Season 1 Episode 3: Earth Kills

Clarke

Jasper was alive, but barely. It had been three days since they found him, and he wasn't making any progress despite all Clarke's efforts.

"The grounders cauterized the wound," she stated, dabbing delicately at Jasper's chest to clean the dirt and dried blood away. Thankfully, the wound wasn't as deep as Clarke had originally thought. The spear missed his heart by a few inches, but even if it had been a direct hit, she wasn't sure the tip would've made it through his sternum. Whoever had struck Jasper definitely knew what he, or she, was doing. The attack was deliberate. She stared at his damaged chest and the cuts surrounding it, dumbfounded. "It saved his life." But why?

"Saved his life so they could string him up for live bait," Finn said, and Clarke looked up, unaware that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. "Garden of Eden this ain't."

She shook her head, rejecting his theory. Admittedly, the giant puma bobcat thing Wells had killed certainly defended that possibility; perhaps the grounders were barbaric when it came to their food, too. But there had to be more to it than that.

Jasper let out a breathy moan, twisting from side to side restlessly, and Clarke decided the grounders' motives could wait. "This is infected. He could be septic," she announced, focusing again on her patient. She racked her memories, searching for a way to deal with his wounds without the Ark's medicine. Then she glanced at Monty over her shoulder. "Any progress on using the wristbands to contact the Ark?"

He was silent, wide eyes staring at his best friend writhing and wailing in pain on the floor.

"Monty!" Clarke shouted, losing her patience.

He glanced at her once, face hard and emotionless like stone, before solemnly returning back to his work. "That would be a firm no."

Clarke sighed, discouraged. "My mother would know what to do," she muttered, mostly to herself. If only she had access to modern medicine, their efforts in saving Jasper would be more effective.

"How's he doing?"

No matter how much she hated Wells, Clarke could easily recognize his tall frame and broad shoulders in a crowd; she had spent her entire childhood with him at her side. She'd know that voice anywhere. But that didn't mean she wanted him around. "How does it look like he's doing, Wells?" Her own voice was cold, biting.

Ever since they were kids, he had an uncanny way of knowing when something was wrong just by the way she talked. Even her posture somehow clued him in. It's because he knew her so well that Clarke was sure that he had heard the hostility in her tone. Yet, he spoke to her calmly, politely. Like he didn't let her anger and disdain get to him. Why didn't he let it get to him? "Hey, I'm just trying to help."

Jasper continued whimpering, his fingers clenching tightly into fists as he tried to squirm away from the pain in his chest. His eyelids fluttered and Clarke felt an overwhelming wave of pity for the pain he was enduring. Just trying to help, Wells had said; she wanted to laugh in his face. "Trying to help" is all she'd been doing for the past three days, and nothing was working. As long as the wound was infected, the contaminants would just spread to the rest of his body until-

Clarke's eyes widened. Spread. The infection would spread. She looked down at Jasper's chest, reexamining the size of the laceration, then nodded once to herself. "All right," Clarke resigned. She knew what to do, and she couldn't do it alone. "You want to help? Hold him down."

Wells obeyed and grasped Jasper's legs, Finn followed suit and came forward to hold his upper body down, and Clarke reluctantly placed a blade into the fire. She heard Monty speak again, but the words were far away. "I'm not gonna like this, am I?"

Jasper's screams were going to haunt Clarke until her last day on the ground. He struggled against her, shrieking from the pain. "Hold him still!" She could barely be heard over his tortured howls. Tears escaped from the corners of his eyes. "I need to cut away the infected flesh."

Suddenly the yelling stopped; Jasper had passed out. Clarke's heart started hammering in her chest and she quickly placed her fingers at his neck in dire search of the slightest hint of a pulse.

Then Octavia was next to her. "Stop it! You're killing him!"

"She's trying to save his life," Finn reasoned calmly.

Clarke closed her eyes and ignored them, listening desperately. Then- ba dum… ba dum… ba dum… There it was. Muffled, slow, and dull. But persistent nonetheless. She sighed in relief. You're going to be okay, Jasper, she thought.

Clarke's reassurance was short lived. "She can't."

There was one other voice she'd know anywhere. The hatred Clarke felt toward Bellamy Blake was not nearly as intense as that she felt for Wells - Bellamy wasn't the one that got her father floated, after all - but it was still pretty high up there. It was because of this idiot that the Ark considered almost twenty-five percent of them dead. It was also because of Bellamy that she'd almost died the same day they rescued Jasper.

Wells stood and blocked Bellamy from getting any closer to Jasper. "Back off," he warned through gritted teeth, and Clarke couldn't help but roll her eyes. She knew him as well as he knew her, and right now, Wells was trying too hard to sound tough. Besides, she didn't need him to fight her battles for her. Not now. Not ever.

"We didn't drag him through miles of woods just to let him die," she said to Bellamy viciously. Dimly she wondered whether her hostility was rightly placed, or if it was just being redirected from one halfwit to another.

"Kid's a goner. If you can't see that, you're deluded." Bellamy didn't let up, and Clarke decided he was well-deserving of any and all animosity. "He's making people crazy." How could he be so damn heartless?

"Sorry if Jasper's an inconvenience to you, but this isn't the Ark," she shot back. "Down here, every life matters." You should know that better than anyone. Clarke thought of his mother then, and almost felt guilty for her pettiness.

"Take a look at him." Although unconscious, Jasper's face was pinched with fatigue and pain. "He's a lost cause." There was silence as everyone watched him, his stomach shakily going up and down with each aching breath. Clarke couldn't understand why Bellamy persisted in playing judge, jury, and apparently, executioner. He was there when they found Jasper, tied up and carved like meat; he helped them carry the poor kid home. How could he give up so easily?

"Octavia," she turned to Bellamy's sister, speaking softly. Maybe if Clarke could convince her, she'd end up convincing him, as well. "I've spent my whole life watching my mother heal people. If I say there's hope, there's hope."

She glanced back down at Jasper and Clarke vaguely wondered if she was trying to convince herself, too.

"This isn't about hope," Bellamy barked sharply, "it's about guts." Guts?! Clarke could barely contain herself as he continued on, squeezing her fingers tightly around the knife. She was tempted to use it on him instead of Jasper. "You don't have the guts to make the hard choices. I do. He's been like this for three days. If he's not better by tomorrow, I'll kill him myself."

Clarke's mind raced, at first with confusion. This side of Bellamy, she didn't recognize it. Yes, he was an utter asshole. But if he was truly a killer, then why didn't he let her fall to her death? She knew she was a pain in his ass as much as he was hers. Why didn't he kill her when he had the chance? Where did this side of him even come from?

Then uncertainty turned to determination. Jaw clenched and head bent low, she focused once again. I'll kill him myself, he said. Kill. She gazed down at the poor boy beneath her, completely oblivious to everything in the world except for the pain in his chest. Jasper was depending on her. His life was in her hands, and now that meant more than just Clarke's medical skills; she had to protect him from Bellamy, too.

Don't worry, she promised him silently, I won't let him, or anyone else, hurt you.

Bellamy placed a hand on the ladder, preparing himself to climb back down. "Octavia, let's go."

"I'm staying here," she said, and Clarke quietly applauded Octavia's disobedience. She doubted it, but if his sister didn't want Jasper to die, maybe that could stay Bellamy's hand just long enough for him to get better.

Bellamy left without another word, making Clarke smile slightly despite herself. She found that any punch to his ego was extremely satisfying.

"Power-hungry, self-serving jackass," Monty muttered next to her. He was staring at the ladder where Bellamy had just left, knuckles white. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself." He must have remembered, then, that Octavia was still in the room, because he quickly turned to her and added, "No offense." She just shrugged. Apparently she agreed.

So did Finn. "Yeah. Bellamy is all that," he said. The next words out of his mouth were like a punch to Clarke's own ego. "But he also happens to be right."

Clarke looked up at him quickly, appalled. She opened her mouth, ready to reprimand him. How could you say that? You were there when we rescued him - you helped us! You've been here with me every second, taking care of Jasper. Now you want to throw all of our efforts away, throw his life away, just like that? But she kept her tongue in check. Instead, she pressed her lips tightly into a firm line. If he wanted to believe Jasper was a lost cause, fine. Go ahead, she thought crossly. You're wrong.

Bellamy

The boar was oblivious to the hunting party, oinking pleasantly as it milled around in the grass. On the other hand, the boys were growing antsy, their next meal so close yet still out of reach. Bellamy raised his hand, signaling them to hold position. "Shh… She's mine."

He lifted his axe, fingers wrapping around the handle tightly, ready for the kill. The muscles in his arm tensed and- a twig snapped behind him- Grounders!

The boar looked up, suddenly aware of its predators, but Bellamy was more concerned with everyone's safety rather than their stomachs. Just as the boar let out a startled grunt and turned to flee, he spun around in the opposite direction, using the momentum to hurtle the ax at the grounder.

From teaching Murphy how to correctly handle a knife, to idly balancing it in his palm whilst giving cautionary stay-away-from-Octavia glares to Atom, Bellamy had gotten used to the feel of his favorite new weapon. He knew how it felt when he threw it, how much strength to use, how to correctly flick his wrist so it hit his target. The axe became an extension of his arm.

So when the twig snapped, and he saw that it wasn't actually a grounder, but a little girl, he had just enough time to twist his wrist. The axe lodged itself in the trunk of a tree, narrowly missing her.

The hunting party chased after the boar, their footfalls growing dim as they ran deeper into the forest. Thoroughly irritated, Bellamy approached the girl with Atom at his side. He scowled down at her once he got a good look; she was maybe eleven or twelve, just a few years younger than Octavia before she was discovered and sent to Lockup. He softened his sudden anger, but just barely, and roughly asked, "Who the hell are you?"

She gaped up at him as he pulled his axe loose from the tree. "Charlotte," she said, a little apprehensive.

"I almost killed you. Why aren't you back at camp?"

"Well, w- with that guy who was dying, I just…" She stammered for words. Her voice was small and tiny, just like her. "I couldn't listen anymore."

"There's grounders out here," Atom scolded. "It's too dangerous for a little girl."

At that last comment, she straightened her back and raised her chin in defiance. "I'm not little," she argued, and glowered up at them fiercely.

"Okay, then…" Bellamy looked at Atom a little skeptically, thinking of sending him back to camp with Charlotte. The thing was, she reminded Bellamy of Octavia with the way she tried to act bigger, older than she actually was. Tougher. Just like with Octavia, Bellamy was sure that Charlotte's overeagerness would get her into trouble. And, here on the ground, trouble could very well mean death.

Coming to a decision, he pulled out a spare knife and held it out to her. "But you can't hunt without a weapon," he said. If she was going to leave camp, it'd be better if she was nearby where he could watch her. Bellamy always looked out for Octavia when she was young, and lately she'd been completely rejecting him. It wouldn't be criminal to take care of Charlotte in the same way, would it?

Her petite fingers hesitated over the handle before she took it from him, eyes darting nervously between him and Atom. "Ever killed something before?" She shook her head no in response but gripped the blade tightly, as if making a statement of I'm a big girl, I can do it. Bellamy laughed a little in spite of himself. "Who knows? Maybe you're good at it."

As Charlotte looked down at the weapon in her hand, smiling to herself, he turned and followed after the boar at a jog, unaware of the toxic seed he had just planted in her mind.

It sounded like war. Not that Bellamy had ever been at battle before; all he knew about warfare, he learned about in classes on the Ark as a kid. A horn bellowed consistently in warning and the boys from the hunting party ran wildly through the woods. All of the yelling, the cries for help - he imagined this was exactly what war would be like.

He jumped over a familiar bush and skidded along the dirt, checking over his shoulder that everyone was still following him. "Come on!" Bellamy shouted, pressing the kids around him forward. "There are caves this way!"

The horn continued roaring like thunder in the distance and each time it boomed, he felt it reverberate in his chest. Bellamy reached out behind him, extending his hand to Charlotte. Her eyes were wide with fright and she was panting heavily. He tugged her closer, urging her to keep up. Her hand was clammy and she was shaking; her head whipped around in every direction as the yellow fog started closing in. It nipped at her ankles and she yelped when it stung her skin. Bellamy jerked her forward again as they dodged between more familiar trees, both marked with an X. Reassured that he was heading in the right direction, he glanced down at Charlotte, scrambling beside him. Bellamy could easily outrun the fog on his own, but he didn't dare let go. She was depending on him.

The blood pounded in his ears, keeping time with the horn whenever it rang out through the forest. It became like white noise in the background, a dim reminder that as long as that horn continued to bellow, the fog continued to follow them.

Bellamy looked around frantically. He was well-acquainted with his part of the forest thanks to - what was her name? - Gina for always being so self-conscious in the camp. But where was- There! He jumped over another bush, dragging Charlotte behind him, nearly falling down the hill. He turned sharply and shoved Charlotte through the entrance of the cave, briefly thanking Gina for demanding he find somewhere more private than the ever-occupied drop ship.

Bellamy was following Charlotte inside when he heard Atom call out his name, "Bellamy!" He turned back, starting toward the fog. But it burnt his eyes and his lungs, so he backed up a few steps, starting to cough, as Atom cried out again. "Bellamy!" His skin tingled in pain. The longer he stayed immersed in the fog, the more he struggled to remain upright. He felt like he was on fire, his insides ablaze. Dejectedly, Bellamy retreated into the cave. Atom's fine, he told himself, but the lie burned as hotly as the fog. He's fine.

The sky is a dull yellow, hazy, like fog, but clear enough that Bellamy can't accurately call it fog. The air feels heavy, and he can't see the sun. The forest stretches out around him for miles, and a few yards away Atom is laying on his back. His arms are at his sides and he's still, unmoving, not even to breathe, face upturned to the foliage above. Bellamy walks forward, about to rebuke Atom for his laziness. Get back to work! Or is he going to lay down beside Atom and relax, too? He can't remember, but he's walking forward anyways, his steps small and slow.

Now he stands over Atom and fear grips him. Atom's eyes are a milky white, no pupils, no color, just white. His lips are charred, his skin steaming, eyebrows and hair singed. Bellamy. Atom's mouth forms words, but he says nothing. Yet, Bellamy can hear Atom as clearly as if he were speaking. Bellamy, you left me.

Bellamy staggers back and he steps on something solid. It seems to crunch beneath his feet, but he's not sure because he can't quite identify the sound. He turns and finds Atom under his boot. There are no signs of broken bones, but the same blank, empty eyes stare up at him. Bellamy quickly looks behind him, where he had just seen Atom. How did he move so quickly? But Atom is still lying there. Bellamy gasps and whips his head back and forth, eyes disbelieving. His mind must be playing tricks on him, because there are two identical Atoms laying on the ground before him, right next to each other.

They both rise slowly, eerily in sync. The Atoms cock their head to the side and open their mouths. Bellamy, they say, but without voices. You left us, Bellamy.

Bellamy blinks rapidly, and each time he opens his eyes, another Atom appears. Suddenly Bellamy can't breathe, his throat won't allow it. It's burning, all of him is burning. He looks down at his hands as the skin turns pink, then red, and it boils. He opens his mouth to scream but like Atom, he doesn't make a sound. The pain, it's excruciating.

Bellamy, why did you leave? How could you leave us?

He looks up and dozens of Atoms are now standing before him. They take menacing steps toward him as he continues to burn. Their hands reach out to him, fingers twitching, and Bellamy retreats hastily. But he bumps into a tree; its bark scraps across his back and the flesh tears. The edges of his vision are red, dotting with black. The Atoms are closing in on him, but there's nowhere for Bellamy to run. He can't run, anyways, his legs hurt too much, his lungs hurt too much. He can't breathe. He can't move.

The Atoms reach him, ripping his clothes, exposing him to the yellow haze. Bellamy writhes away from them. He's crying now. His lips split open and a piercing, "No!" rings from his mouth. But it's not his voice. It's a girl's, high-pitched and shrill. It's-

Bellamy's eyes snapped open as Charlotte screamed again. "No!"

He flipped on his other side to face the little girl and hurriedly lifted himself to his knees. He took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly, but she twisted and turned out of his grasp. "Charlotte, wake up!"

Her eyelids fluttered open as she woke, startled out of her nightmare in the same way he was jolted from his. It took a moment, but as soon as she registered Bellamy's face, she relaxed, leaning her head against the cave wall. "I'm sorry," she apologized, near tears.

He studied Charlotte, suddenly aware of the bags beneath her eyes. It's been a long time since the poor girl has had a decent night's sleep. "Does it happen often?" he asked softly. She only sighed dejectedly in response, giving Bellamy his answer. "What are you scared of?" Can't be any worse than my nightmares. Charlotte didn't answer right away, looking anywhere but at him. "You know what? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you do about it."

"But… I'm asleep."

He shrugged. "Fears are fears," he explained, and imagined the nights he awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat when he was little. His mother's words of comfort were like a mantra in his mind now. "Slay your demons when you're awake, they won't be there to get you when you sleep."

She didn't seem to understand what he was saying. "Yeah, but… How?" Charlotte asked, skeptical.

Bellamy searched for the right words. When he was her age, his mom didn't bother comforting him with empty sugar-coated reassurances. She knew how his mind worked, that he needed facts and action, not just hollow sympathies. He figured Charlotte was the same way as he said, "You can't afford to be weak. Down here, weakness is death, fear is death." Still, she just looked at him, eyebrows creeping together as questions formed in her mind. "Let me see that knife I gave you."

Charlotte tucked her hand into her pocket. When she pulled it out again they held the handle of the knife. She handed it to him silently, and he held the blade at eye level. He pictured his mom holding Octavia's shoulders and what she would say whenever her daughter was frustrated with hiding in the floor, letting her words guide him now. "Now, when you feel afraid," Bellamy advised Charlotte, "you hold tight to that knife and you say, 'Screw you. I'm not afraid.'"

He gave the knife back and she timidly repeated him, "Screw you. I'm not afraid." He didn't say anything, only gave her a look, telling her she could do better. So she tried again, this time with more confidence, "Screw you. I'm not afraid."

Satisfied, Bellamy grinned and gently patted her knee before moving to lie back down. "Slay your demons, kid," he said again, and he reached for the knife in his pocket. He clenched it tightly between his fingers. "Then you'll be able to sleep."

Bellamy closed his eyes, but the Atoms that haunted him just minutes before flashed in his mind's eyes again. I should take my own advice, he thought indignantly, before reclining his back against the cave wall, thumbing running idly along the blade. He swiveled his body around so that he could more easily face the mouth of the cave, knowing that he wouldn't be getting any sleep himself anytime soon.

I'm not afraid.

Charlotte screamed, again, and again, and again. Bellamy ran, trying to follow the sound of her voice. He found her at the top of a hill, head bent forward. She was looking down at something - or someone. Grounders, he immediately assumed, and hastily pulled her to his side, wrapping an arm around her in protection. He followed her gaze, then gasped, his chest tightening.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, and his stomach's contents threatened to escape up his throat. Before him was the beginning of his latest nightmare: Atom laying on the ground, face up to the trees. Except he wasn't still, but writhing around in pain. Bellamy tried to shake off his anxiety, rushing forward. This wasn't a dream. This was reality, and his friend needed his help. "Atom!"

Bellamy crouched above Atom, striving to keep his growing nausea at bay. The whole situation, it was just like his dream. Atom's white eyes, burnt lips. The difference was, in the dream, Bellamy's skin was burnt, scarred and scorched. Here, Atom was the one in pain; Atom was the one dying. Bellamy's eyes raked slowly over Atom's wounds. He felt helpless.

Atom's mouth quivered as he tried to speak. His words at first were inaudible, so Bellamy leaned forward, his ear hovering above Atom's lips. "Kill... me."

He pulled back, gaping at Atom. How could you ask me-? Bellamy stopped himself, watching with pity as Atom gasped in pain from lack of oxygen. Each inhale sounded thick, like there was water in Atom's lungs. Breathing was nearly impossible.

The others showed up behind Charlotte and Bellamy stood again slowly, staring down at Atom. What do I do? Atom started choking. "I… can't… breathe," he grounded out, and Bellamy felt his heart rate pick up. What do I do?

He didn't hear Charlotte approach. Suddenly she was beside him, gazing at Atom solemnly. She wasn't screaming anymore; she was abnormally quiet. As if in answer to his silent self-doubt, Charlotte reached into her pocket for Bellamy's knife and slipped it into his hand. "Don't be afraid," she urged, and Bellamy started at the calm in her voice.

He looked at the rest of the hunting party, idly standing by, watching worriedly. "Go back to camp," he ordered. They obeyed silently, but the little girl who was encouraging him to kill Atom stayed behind. Bellamy looked at her sternly. "Charlotte, you too."

When Bellamy bent back down, Atom turned his head. It seemed like he was looking at Bellamy, but the whites in his eyes where his pupils used to be assured that he was blind now. Just like in Bellamy's dream.

"Kill... me," Atom begged again. His voice was raspy, almost inaudible. Tears leaked from the corners of his unseeing eyes. "Bellamy… please."

He continued to choke.

"Please."

Then Clarke was there. She dropped her backpack at Atom's feet and walked around to his other side. She looked back and forth between Bellamy and Atom. "I heard screams," she explained. She sounded… distraught.

"Charlotte found him," Bellamy said in a rush. He felt like he had to explain himself, too, but for what? For not killing Atom yet? For not knowing how to help him? "I sent her back to camp." All the bullshit he'd spewed about the princess lacking the "guts to make the hard choices" was, in, fact, nothing but hypocritical bullshit. He wasn't sure what bothered him more: the fact that he hadn't given what the dying kid wanted, needed; or the fact that he hated being seen as a murderer.

Clarke said nothing, inspecting Atom's wounds sternly. Her fingers hovered above his chest. Bellamy could tell she wanted to remove Atom's shirt, but refrained from doing so because it was useless. Atom was a lost cause. Unless… He waited for Clarke to look at him, hoping she had some miracle tucked up her sleeve. He needed her to have the same determination for Atom now as she had for Jasper before.

But she shook her head in confirmation. There was no hope. Bellamy clenched his jaw and nodded, squeezing the knife Charlotte had given him. He couldn't bring himself to look at Atom's face.

You'd be doing him a favor, Bellamy thought, trying to build up the courage. He's in pain, and he won't get any better. Death is better. Hurry up and do it. Next to him, Clarke took a deep breath. Bellamy figured she was trying to steel herself for the mercy kill as well, and he privately thanked her for staying. He wouldn't have been able to do this on his own.

You were going to kill Jasper, he reminded himself. You didn't have any reservations about him. Why is Atom any different?

It shouldn't have been possible, but Bellamy's grasp on the knife tightened even more. His knuckles were white and his fingernails dug into his palm, a dull pain considering that which Atom was enduring now. Bellamy closed his eyes. He'd never actually taken someone's life before. Talk was one thing, action was something else altogether. There were many times he had the opportunity, but now that it was here, he realized that he didn't have the "guts to make the hard choice," either.

"Okay. I'm gonna help you, all right?"

He opened his eyes quickly. Surely, he didn't hear her correctly. But he must have, because suddenly their hands were touching as she reached for the knife. Her fingers were warm against his, and he wondered, How is she so calm?

Clarke combed her fingers through Atom's hair and began humming. The hand holding the knife was steady as it neared his neck, and Bellamy stared at her, finally realizing that she was about to do what he couldn't.

The knife pierced Atom's neck smoothly, a slow stream of blood following it as Clarke pulled the blade away. As she continued humming and petting Atom's hair, Bellamy abruptly remembered thinking of Clarke as a falling angel, blonde hair circling her head like a halo. That was when she almost died in the grounders' trap. Looking at her now, singing to Atom as he fell permanently asleep, Bellamy once again thought of Clarke as an angel - the angel of death.

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is practically is three days late! To make it up to you guys, chapter three will be released a day or so earlier. As always, let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake, or anyone else from The 100. If I did, Bellamy would get more of what he deserves: happiness and love.