Hi, everyone! Welcome back! As I mentioned last chapter, I was away from technology for the past week so I was unable to update sooner. I hope the wait wasn't too excruciating, even though I did leave you on a cliff-hanger!
Warnings: I just want to give another heads up, especially for this chapter. I have mentioned this several times, but I wanted to say it one more time. Gore and mature language will be used throughout this chapter. I try my best to keep it a T rating, but it is so hard to judge! If you have any concerns or if you feel the rating should be different, let me know!
I took all of your feedback to my question on the last chapter into consideration. For the past week, I flipped back and forth between several different options on how to wrap this story up. I hope you enjoy my decision.
If you're reading this only a few hours after publication and have sent me a review or a PM, this next message is for you! I will be getting around to answering all of the messages you guys have left for me. Thank you so much! It was great to get back to wifi and have floods of awesome feedback. I try my best to respond quickly, but (like I mentioned) this is the first time in a week that I've been able to do a whole lot with technology. You'll see those responses within the next day or two. Thank you for your patience!
Anyways, enjoy!
Ashes
Chapter 4: Ashes
She survived Praimfaya. Impossible, yet true.
How?
Clarke felt as if the answer was simple after seeing the black blood that covered the screen on her helmet.
Nightblood.
The Nightblood solution had worked. She had survived because of her scientifically altered blood. The black blood that had protected so many Commanders and countless others had protected her as well.
Her mother had done it. She found a solution.
Clarke had to swallow back bile. With the realization that Nightblood had worked, the realization that they could have saved so many more people followed.
They had to kill hundreds of her people.
They had to kill hundreds of Grounders.
Only a hundred from each clan had a place in the bunker. What about those thousands that were left behind, locked out of those doors? Without Nightblood, they had burned.
They all could have survived if they had the black blood.
Their blood was on her hands.
It wasn't a new feeling. She was Wanheda, the Commander of Death, after all.
Instantly, Clarke was hit was regret. She was hit with guilt that she didn't try hard enough, all of those nights ago, in Becca's lab. She should've fought harder to be placed in the radiation chamber to test the Nightblood. She should have known her mother would do something drastic to prevent her from being in harms way – she should have predicted it. She felt stupid that she hadn't. She felt stupid that she didn't test the blood that ran through her veins.
She could've saved so many.
Clarke swore under her breath. Her throat clenched painfully around the words, her voice refusing to work properly.
Clarke tried her best to put the feelings of self-hatred away. What's done is done, as her father used to say. She was not able to save the lives of the thousands of people that were locked outside of the bunker. She may not be able to change the past, but she sure as hell was going to influence the future.
She had a new planet to explore. She had resources to gather. She had survivors to find.
Survivors.
Fuck. Bellamy.
From her memories, she knew Bellamy was near. They had collapsed right beside each other as soon as she had shut the door. She remembered feeling the heat radiating from he body as the chaos around her faded into darkness.
She tried calling out again, but there was still no response.
She knew he was fine.
He had to be.
It seemed as if she was the one to have worse radiation poisoning between the two of them. Yet, she had woken up. It only made sense that, since he was in better condition, he would've woken up too.
Right?
Even though he did not look well when she last seen him, she did not see him coughing up blood like she had been. In fact, she would've predicted the opposite. After evaluating their conditions, during the race back to the lab, she would've thought he would be the one to wake up first.
"Bellamy!?" Clarke called again. Her voice was still raspy, but it was not near how it was earlier. Her body was slowly repairing itself, trying to get over the radiation sickness. "Bella-" She stopped short, no longer able to continue.
Realization struck her.
Reality hit her like a load of bricks and it hurt like a bitch.
Bellamy did not have Nightblood.
She felt beyond sick from this statement. Clarke never thought that simple words could hurt so much. Her stomach was churning, her muscles had tensed up, and her head spun.
She was the only one left on Earth to have the blood that protected someone against radiation. That was why he was impacted so much while they were running in the woods. That was why she had woken up earlier.
Her heart sank.
What if not having Nightblood meant…
She didn't want to complete her thoughts. She forced her mind off of the images that popped into her head.
Blood everywhere.
Bellamy screaming.
Elevated pulse.
Flat line.
Cold eyes.
Unmoving chest.
Clarke clenched her teeth harder and forced her eyes shut so tightly that star appeared behind her eyelids. She refused to even consider the possibility that Bellamy might not have made it.
Ignoring her spinning head, she sat up. Clarke grit her teeth together, fighting back the wave of nausea that hit her.
She blindly reached up and undid the latches that connected the helmet to the protective suit. She fumbled for a bit, her hands still shaky, but quickly snapped open the clips. She ripped the helmet off of her head, throwing it to the side.
She took a moment to herself, focusing on stopping the spinning of her head. Her eyes were still closed as she took deep breaths, over and over.
She needed to get a grip.
Clarke opened her eyes. It was brighter out than she expected – she was still unsure if the darkness was from nightfall or ash in the air. She scanned the room. The lab was covered in soot and residue from the fires that continued to roar outside. The building looked nearly untouched, other than the debris in the air and blown out windows.
After all, it had survived the first Praimfaya untouched. It shouldn't have surprised her that it withstood the second one decently.
"Bellamy?!" she said. Her voice was growing stronger the longer she was awake. "Bellamy!" Her voice echoed around the halls of the empty lab. She could hear dripping water in the distance. "Bell?"
There was never a response.
She had a bad feeling growing in her gut.
Clarke rolled away from her sitting position, onto her knees.
That's when she saw him.
She felt her stomach churn.
Bellamy.
"No." The words slipped out of her mouth as her head reeled, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.
She didn't feel as if it was real.
She didn't want it to be real.
Fuck.
No.
No.
No.
No, no, no, no.
This wasn't happening.
This wasn't real.
But it was.
No, no, no, no.
Fuck.
He was dead.
Bellamy's helmet had been removed and it was still clutched in his hand. His face was nearly unrecognizable. He was covered in radiations burns, and had several layers of skin peeling away. Where there weren't burns, blisters lay. His lips were dry and cracked, covered in red blood. His eyes were closed, almost as if he were asleep.
She knew better.
The radiation had killed him.
Blood surrounded him. It was a sickening realization that she had been laying in it. She had splashed in it earlier that day, when she had just woken up.
Fuck, she was an idiot. She faintly remembered seeing red blood when she first woke up. She had reached up to rub the top of her head and she had spotted the crimson substance dripping from her fingers when she had moved in front of the broken section of her helmet.
It was his blood.
She should've known. Her blood was black – she was a Nightblood now. Why did she even think the red blood was hers? She wanted to cry.
Clarke felt sick as she stared at Bellamy's corpse. The feelings inside of her – sadness, anger, regret, guilt – they were all burning like Praimfaya had not too long ago. She was washed with waves after waves of emotion. Each wave hit her like a punch to the gut. It felt like she was being torn open.
Honestly, it didn't feel like this something new.
Somehow, the blood of the person she loved always ended up on her hands.
His blood was on her hands. Literally and figuratively.
God, where did all of the blood even come from?!
It was obvious that he had been coughing up some blood, as some of it had dried on his lips, chin, neck, and front of the protective suit.
"No." Once again, the words just tumbled out of her mouth. She couldn't comprehend what was in front of her. It wasn't real.
But it was.
Bellamy was dead.
"No!" Clarke sobbed, allowing some emotions to creep into her voice. Reality was hitting her hard. The waves of emotions were turning into tsunamis. She was in so much pain. "No!" She scrambled over to him, picking up his blistered head with her gloved hands. She pulled his body onto her lap, tears falling quickly from her eyes.
Her heart hurt so fucking much. Everything hurt. Her heart, her brain, her body. It felt like she had been dipped in a bucket of acid. The pain was eating away at everything she was.
Her heart hurt more than it ever had before. No pain in her previous life could've prepared her for this. Not even when she lost her father did it hurt this much.
She had expected that.
She had prepared for that.
Nothing could've prepared her for this.
She had never felt so much pain. Her heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces. She felt pain shooting up her arms into her wrists.
Fuck, why did they call it heart break? Her whole body burned. She felt like she was being torn to pieces. She felt like her heart was being torn into pieces.
She burned.
She was accustomed to death. She had lost too many loved ones to count.
This was different.
She had fought in wars. She had battled leaders. She had killed hundreds. She held people while the life left their eyes. She had watched and embodied Death too many times to count.
She had been ready. She had been willing.
She was prepared to die.
She was prepared to sacrifice herself.
God, the world couldn't even give her that.
The fates refused to give her peace and happiness, ripping her future on the Ark away. She had accepted death – she had accepted and embraced the fact that she was going to die. She was prepared to die alongside the man she loved.
She was ready.
Clarke let out a scream of anguish as the reality of the situation finally set in. Sobs bubbled up in her chest, but she couldn't stop screaming.
Her throat physically hurt from her yells. Her lips had split open once again, allowing the black blood to mix with her tears.
She had been prepared and ready to die with Bellamy.
Fuck. Why couldn't the world give her that? Why!? First they take away her happy future, then they take away her choice ending. The fates would not allow her to live with him, yet they refused to let her die with him.
Fuck.
How did she survive? Why did she survive?
She was all alone now.
That made the whole situation worse. Not only did she lose her best friend – the man she loved – but now she was lost and completely alone.
The Nightblood had saved her. She cursed the blood that ran through her veins. She cursed Becca for inventing the damned thing. She cursed her mother for replicating it. She cursed her past self for stabbing the needle into her vein.
What she thought was a blessing was now a curse.
What could have saved hundreds of people had saved only her.
Who would've thought living to be a curse? Who would've thought Life to be the enemy?
Clarke's throat gave out. It had become too raw to continue screaming. Clarke begun sobbing, not able to catch her breath. The air flowed in and out of her lungs in big gasps, her muscles tightly clenching her airways.
"No." She kept repeating the same words over and over. She refused to believe this was reality. She could not believe it.
Her heart broke, holding another one of her love's dead bodies. Was she cursed? Did the gods not want her to find love? Did the world want her to suffer?
Every person she had loved had died. She had killed Finn – stabbed him through the heart. She had indirectly killed Lexa, the shot was meant for her. And now Bellamy.
He was dead because of her.
He was dead because she didn't fight him hard enough. She could have tried harder. She could have convinced him to stay back with the group.
Damn her.
Damn it.
While they were preparing to leave, something was screaming at her to leave him behind at the lab. Her head was telling her this – that it was a one-person job and she would do it alone. Yet, her heart could not bare to leave him behind. She hated to deny him – she hated to not give her heart what it wanted. So, she didn't listen to her head. She listened to her heart.
Damn it.
She should've listened to her own advice that she had given Bellamy moments before his death.
Use your head and your heart.
Her weakness had killed him.
Clarke let out one last scream filled with agony.
She wanted to wrap her arms around his body one last time. She wanted his arms to wrap around her in response.
She wanted to grip his hand tightly and never let go. She wanted him to grip back, rubbing his thumb over her skin.
She wanted to see his brown eyes, without the layers of glass between them. She wanted life to be in them, the corners crinkled with a smile.
She wanted to feel his skin and have the scent of his hair waft over her. She wanted him to nuzzle his nose against the top of her head, taking in deep breaths of her scent – just like he had done earlier that day.
She wanted Bellamy. She wanted him to be alive.
"Bellamy!" Clarke sobbed. She rocked his body in her arms over and over. His face was pressed tight against her stomach, her hands woven in his hair.
Not Bellamy.
Everything had lost meaning as she held onto his dead body. Her life had lost purpose and direction seeing his corpse.
She gently creased his face, just as he had done earlier that day. She brushed his hair off of his face, removing the sweat that lined his forehead.
"God, Bellamy!" Her voice sounded haunted, even to her. "I love you! I love you!" She sobbed harder, bending over his body. It was too late. She didn't respond when he was alive. She didn't respond when he admitted his love to her.
It was too damn late.
Clarke let out another mangled sob.
She was always too late. Why didn't she kiss him all of those months ago, after Mount Weather? She had been so close, but settled for a kiss on his cheek. Why didn't she admit her love when she was telling him about the head and the heart? Why didn't she grasp his hand tighter when she needed it? Why didn't she laugh at his jokes more, even if they were lame?
They had months together, both clearly in love, dancing around each other.
Now, it was too late.
How was the head supposed to live without the heart? Both systems of the body kept them alive. Without one, death was inevitable.
Why didn't she die alongside him? She didn't want to live without him.
She didn't want to live on Earth, alone, for five years. Hell, even after her friends returned, she wouldn't want to live in a world without him.
Were her friends still alive?
That idea made her sob more. How did she know that her friends had succeeded in their trip to the Ark? Raven was adamant in letting them know the hundreds of different ways their expedition could go wrong. Did they make it?
Clarke could imagine them clearly, dying in a fiery explosion. Or suffocating in their tiny rocket.
What about her other friends and her mother in the bunker? What happened to the people in them? Did the bunker seal work?
Clarke could imagine them dead, their fate similar to Bellamy's.
He was her best friend. He was singly the most important person in her life – not even her mother or friends could top that position.
"Come back!" Her voice broke. She was desperate to see his eyes open one more time. "Come back!" She felt hysteria creeping up on her.
What was there to live for?
She lost so many.
She lost too much.
Jake. Wells. Finn. Lincoln. Lexa. Jasper.
There were too many that were dead.
She was alone.
Before, she was fine sacrificing herself. She would happily give up her life so her friends could live. She had wanted to spend the next five years with Bellamy, but would've been happy to die alongside him.
Now, he was gone. And she was not.
Clarke sobbed harder.
She was alone.
She was alone.
Not only that, but she had lost her everything. Her heart. Her soul. Her best friend. The love of her life.
Gone.
"I love you, Bellamy," Clarke whispered. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cold forehead. She shuddered. She was so used to his body radiating warmth. She was so used to his arms being home. It hit her that she would never feel that way again.
She would never feel his arms wrap around her, pulling her body close to his chest.
She would never hear the sound of his laugh again.
She would miss the way his eyes crinkled every time he smiled.
She would never feel the brush of his hand against her shoulder, showing her that he was there for her without using words.
She would miss how he would teach her things – whether that be about Greek mythology or how to shoot a gun.
Clarke realized she would never hear his voice again. She would never be able to count the freckles on his face. She would never be able to look into his eyes and clearly read his emotions and marvel at the intricacy. She would never be scooped in his arms again, nor pulled against his chest.
He was gone.
She knew that her dreams would never become reality and it hurt. She would never be able to tangle her hands in his hair. She would never be able to trace patterns on his body, connecting his freckled skin like a dot-to-dot picture. She would never feel his lips on hers, nor taste him on her tongue.
She would never have him.
She should have tried harder. She should have known she would survive Praimfaya because of her Nightblood. She should have realized the signs of early radiation sickness. She should have connected the dots between their blood and their reaction to the radiation.
She should have known.
She should have saved him.
She should have saved him.
Clarke clutched his body in her hands, refusing to let go. She struggled for breath, allowing her sobs and anguish to overpower her body.
She fell to her sorrow. She allowed it to fill herself, willing with everything in her to bring him back.
Fuck.
Fuck.
No matter who she prayed to or what she wished on, he was never coming back.
He was never coming back.
Clarke let out another heartbreaking scream, collapsing over his body from the grief and exhaustion.
He was never coming back.
And. Yeah.
Sorry about this chapter. It was hard for me to write for multiple different reasons. Even though I didn't go through it as much as I usually do, I hope it turned out okay. I really hope I got my emotions through this and made a few of you cry.
Anybody really surprised about Bellamy's fate? This was my originally written ending, actually. In fact, this chapter idea is what I based this whole story on. I wanted to write a purely angst story with Bellamy dying. I was debating on changing it, but I couldn't. I wanted to stick true to my original idea. I hope you guys aren't too disappointed, because many of you guys requested for him to live. I'll send you a virtual hug instead.
Now, onto a few notes on the story...
1) A reviewer pointed out to me that in chapter 2, I mentioned "red blood." A large cookie to you! Also, if you noticed this, but didn't include it in your review, you get a cookie. And, if you noticed it, but just chalked it up to a typo or a mistake, you also get a cookie! (I feel like Oprah right now haha). I slipped this in this chapter as a little clue as to his fate. Great job to all of you guys that noticed, you've really impressed me with your observation skills!
2) This is not my last chapter! I know I originally said 4 chapters, but I want to wrap this story up differently. I am in the middle of writing the last chapter, so please don't expect this to be posted soon. I just wanted to let you guys know that this isn't the end!
3) I know I disappointed a few of you guys that wanted Bellamy to live. Honestly, I was having such a big debate as to what I should do - rewrite him as alive, or post what I already had written. If I have enough interest, I was thinking of doing an alternate ending? I'm not entirely sure how this would look (if it would be another chapter to this fic, or if it would be a separately posted one-shot). Heck, I don't even know if I would end up doing one, since I have no idea how this alternate ending would look (except, obviously, Bellamy would be alive lol). Would anybody be interested in this? Let me know in a review or a PM.
Speaking of Bellamy living, I do have a few fics of mine that DO have him live. If you're in need of a happier fic, go check out "The Demons Within"! I also have several other stories - "Time," "Tortured Souls," and "Gray". They're all one-shots and can be found by clicking on my proflie.
Also, a huge thank you for all of the reviews, favourites, follows, and community adds for this story! This fandom is truly a great place to write fanfiction. Much love to each and every one of you.
Drop me a review to tell me what you thought! I always respond to signed reviews and equally love anonymous reviews. Any feedback is wonderful, as I am always looking for ways to improve.
Sorry for the long A/N. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, even if it was painful to read.
See you soon!
Paw
PS - follow me on Twitter (Pawprinter1).