a further advantage over him and the bastard knew it. All Bellamy could do was helplessly follow, being dragged along with the man to who knows where. What his intention with him was, Bellamy hadn't the slightest idea. Nor could his mind process anything. Everything was too hazy; he felt too dizzy to think logically or rationally. No doubt an effect of the drug. Time was of no meaning, the passage of it as futile as his efforts to escape.

He could have sworn Cage was talking to him, but his words fell upon deaf ears. Nothing registered in the drugged male. It wasn't until more voices joined them that something seemed to shift. Was he hallucinating? Or was this all real? He couldn't even tell the two apart. There was pain though. Oh yes. Substantial pain that he felt in his chest before a warm liquid covered his hand. It was enough to send him to the ground, collapsing from all the deprivation and the drug that may still be absorbed in his veins. After that darkness consumed him. But everything was still. Finally stil.

Bellamy felt himself slip back into consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes, his head feeling heavier than ever. He squinted at the brightness of the sky. Alright, so he wasn't dead. He swallowed, the gesture hurting more than usual due to the dryness of it. Nausea took over as he turned his head to the side, trying to cough it out but there wasn't enough in his system to get anything out. It was when he turned his head that he saw Cage, his eyes looking right at him. It caused Bellamy to slightly jolt back, before realizing that the image he saw . . . a lifeless form of the man.

He was dead. The movement brought more attention to Bellamy's body than he would have liked, feeling a sharp pain there. He looked down, seeing the wound. First things first, he needed to get his chains undone. His hand wandered over Cage until he found the keys and prompted unchained his wrists. Tossing the metal to he side, he then ripped a part of Cage's jacket off so that he could wrap it around his injury. Just enough pressure. It wasn't bleeding too badly, he'd suffered through worse and lived through it.

Finally feeling somewhat orientated enough, Bellamy attempted to rise to his feet, staggering off to the side and relying on the support of a nearby tree trunk to help keep him up. He needed to find water, otherwise he wouldn't last. Using what he could around him, he made his way through he woods, not yet bothering to get his bearings. He wouldn't survive much longer without water.

So when he saw a small pond ahead, he could have sworn that maybe he did die and that he'd found some form of heaven. Or, it was just an illusion. Never the less, he hurried toward the small stream, crouching down near it and proceeding to scoop the water into the palm of his hand, drinking it as quickly as he could. The effect of it was immediate, and all he could do was drink more and more before splashing the cool, refreshing liquid over his face to help sober him up. Now that he had a bit of energy, he needed to figure out where he was . . . and more importantly, how to get back home to Camp Jaha.

[Clarke Griffin]

Camp Jaha didn’t feel right. Without Bellamy it felt all kinds of wrong. The sun shone, but it didn’t feel like it, not to her. Clarke felt cold, she didn’t feel the warmth of the sun like everyone else, just the cold wind coming from outside. It felt like dread, painful dread inside her, as if she was anticipating something to happen. She would have never guessed how soon it would come. One night passed. It was no surprised, they arrived back at Camp Jaha in the evening, with the others preparing food and the ones stayed behind at the mountain probably doing the same. She had hope that they would call in, but still the dread in her was right and they didn’t. This night Clarke spent in his tent, leaning against his bed, praying to whatever higher power might still be willing to listen to her, this sinner, this murderer, that they should let him come home.

She barely slept, didn’t remember if she did, when there was commotion outside the gates. Clarke immediately felt awake, she ran to the gate, but froze when she saw it wasn’t Bellamy, but Grounders, headed by Indra. The chief was holding something. She waited to address Clarke apparently. Finally the dread came true, As Clarke was handed the bloody cloth, she noticed a piece of hair on top of it. It was a single lock, but enough for her to know exactly what it meant. This was a favor they never asked of Indra, a sign of respect from him, her maybe too. Clarke nodded, lip quivering as she had to hold back tears. She had to be strong for just a little longer.

“You know where his body is.” She said, her voice shaking like she did. “Bring his body home. In return you can bring us the reapers most important to your village and we will do everything we can to save them.” That included whatever she could do, no matter what. When they brought the body, she would need all the distraction she could get. Clarke, when she told him she couldn’t lose him too, meant every word. She turned, giving the bloodied garment – or piece of it – and hair to someone, telling them to bring it to Octavia and Lincoln. She thanked Indra again for telling them, before she turned around. Her entire body was shaking with the effort of holding back the tears now. Clarke had no idea where she was going. It was one moment, the lack of being able to see clear through unshed tears that sent her falling to the ground, hands barely catching herself. She was thrown back to a time where she fell before, where someone could have let her fall to her death but didn’t, he caught her, in more than one way and now he was gone and it was her fault. It was her fault!

With a scream that she didn’t even recognize as her own, she broke apart, tears streaming down her cheeks. It felt like someone was stabbing her with a blunt knife over and over again. He was gone. This wasn’t possible. Clarkes entire body shook with the force of sobs ripping through her. And it got worse and worse. He had saved her and she failed to keep him safe. He had taken the burden with her, stood by her, when everything was falling apart and now he was gone. How was she supposed to get through this now? She needed to know he was alive, she needed his presence in this world otherwise all hope was lost.

She had taken over 900 lives, but this one life stood out, making her scream in pain until some of the delinquents made her get up and took her somewhere inside the station. They held her until her sobs subsided, but they remained there for the rest of the day, until another Delinquent got them to gather around a bonfire. It took until after all of them ate – Monty basically forcing Clarke to eat – that they started sharing stories of Bellamy. This was the next night Clarke snuck into his tent, another night she spent sitting by his bed, but this time clutching his blanket to her while she cried.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy was moving far slower than he would have liked. With the drug administered in him, the loss of blood, and everything else that he had inflicted his body with or deprived it off, was making his journey back to Camp Jaha a particularly long one. It didn't help that he felt he was constantly being followed, thus forcing him to flee whoever was hunting him. Perhaps it was paranoia. But he tended to trust his instincts and they were always telling him to run. He would have recognized if it was Arkers, but it wasn't. He could hear the distant voices, speaking in a foreign language. The language of the Grounders. The same damn people who had abandoned them. He didn't trust them. Not at all. And he sure as hell wasn't going to trust them now when he was already in a weakened state.

So between his physically taxed body and having to constantly evade others . . . it was taking pretty damn long to get back home. The nights were most difficult. Requiring shelter was one thing, but it was the thoughts that he was left with. What he had done at Mount Weather. Together, he told Clarke that. And yet, he wasn't there now. He wasn't there with her during the first days of the aftermath. He felt guilty for her, not wanting her to feel abandoned by him when he made it a point that she would not be shouldering this alone. That the burden was theirs. And then the more selfish part of him . . . needed her. Her comfort. Her presence. Night was always the worst. The haunting images flashing in his mind. The children that he saw . . . that he had killed.

It made rest practically impossible as he kept jolting awake, disoriented each and every time. He wanted to go back home. He wanted to be around the people who he could find comfort with. He wanted to be there for them as well. Everyone would be struggling right now . . . and he wasn't there to help. The first couple nights, these thoughts forced him to continue the path back to camp. Other nights, his body protested to the point of passing out. Each morning held more promise and more dread. He just needed to get back. He needed to return. He needed to be there for his people.

[Clarke Griffin]

With every passing day, accepting him to be gone was a little bit easier, though no less painful. He was missing. He was missing so much. It showed in the way the former 100 would stick together, safe for a few exceptions. It showed in the way they looked around for his guidance on instinct when joining grown ups for hunts or going out on them alone. It showed in the way a spot remained open for Bellamy at bonfires. His booming deep voice and laughter missing as they remembered almost happy days at the dropship.

For Clarke he was missing in another way. She had to take care of the others now. She could not leave or take a breath for herself. She had to function. She had to make sure the delinquents were okay and the truce would hold even if they were abandoned by them. They were done. War couldn’t happen anymore and as such she had to always work. Part of it was good, it helped her to channel her energy into something that did not make her think of what happened. It was good to have Monty close by, but where he started to cope, where he cried and showed feelings, Clarke didn’t. Clarke remained cold and practical, closing herself off towards feelings and towards everything related to Mount Weather and Bellamy. She threw herself into work. 

Every day she worked in the medical bay. She helped with the wounded and sick, studied some more in order to become a real doctor, helped the council and made sure the kids were taken care of. Really she barely had a moment to breathe, but she liked it. She liked it unless at night and even sleep she avoided until her body absolutely demanded that she slept. She stayed up until she all but passed out. But the pain was building in her heart, growing and steering her towards a breakdown with every hour she kept shit farce up.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

He was losing track of time. Each day was blurring into the next. He didn't know how long he had been on the move though. Only that he felt the journey back to camp was getting longer, rather than shorter. His days consisted of running and evading others, his nights consisted of hiding from the images of the people he had killed. The ghosts that haunted him. He was lucky when he found a small river or stream to drink from. But he was getting weaker and weaker with each passing day. He found what food he could, but nothing with substance.

There was no time to hunt. No time to locate proper food. No. He needed to get back. He needed to be with his people. He needed to make sure Clarke was not alone in the burden she carried. What if they thought he abandoned them? No. It wasn't a matter of what if. Surely that was what they thought. That he left them. That he abandoned them. He wished there was a way to scream out; to tell them that he was here. To just . . . unleash himself. But he didn't. He couldn't. He was too tired. Exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Psychologically. His whole body and entire mind protested. How did he keep moving forward? He had the greatest motivation, but the weakest capability.

So when he saw the gatess . . . he truly thought he was hallucinating. He thought he was done for. That he'd finally lost it. Or that he was dead. That he had entered the desert terrain and that this was some sort of mirage. It was too good to be true to see the gates of Camp Jaha. If he was dead, he'd found salvation. If he was dreaming, he never wanted to wake up. Against any logical thought or caution, he stepped forward. Somehow, finding that extra bit of strength. Each step was practically a stumble as he looked weakly at the gates before him. He had abused his body, he knew it. And it wasn't until he heard voices shouting out that he wondered if this was perhaps real. Dare he think of such a thing?

The disappointment would be too immense if he was wrong. He wouldn't be able to bare it. A few guards came rushing out, one he immediately recognized at Nathan's father. Bellamy didn't even fully realize that he had staggered into him, his legs giving out for a moment, but he was caught with one arm around him. Guardsman Miller's strong arm. He felt the rim of something against his lips and when it was titled up, he felt the taste of water. Glorious water, soothing his burning throat to quench that thirst.

He drank it, he drank it all, and found a little bit more strength to just stand on his own at least. His face and body covered with the natural elements he had to battle to get here. Though, the battle had started the moment he entered Mount Weather he supposed. But he was home. He was finally home. In a daze, and with the support of others, he was moving. Walking through the gates of camp. He was truly home.

[Clarke Griffin]

The days blurred even more with every day. Clarke was numb to so much now. She worked. She distracted herself. At night she slept in Bellamys bed. She had nowhere else to go. There she was the closest to her greatest loss. With him part of her soul died and she doubted that part would ever return. It took her ability to smile and feel happy with her. She could not imagine how a world without him was worth smiling for. He was a pure soul, worth saving, worth protecting, even though he did not see the same in himself. He saw a monster, she saw something so much greater, a light, meant to burn down whatever would harm his people. That light was out and with it the peace and hope of her. The hope was the greatest loss. She knew Kane could protect them. She knew they could save themselves, but what hope was there when the good ones died and only those not worth fighting for, the killers, remained? It was not fair.

Clarke was carrying a basket with freshly washed bandages back towards medical, when she heard commotion at the gate. Clarke suspected it might be the Grounders finally returning with Bellamys body, finally giving them the peace they needed. She suspected the reapers were right with them, if not ahead, trying to escape. Clarke placed the basket down to have her hands free when coming face to face with Bellamys body. She was far from being ready for that. But as the guards parted, she saw something that was distinctly not Grounder. Clarke froze in her spot. This was… this was impossible. They said he was dead!! They said he was dead! They brought a lock of his hair!! She had no reason not to believe them. What the hell? Was she dreaming? Was she hallucinating? This couldn’t be real.

Her heartbeat felt painful. What if this was just a dream? A hopeful image conjured up by her mind and she would wake up soon? And then he was once more gone for good. Her hope was gone and so was her hope that he might actually be alive. But this man, this was Bellamy. This man was bruised and beaten and worn down as if he had been in the wilderness for so long. She shook, unable to deal with so much emotion, conflicting in her, tearing at her insides. Was she supposed to laugh? Cry? Scream? Run to him? She wanted to. She wanted to touch him, but what if he was not real? The others saw him as real, she knew that. And so she stood there, others walking around her to him, wanting to assist him. 

Her knees gave in. Clarke sank down, watching them. Bellamy was alive. He was really alive. Her world shook, she shook, her body struggeling to make sense of this. But Bellamy, he looked horrible. He looked like he had been through hell. Slowly she scrambled back to her feet, still shaking like a leaf. “B… bring him to.. bring him to Medical!” She called out with an unsteady voice. He needed treatment. She would do it. She had to do it. She had to make sure. Bellamy would only get the best.

Slowly she approached him. Clarke placed her hand on his cheek. He was real! His cheek was warm, alive. He was alive. “You did it. You are home.” She whispered to him as it was only meant for his ears. “You found your way home. You’re safe now.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy's vision was blurred as he tried to use every ounce of whatever strength he could muster to stay conscious. A figure in the distance however made it so much easier to do so. He would be able to find her in the darkest of rooms. In the most distant of sights. Clarke. His eyes fixated on her, unable to react to seeing her. There was relief though. Relief that she was here. That he could tell her how sorry he was. That he could make this up to her. He had wanted to ensure she didn't endure this alone . . . and he had left her for the first however many days of the aftermath.

He had left her and all their people. Her words of taking him to medical were not ones he could dispute with. Especially if it gave them a chance to talk. He was helped over there, helped as he settled on the bed, lying on his back when he heard her enter. And talk. And felt her hand on his cheek. He turned his head to look at her, never having seen a clearer sight. A more welcome sight than her presence. He hadn't wanted to leave her to deal with this alone. And . . . he wasn't able to deal with it alone either.

"I'm sorry it took me so damn long," he said almost as a tease, but the joviality was severely lacking. He could only stare at her, raising his hand to place over her own as he pulled it from his cheek and just held it casually. "You're ok?" He both asked and stated at the same time. Because he had left her. They were supposed to be in this together and . . . he wasn't here. He didn't care about the reason for it. He only cared that his actions had made him into a liar, and that when they needed each other, he had deprived them of that. But not anymore. They were here as the strong team they would always be. They would get through it. Together.

[Clarke Griffin]

Why the hell was he apologizing? Well probably because he was Bellamy. He was the kind heart that wouldn’t want a friend to go through something as traumatic as they had gone though alone. And now he was worried about the others. Clarke wanted to stroke his hand again, hoping to give him comfort through it, comfort that she was okay and that nobody would hold this against him, but he took it and lowered it to just hold it. It meant more comfort for her, too. He was alive and she would take care of him, as his nurse, too, if he gave her her hand back, but if not, she’d just sit here with him and make sure he had everything he needed and would remain calm. He needed this much more than she did. He might have been through hell there. So Clarke needed to stay calm, even though she felt the opposite. She wanted to cry and scream. 

Clarke nodded to Jackson so he could look at Bellamy and try to assess the damage on his body while she kept on holding his hand. It took another moment for her to start talking, trying to determine if it was good or not if she told him everything that happened while he was gone. She decided against everything. He didn’t need to know that she slept in his bed. He didn’t need to know that she felt like there was no way she could fall asleep without his smell around her anymore or about the pain it caused.

“They said you were dead. They said they found your body. They even brought a lock of your hair.” It was the short story. “We were mourning you, Bellamy.” Every day, every night they were mourning Bellamy, their friend, their leader, their guide and inspiration. And she was mourning a part of her. “I can tell you the entire camp is so happy to see you alive. Now we’ll get you back to full health and everything will be fine. All that was missing was you and you’re home now.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy closed his eyes upon hearing Clarke reveal that they had mourned him; that they were told he was dead. "Bastards," he breathed in a quiet voice. They had been betrayed by them. He had been hunted by them, so it was hardly a surprise that they informed the others that Bellamy was dead. On the one hand, it provided the older male with relief to know that no one was looking for him due to the dangers that still lurked out here. On the other . . . he didn't want anyone to be hurt by the false information they had given. He didn't need to be mourned. He shouldn't be. Hell, even if he was dead.

He gave Clarke's hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance as he opened his eyes to look at her once more. "You can't get rid of me that easy," he joked, attempting to lighten the mood or at least move it from the grim lie of his passing. He felt Jackson insert a needle into his arm, able to tell that it was an IV without having to even turn his head. He wanted to focus on Clarke. "Did everyone make it out?" He wondered. Had they lost anyone else? Where those who were drilled healing? "Octavia?" He questioned, because apart from Clarke, Octavia was the other one that he needed to make sure was alright.

[Clarke Griffin]

For a moment she was staring, just staring at Bellamy. He was alive and actually trying to joke. It wasn't that easy. She had felt his death. But he was here and that would take a moment to understand. Not just a moment, a long while. His question, though, was one she could answer. His question was easy, not directly related to his so called death and what was related to it in any way. Clarke nodded, slowly. Everyone made it out. Everyone managed to get out of that grave that was Mount Weather. Everyone was back home, learning how to deal, dealing in their own way. Everyone that had survived the ordeal had made it back home - except for him, but even he was back home. It was all over now. 

"Everyone is safely back home. Those they have drilled are still healing." Naturally. "But I think we're all confident that it is looking rather good. It seems like no permanent damage was done to most of them and we are trying to minimize the damage for the others." It was hard, but it was a good attempt. She loved to see that they actually made progress in that department. Clarke knew it would be a long way for those people as well as for Bellamy. Everyone could see that he wasn't healthy in that moment. But he would be. He had to be.

"Octavia is fine. You know her. She's keeping busy, kicking ass, the usual." Though not necessarily the usual. "I think it's a bit of... she's keeping busy so she doesn't have to stop and think about what losing you means." It was a hypothesis. She could barely even look at Octavia. "She will be fine, Bellamy. You know how she is. She'll bounce back. She always does. As will you."

Bellamy Blake