Bellamy was dragged away roughly, his hands pulled behind his back as he was handcuffed. Clarke was staring at him with an open mouth. She looked at him the way she had looked at Finn that day they stumbled upon his small massacre. He could see the disgust in her eyes, the silent "Who are you? And what have you done?" Bellamy wasn't sure he could answer.

He had been so desperate to prove he could protect his people again. More than forty people were blown up in that mountain under his watch. Gina had died and he'd been responsible for even more deaths in that cursed mountain. Everyone had been leaving him; Clarke choosing to stay with Lexa, and his sister wanting to leave for a life with Lincoln. The only thing he would have left was his people and he had been so desperate to prove he could still protect him that he had trusted the wrong man. And now an army of grounders was dead by his hands.

After all the lives lost in Mount Weather one would think he would be used to the weight of so much death and the feeling of innocent blood on his hands, but he only wanted to throw up or go back in time to stop it from happening. God, he would do anything to fix it. Or to have died with the rest of them, maybe that's what he deserved.

Watching as Clarke, Lexa and the leaders of Arcadia took in the carnage Bellamy thought he might die after all. There was no way this mass murder wouldn't be punished. Blood must have blood. He knew he wouldn't get the same mercy killing Finn had. Clarke hated him now, she probably wouldn't even cry. His dark thoughts swirled in his head.

He thought about the punishment he would receive. Would he be simply banished? He could be shock lashed or sentenced to the thousand cut death. Maybe a combination of the two.

After everyone had seen what had happened Pike had been handcuffed too, Kane immediately being put back into power. Bellamy was glad at the change, he knew Kane would put things right, possibly even salvage the relationship between the grounders and the Arkers.

Bellamy was marched, with the others, to a holding cell in Arcadia, his handcuffs being taken off as he was thrown in the cell. Looking around, he didn't even know what he had been thinking when he sided with these violent, angry men. Some of them were screaming through the bars, yelling that they had done the right thing. Others, like Pike, were silent and smiling, sick looks of pride on their faces at what they had done.

Bellamy's stomach churned at the thought of Clarke and Octavia, and even the others, seeing him as the same as these sadistic creatures. His stomach heaved and the soldier lent forward as he vomited onto the cell floor, a few other men remarking their disgust.

Though there was no blood on his hands, how impersonal and cowardly it was to shoot your unarmed targets from a distance, he looked at them in horror. His hands were dirty and hardly looked like his own. He wondered, if I looked on a mirror, would I recognize myself?

He had an itch in his skin, an urge to peel his skin away and reveal the new skin underneath. The new skin might not be so tainted. Or does the sort of evil he's done soak in the skin? Does it come from the inside?

He felt like a monster and Clarke looked at him like one. What if all of him was bad? What if he always had been? He felt like his chest was empty and full at the same time. His lungs were tight and there wasn't enough air in the room for him to catch his breath. It was all too much, what he had done, what he had become. It was all ruined. He couldn't fix it, any of it. Bellamy didn't know what to do, he felt like he was drowning.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he clenched his hands into fists and tried to breathe. The air was whistling through his teeth and his chest was on fire. Distantly, voices reached out to him.

"What's wrong with him? Is he sick?"

Then Kane's voice, worried but stiff, unsure what to think of the murderer hyperventilating in the corner.

"He's hardly breathing. Go get Abby."

Someone else said something about vomit. Bellamy let out a whimper, he couldn't concentrate, couldn't calm down to settle his breathing. He clutched a hand to his chest, fingers digging into the skin in an attempt to breathe.

His head was growing fuzzy and everything was slipping from him. There was shuffling and some orders barked out, a few guns being cocked. Bellamy could hear their voices.

"Those men in there are dangerous you can't just waltz in there, they just murdered an entire army, they could hurt you."

"He's just a boy. He needs help and I'm a doctor, now move out of my way and let me help him."

More orders being shouted, people moving, then someone close to him.

"Bellamy? Can you hear me? You're hyperventilating, I need you to calm down."

The boy shook his head, whimpering again as he grew dizzier. Abby shuffled closer, reaching a hand to the soldier. Bellamy jumped when he felt the hand on his arm. He immediately opened his eyes and jumped back, away from the surprised doctor.

"No! Please don't touch me! Stay back!"

Abby watched the terrified man back himself into the corner of the cell. He looked scared but as she looked in his eyes she realized he was scared for her, not of her. Standing up, the doctor looked at Kane and his guards.

"Take him to a separate cell." Kane looked confused but nodded and gestured the guards forward. But Bellamy saw them coming and protested, yelling at them to leave him, actually throwing a few punches too, before being dragged out to a separate cell. Abby watched the whole thing with concern, a tight frown knitting her eyebrows together.

Kane stood be-side her watching the Blake boy thrash.

"What are you thinking Abby?"

"I'm thinking these kids have been through too much for us to ignore the trauma their dealing with and to ignore the signs of PTSD when they're clearly there."