Scythe || Bellamy Blake

Dying Decisions

Scythe leaned against the wall as she sat on the dropship floor, a hand on her throbbing shoulder. Now that the adrenaline and shock had worn off, the joint was stiff and painful. Her wrists had been bandaged, but she refused to look at the split open scars. She would not acknowledge them, but the memories in the back of her head were screaming at her.

But all of that pain was nothing compared to what Raven was going through.

Bellamy was sitting next to Scythe on the ground and she buried her face into his shirt, trying to drown out Raven's agonized screams as Clarke cauterized her wound.

She couldn't stand it. Even after everything Raven had done to her, even after Scythe acknowledged their toxic friendship and tried to move on, there was still a part of her that would do anything to help Raven.

Bellamy held her.

The feelings she felt for Bellamy had tripled in the past day. They hadn't known each other for long- but they had both been shoved into such an impossible situation, together they rewrote the rules of trust. Bellamy had seen Scythe fall apart more than once- and Scythe had seen Bellamy fall apart more than once. They were perfectly balanced in a way that Scythe didn't think was ever possible.

In a way that she never thought she deserved.

Both radiated strength that was sapped from their sanity.

They had celebrated together, they had grieved together, they had adventured together, they had fallen together.

And they had both been willing to die for each other.

Another scream cut off her thoughts.

"That should stop the internal bleeding," Clarke sighed, looking nearly as pained as Raven.

Finn ran his hands through his hair, staring at the girl he used to love in dismay and maybe a little bit of guilt, "I don't understand. How did Murphy even get a gun?"

"Long story," Bellamy's low voice answered him, still raspy from his run in with Murphy.

Scythe lightly touched the bruises on his neck, frowning. Bellamy cracked a small smile and brought her hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it with a silent message, I'm okay.

Raven groaned, "We got lucky. If Murphy had hit the fuel tank instead of me we'd all be dead."

Clarke turned, furrowing her brow, "Wait, there's rocket fuel down there? Enough to build a bomb?"

Her voice was pained, "Enough to build a hundred bombs- if we had any gunpowder left."

Scythe moved a little and bit down on her lip when her arm jostled, trying to clamp down on a pained hiss. Clarke noticed and looked to her, wearily, as if she could feel the weight of their doomed camp pressing on her, "Scythe, you should let me take a look at your arm."

Scythe knew what a dislocated shoulder felt like, and she knew the tenderness that remained even after. It wasn't anything she hadn't felt before. She would be fine.

She waved the concern, "Let's go back to the Reapers. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"

"Not this enemy," Clarke replied.

Finn shook his head, his dirty hair falling across his face. They were all filthy. Days spent toiling in the dirt under the hot sun had taken their toll on the campers. Blood stained their faces and dirt streaked across them to create the grotesque appearance of savage animals.

They were rugged and they were bruised and they didn't stand one chance in hell against the Grounders.

Scythe guessed that's why they were running away. All the way to the sea, somewhere safe. She could tell Bellamy didn't want to run, he wanted to stand and fight, but that wasn't going to happen. They would be massacred.