The 100 fic: All These Things I've Done

[jennickels]

398 words | rating: PG
WARNINGS: spoilers for season 2

Takes place shortly after the events of the season 2 finale.
Picking up the pieces of your life isn’t as easy as watching them fall apart, especially when there’s no one there to help you. Bellamy + Clarke friendship.

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It inevitably has to be done. Mount Weather is too important a resource to leave it a tomb. Bellamy volunteers to help—it makes sense he should have to clean up his own mess. Now that he's here, though, the enormity of the task overwhelms him. He stands in the center of the dining hall surveying the damage. Three hundred eighty souls lost at the flip of a switch.

Bellamy swallows back bile as he slowly rolls the nearest body onto her back. Then sucks in a gagging breath at the small boy tucked under her in a desperate, yet futile, attempt to protect him. He picks up the stuffed bear clutched tightly in the boy's hands as the room blurs around him.

He did this. This little boy is dead because he saved his people. He keeps telling himself that they had no other choice, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re all dead, and their blood is on his hands.

"Bellamy?"

He startles, blinking the world and Kane into focus.

“I could use some air,” Bellamy mumbles then leaves without waiting for a response.

He carries the bear up to the surface where the smell of wet grass and the feel of the warm sun remind him that not everything around him is death. Clarke quoted Oppenheimer to him once: “I am become death.” Sounds about right. They’re both destroyers of worlds now.

He wonders where Clarke is—if she’s safe or if she’s alone. Then he wonders why she isn’t here because he really thinks she should be here. Not that he wants her to suffer with him, but he’s not sure he’s strong enough to pick up the pieces without her. He needs her to lean on when he stumbles and slips. Instead she’s left him to fall with no net to catch him.

He squeezes his eyes shut against the too bright world, tears pooling at the corners, and forces the resentment back down. After a few seconds, he lets out a long breath. No matter how much he wants things to be different, the fact is Clarke isn’t here and the boy is still dead and there’s no one else to blame but himself.

Bellamy sets the sad little bear on a rock—nobody left to love it—and goes back inside, the feeling hitting a little too close to home.