Saviors ; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥

020. ꕥ Storms Brewing

Once the three of us managed to get Finn back on the table, he was out like a light. More than likely because of the amount of trauma and stress his body had been through.

"Okay, I have to get started on his stitches. Where's the wire Octavia got?" Clarke asked, looking over to Raven and me.

"It's on the table where the radio is." I informed her.

"Thanks." She nodded her head and went to get it.

Clarke came back and started stitching up Finn's wound as I sat across the table, watching Clarke work. "You know, you're pretty good at this stuff."

"Thanks." She muttered, not looking up from the task at hand.

"Are you girls doing alright?" Abby's voice came through.

"Yeah." Raven answered, going behind the blond. "Clarke is finishing stitching up Finn."

"Okay, I'm done." Clarke announced, cutting off the remaining piece of wire.

"Good. Do you have anything to cover the wound?"

"We'll make do, like always." Said Clarke.

"While he's asleep, I'm going to go see what Bellamy and the guys are doing upstairs." I told Raven and Clarke, getting up from my chair. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine." Raven told me.

I started to climb up the ladder to the third level, where the Grounder was being held, but when I got to the second level, Octavia stopped me. "Jo, they're not letting anyone in there."

I sighed in annoyance before huffing, "Wanna bet?" as I kept climbing up the ladder, making it to the third level.

Once I reached the hatch, I grabbed the handle, and through a few grunts, I pushed it open. I had barely made it up another step when someone came over to the hatch and looked down at me.

"You can't come up here." A boy in a black beanie tells me — Miller, I think, is his name.

Still standing on the ladder, I looked straight at him with a glare. "Miller, right? I suggest that if you don't want a concussion that you move back and let me through. If you don't move, I'll give you one." He looked somewhat taken back by my threat but still declined to move, resulting in me mumbling, "Your funeral."

"Miller, she will do it, so move." I heard Bellamy's voice. Once Miller moved, I climbed up the remaining part of the ladder and looked at the Grounder. His arms were far as they could stretch, tied to each side of the wall, and his legs were bound to the floor. The man looked exhausted and drained but tried to keep a rigid facade. As I kept my eyes fixated on the Grounder, Bellamy asked while staring into the side of my head, "Concussion? Really?"

"Relax, Bellamy. I was only gonna do it if he didn't move."

"Yeah. That gives me all kinds of reassurance." He remarked.

"Aren't we trying to get them to not hate us?" I quizzed. "Because if that's the case, then you're doing a terrible job."

"Come here. I have to show you something." Bellamy took my arm and dragged me over to the other side of the level, where tons of vials were spread out on the floor, and there was also a journal next to them.

Bellamy picked up the journal and began to flip through the pages. The drawings I saw were undoubtedly beautiful and very detailed — half the things I didn't know what they were, such as a drawing of a statue with a man sitting on a chair — but nonetheless, they were beautiful. When I saw a drawing almost identical to the Dropship, I ceased Bellamy's arm, causing him to stop, and I asked, "Is that our camp?"