Bellamy Fucking Blake {Bellarke Season 1 Fanfic}

Chapter 1

Bellamy thought that he was immune to pain. He'd faced shit that others could only dream of. And yet here he was, in that hazy state between being awake and asleep...

Whispers. Voices. Snippets of conversations-

Bellamy snapped awake.

His vision was blurry. He blinked, coughing weakly. Where the hell was he? Bellamy curled up into himself tighter, trying to assess his pain.

His head was on fire and his throat was raw, he reached a shaking hand up to his face gingerly and came away with something wet and sticky. Blood. He coughed again, his voice rough and scratchy as he whispered: "Hello?"

Nobody answered.

Bellamy blinked again and his vision cleared a bit more. His surroundings came into focus. He was in the forest, far enough from the dropship that he didn't recognize anything. He tried to remember something, anything, as to how he'd gotten here but came up with only vague memories.

He remembered going to sleep last night, he'd been angry about fucking Murphy, and then... it got blurry. Something had happened, Murphy had... attacked him? Right, Murphy had tried to kill him and they'd fought... and then he'd somehow ended up here.

Bellamy had to move, had to get away. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled and he tripped sideways, hitting his head on the side of a tree. He didn't have time to process the pain before his vision went black.

...

"- Bellamy?"

Bellamy didn't want to wake up. He could feel the blissfulness of sleep ebbing away and being replaced by pain. "Bellamy. I know it hurts, but you have to wake up."

Octavia...? No, Clarke. He kept his eyes closed, not daring to open them and face the wrath of full wakefulness.

"Hurts..." he whined, hating his voice for sounding so scratchy and weak.

"Where? Just tell me where Bellamy, and I'll let you sleep."

"Murphy, he ch-chased... h- hit me in... the head..." he managed to mumble before the pain faded once again and was replaced by black.

...

It was his name that jerked him from his stupor, once again. But this time it was Octavia screaming it. "BELLAMY!"

His eyes jerked open of their own accord, and the bright light of the sun was so blinding for a second that he didn't even notice the pain.

And then he did, and his skull felt like it was about to split in half. He let out an involuntary whimper and became vaguely aware of somebody supporting him and keeping him upright. If he had to take a guess, it was Clarke.

"Bellamy. Clarke, what happened to him?" Octavia was right there, she'd cupped his face in her warm hands and was looking at his face searching for injuries. It must've been bad because her eyes welled with tears. "... Can you fix him?" she asked.

"I sure as hell hope so..." Clarke grumbled, just as black began creeping up on Bellamy's vision. "Don't fight it," Clarke whispered in his ear, like she knew what he was thinking. "Just sleep. It'll be easier that way."

It didn't matter. He was too weak and tired to resist anyways.

...

Pain. It controlled him, rocked his world, just when he thought he was getting better there would be the pain and he wouldn't be okay again.

He felt so warm, uncomfortably warm, like he was swimming in a bath of boiling water. Sometimes he would see a blurry ceiling or Clarke's face or feel Octavia holding his hand but mostly it was just him and he was drowning in the boiling water.

His mind was too hazy to think, so he just stayed in that world in between, one hand in the afterlife and the other in reality as he hoped that Clarke knew what she was doing.

...

Bellamy had to bite down on his tongue until it bled to keep from crying out. He refused to be weak, to be like all the moaning patients who kept the rest of the camp up at night. But hell, it hurt.

His head was on fire and something (bandages, maybe?), was wrapped around his head. "... Octavia?" he whispered into the dark. "Clarke?"

He managed to open his eyes and saw that it was night. He was inside of the dropship, on a bed in the middle of the floor. The flap covering the tent was pushed aside and before Bellamy had time to be wary Clarke stepping into the dropship. Their gazes met and she smiled. "Hey," she whispered breathlessly. "You're awake."

He sat up hesitantly. "Where's Octavia?" Clarke gestured towards the floor where his sleeping sister was huddled. She didn't have a blanket, so Bellamy took off one of his own and put it over her shoulders.

Suddenly Clarke was right beside him, gazing at Octavia with a small smile on her face. "She hasn't left since you got here."

Before Bellamy had a chance to respond, she cleared her throat and looked up at him. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Better." he mumbled, his voice was still scratchy and it was annoying him. He wouldn't be able to yell orders for at least a week...

Bellamy swung his legs over the side of the bed, but Clarke grabbed his hand before he could step down. "Woah there! No walking for at least the next couple days, Bellamy. I found you passed out in a puddle of your own blood." Her voice cracked on the last part, and she looked away and cleared her throat again.

"Jeez Princess, it wasn't that bad, was it?" He teased, but Clarke wouldn't look at him and his joke hung heavy in the night air.

"Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?" Clarke whispered.

When he didn't answer, she turned to him and continued. "I- sorry, we, didn't know if you would make it. You had a head injury that you shouldn't have survived. For the first couple days you had a fever and it wouldn't go down, but you're Bellamy fucking Blake, aren't you?" She smiled weakly and Bellamy was hit suddenly by how much she cared about him, even if she hardly even showed it.

"Yeah," he whispered back. "Yeah. I'm Bellamy fucking Blake."