The 100 Imagines/OneShot

Bellamy Blake: Grounder Part One

"HEY!" You shout, peaking around the corner at the frantic boy. He was being chased by your people, grounders as they call them. You were apart of Trikrew, the people of stealth. Sitting in every tree along the Skikrew boys path sat your men, trained to kill him. Arrows shot past him, he was fast, but not fast enough. As he directed his attention to you, an arrow housed itself in this thigh. He screamed out, falling momentarily before standing. His hard gaze locking on you, he began limping toward you.

"Come on, come on" You groan, you wanted to help him, to save him, but if your people saw you they'd kill you for treason. You held out your hand, edging him on with your stare. His eyes stayed trained on you, using every last ounce of strength to pull himself to you. Another arrow landed in his shoulder, putting him down on his knees. The boy crawled with such vigilance, you almost admired him. He was so close now, you could almost feel the pain radiating from him.

"CoME ON!" You almost shouted, stretching your hand out as far as you possibly could. With a loud yell he reaches out, gripping your hand. You let out a sigh of relief and tighten your grip, using your other hand to grab his forearm and pull him out of the line of fire.

"I have to get the arrows out, I have to stop the bleeding." You say quickly, your hands grab his face to make him look at you, searching his eyes for consent. He nods quickly and you suck in a breath, one hand grabs his thigh to hold it down and the other grabs the arrow. You yank it as quickly as possible, pulling it out and shoving a cloth over the wound to help the bleeding. You repeat the process with his shoulder, binding the wounds as best as you could to get him ready for travel.

"Come on, up you go." You groan, pulling him up and dragging him on. A few short miles south was a cave you had found a while back for yourself, away from your people, away from everyone. You drug him there, avoiding the paths and open areas. By the time you reached the place he was pale, and barely breathing. You drag him inside, leaning him against one of the walls and behind rummaging through all of your things.

"Drink this," You push a cup to his lips. He attempts to resist but you give him a stern look, and he stops.

"It will help stop the bleeding, and numb some of the pain." You whisper, pulling out a makeshift needle and thread.

"This is going to hurt sweetheart." You stick the needle into his wound and he lets out a loud yell, cringing.

"Don't...ah god...don't call me sweetheart." He seethes, and you smirk.

"Then what sound I call you?" You ask, looking at him, then back at your hands. He takes a minute to reply but finally speaks in a weak but stern voice.

"Bellamy. Call me Bellamy."