Scythe supported Octavia as they raced back to camp, the latter limping heavily on her injured leg. Scythe's heart thundered to a rapid beat and the survival instincts she had accumulated over a miserable seventeen years forced her to keep moving.
Scythe heard a grunt and turned around to see Monty being hauled up by Finn, "Come on Monty, we've got to go!"
Then they heard the scream.
Clarke's blue eyes widened and she stopped running, "Jasper's alive!
She began to run back and Scythe shouted to her, "We need to go, Clarke!"
She shook her head, "Not without Jasper."
"Clarke wait!" Finn called out, "Stay in the trees."
Scythe cursed loudly and raced back to Clarke. The blonde was looking across the lake at the now empty space where Jasper once lay, "He was right there."
Monty looked devastated, "W-where is he?"
Scythe shook her head, "Whoever speared him must have taken him, now let's go."
Clarke growled at her, furious tears beginning to collect in her eyes, "We can't just leave him! Do you even care about Jasper?"
Icy rage froze Scythe's veins, but she didn't act on it, only tuned around to help Octavia back to the camp. They needed to make it before whoever speared Jasper decided to spear them too. Scythe had survived the Skybox- she could handle a few insults.
She heard Clarke yell, "We have to go after Jasper! Are you completely heartless?!"
No. She was not.
Scythe stopped moving and turned to face Clarke, who had tears streaming down her face that was red with anger. Taking a menacing step forward, Scythe stared at her with an intensity that seemed to rival darkness itself. She watched the blonde take a step back.
Good.
"I don't care about what you think of me. Call me heartless, call me a monster; I don't care. I liked Jasper," she said evenly, "but there's nothing we can do for him. Now move it."
Clarke didn't say anything else.
~*~*~
They ran all the way back to camp, Scythe's injured arm throbbing from supporting Octavia the whole way. Her friend was hissing and swearing at the pain in her leg and Scythe aimed to relieve as much of the strain as she could. But it had been a long time since Scythe had last eaten, and her body was quivering.
When they entered into the camp, Scythe saw exactly what she expected to see, Wells and a guy with longish brown hair trying to attack each other. The crowd gathered around them was chanting a name. Murphy. She guessed that was the brunette's name.
She was proud that Wells had taken her advice.
Bellamy stood off to the side, watching with interest and when Clarke yelled for them to stop his sharp eyes instantly snapped to his limping sister.
He rushed over, and practically tore her away from Scythe, "Octavia! Are you alright?
Scythe stretched out her aching muscles, "You should be asking me that. I'm the one who had to drag her sorry ass back."
Octavia grinned at her, "You're welcome."
With a burning fire charring his dark eyes to near black, Bellamy shoved Scythe furiously, forcing her to yield a few steps, "You were supposed to protect her."
"I did," She gritted out, shoving him back with equal force until they were standing where they had been, "Who do you think pulled her out of the water?"
He glared at her, but his concern for his sister outweighed his anger at Scythe. He turned away from her and knelt down next to Octavia.
"What was it?" He asked, helping to clean off his sister's wound.
Scythe shrugged, "Looked like a giant snake. Except in a river."
That roaring river that had seemed so beautiful. She nearly shuddered thinking about it now.
Octavia beamed up at Scythe with pride, "And then she killed it."
Scythe didn't take the complement to heart. She didn't deserve it. She'd let down her guard and Octavia was paying the price. Although a strike of pain in her arm told her she was paying for it too.
Good.
Clarke was explaining what happened, about how they weren't the only humans anymore. That there were Grounders that survived the war that made earth inhabitable.
It was surprising to know they weren't alone on the ground, but it was so exhausting to keep up with the twists and turns of life that she shut off emotion towards the discovery.
She still couldn't quite believe that she could take ten steps without running into a gray wall.
Bellamy looked between the two of them, "Why did you look surprised to see each other on the drop ship if you were cellmates?"
She didn't want to answer that question. She was too tired right now. Her body was trembling imperceptibly and her stomach ached. When had she last eaten? When had she last moved so much in one day?
Scythe sat down on the log next to Octavia, her elbows resting on her knees, "We met when they ran out of space in solitary and moved me to Tav's cell."
Lie.
But Octavia didn't need to know that.
Scythe eyed the guard uniform Bellamy was wearing and turned away from it, letting Octavia explain the rest. She didn't want to think about the Skybox anymore.
"Then she got moved back into solitary for assaulting a guard," Bellamy stiffened eyeing Scythe. She didn't react, but her shoulders unconsciously slumped just very slightly and she bowed her head down, her still-damp braid falling over her shoulder. Somehow despite the ordeal it managed to stay devastatingly perfect.
The weight of the memories was so heavy.
"You assaulted a guard?" Bellamy asked incredulously, narrowing the eyes he shared with Octavia, "Why?"
"He pissed me off."
Scythe didn't care that he was apprehensive. He could think what he wanted to. Everyone in this damn camp could think whatever they wanted to about her.
Octavia had always raged against Scythe's resignation to being a verbal punching bag, but Scythe knew how to take a blow. It was Octavia that the guards riled up with their insults and once they realized they would get no reaction from the weapon, they resorted to drastic measures.
Octavia was quick to defend her, "It wasn't her fault. One of the guards was- he was making me uncomfortable. Tried to kiss me. So Scythe beat him up," she grinned, "She completely humiliated him."
Octavia didn't know.
She couldn't see Bellamy but for once the anger in his voice wasn't directed at Scythe, "I owe you for that."
She didn't say anything and Octavia softened her voice, "I never got to thank you for that, Scythe. I never got to thank you for saving me," she swallowed, "I know- I know what they did to you because of it."
No she didn't.
Scythe did not move. Did not acknowledge that she even heard her.
Scythe's head stayed bowed, her shoulders stayed slumped so Octavia touched a hand to her arm. Then she pulled away, her voice confused, "Scythe, what is this?"
Scythe finally looked up to see Octavia's hand covered in red. The black jacket had concealed her injury for awhile, but apparently not forever. It didn't matter anyways. She stayed quiet. She would not admit weakness in front of a guard.
"It got you, didn't it?" Bellamy deduced.
"I'm fine," she repeated, suddenly feeling a thousand pounds heavier.
Octavia exploded, her voice full of directed anger, "You didn't think to tell anyone about it? Scythe, this is a lot of blood!"
She couldn't bring herself to care about her friend's fury. She couldn't really bring herself to care about anything right now.
It was this kind of impassiveness that caused her to be branded a monster. Little did they know she wanted to laugh in the face of that label. If only she were a monster. If she were a monster, at least she wouldn't have to feel.
"Here. Let me see," Bellamy said, holding a hand out.
Scythe stared at him in confusion and he rolled his eyes, "It's the least I can do to repay you for saving my sister. Take off your jacket."
She did as she was told, removing the jacket despite her arm barking in pain. Octavia flinched at the sight of the blood and tooth marks, but Scythe just stared at the ground impassively.
Bellamy knelt down next to her and dipped a cloth into a bowl of water. He pressed the cloth carefully to her arm, gently cleaning away the blood. Scythe successfully bit down on her hiss of pain, deciding not to show how much it hurt. Despite his care, there was no warmth in either of their actions. Bellamy finished by gently wrapping her wound in soft cloth and then handed her coat to a guy walking past, ordering, "Wash this."
Surprisingly, the guy said nothing, only nodded and went on his way.
Scythe didn't thank Bellamy, but she studied him, their eyes meeting in a jarring collision that seemed to last an eternity. He didn't say anything either, only held her stare with an intense mask. There was no kindness or fondness on either of their faces.
His gaze drifted down to her scarred wrist that was now on display. The scars on Scythe's other wrist were hidden by her wristband. A wristband that some of the campers didn't seem to have if Scythe was hearing Clarke's tirade correctly.
"Where is your wristband?" Clarke growled at Wells and Scythe turned around to watch.
He scoffed, snarling, "Ask him."
Bellamy rose and Clarke whipped around to him, "How many?"
It was Murphy who answered smugly, "Twenty-four and counting."
"You idiots," Clarke breathed, "Life support on the Ark is failing. If you take off your wristbands you're killing them!"
Scythe sucked in a breath.
Bellamy was cool as he answered to the gathering crowds, confident words slicing through Clarke's argument, "We are stronger than you think. Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good," he looked around at the delinquents, "How many of you can say the same? We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore! They say they'll forgive your crimes, I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, survivors! The Grounders should worry about us!"
He was incredible with words.
Scythe hated to say she agreed with Bellamy. That being said, she wasn't about to choose a side. Not when there were different benefits to both sides.
One one hand, Clarke offered protection. If and when the Ark came down, she had a voice through her mother. Now that Clarke was older and would soon be pardoned, Abby didn't have to worry about the Ark's retribution for helping Scythe. Scythe doubted she would actually be pardoned for her crimes, but maybe Clarke could get her a better cell. Guards who didn't hate her. Less of the monsters and more of the oblivious.
On the other hand, Bellamy had Octavia. And not only just Octavia, but he was right. Scythe didn't want to spend her whole life as a prisoner.
So she wouldn't be partial. Not yet at least.
She walked over to Clarke who was rushing for the drop ship, "Clarke, where are you going?"
The blonde looked at Scythe, "We're going after Jasper, you coming or not?"
Now that Octavia and Monty were safe at camp Scythe had no reservations about trying to rescue Jasper. She nodded and Clarke commanded, "Bellamy has a gun, go get him."
Scythe didn't appreciate being ordered about, but she was so used to quickly and blindly following orders her feet were moving before her mind processed it.
Bellamy looked at her as she approached and she inclined her head, "I hear you have a gun."
He smirked, pulling up his shirt to reveal not only an impressively toned stomach, but also a shiny, black gun.
Scythe adverted her eyes, shutting out the memories of the weapon firing, "Good. Come with me."
Octavia made to get up as well, "Are you going to find Jasper? I'm coming too."
Scythe shook her head, "You'll only slow us down," she turned to walk away, and called over her shoulder to Bellamy, "Come on."
He scoffed, "And why would I do that?"
Scythe raised her eyebrows, unimpressed and gestured to the delinquents pretending not to watch them, "Because you want them to follow you and right now, they think only one of us is scared."
Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her before calming out, "Murphy. Come with me. Atom? My sister doesn't leave this camp, it that clear?
"I don't need a babysitter," Octavia protested.
"Think of it as a bodyguard," Scythe suggested.
"I fail to see how that's better."
Scythe smirked, "Give him hell."
~*~*~
Murphy walked up to her, a sinister grin on his face, "Scythe, right?"
She kept her eyes forward, expression one of cold disinterest. She didn't trust the tone in his voice.
He smirked, "The others are talking about you. They think you're evil, some kind of devil."
Nobody knew about her. She knew that for a fact.
When she didn't answer he grabbed her wrist.
Scythe stiffened as unwanted memories surfaced and he continued, "What'd you do to end up here anyways? It must have been pretty bad, huh?"
"Leave me alone or I'll cut out your throat," she warned, voice low.
"So many threats. I mean your nickname is 'Scythe', I wonder if that has something to do with it. You know, I don't blame them for thinking you're evil."
He was antagonizing her, she knew. He didn't really care about how idiotic he sounded or how far fetched what he was saying was. He only cared about getting a reaction from Scythe.
It worked.
Scythe snapped at the mention of her title, sick of everyone dragging her through the mud. Why couldn't she be left alone? Even in solitary she was tormented- she was sick of it. All she wanted was freedom. Was that too much to ask?
She whirled around, pinning Murphy to a tree and had her knife on his throat.
"Say that again. Say it!" She snarled at him, anger forcing the knife on his throat to draw blood.
She would not let his disrespect slide.
She watched as Murphy's eyes widened in fear and pain at Scythe's fiery expression. The knife pushed deeper and he made a choking noise.
Scythe stayed unmoving- watching him panic with a stoicism that was practiced- methodical.
"You bitch!" He tried to squeeze out of a throat that was limited by a blade.
She leaned in- slowly brought her lips so close to him.
With a firm grip on the knife she blew out a breath softly into his eyes, such a gentle movement eliciting such a defensive posture from him as he squeezed those eyes closed and tried to tilt his face away from her. He whimpered.
"I want to know," she brought her face close to his and he pressed himself flush to the tree, "Are you more afraid of me or the knife?"
"Hey!" Scythe felt herself being pulled off of Murphy and his hands flew to his bleeding throat.
"Let go of me, Bellamy," she warned.
"Not until you calm down. I don't want anyone killing each other right now."
Scythe growled but relaxed in his grip. As soon as Bellamy let her go she launched herself at Murphy and punched him straight in the face. The boy cried out, gripping his face pathetically.
"We don't have time for this," Bellamy turned her around impatiently.
Scythe walked away from where Murphy was, her anger still simmering, "There's always time to beat up an asshole."
She could have sworn Bellamy snorted.
Then they heard a moan.
Clarke's eyes widened, "Jasper."
The group raced forwards. In front of them was a small clearing with a tree in the center. Clarke gasped when they saw Jasper hanging from one of the branches, his face deathly pale.
Something didn't feel right. In her gut, Scythe could sense that something was off. She looked at the ground and the flooring was all uneven, like someone had dug up the grass and then replanted it-
"Clarke wait!" Scythe yelled, but it was too late.
Clarke rushed forwards and Scythe raced after her, diving for her as the ground beneath Clarke's feet opened and she fell through.
Scythe crashed to her stomach, gripping Clarke's hand at the last second, keeping her from falling to her death. She grimaced at the pain in her arm. Clarke was dangling from Scythe's injured arm and it felt like fire was crackling through her veins.
Abby's eyes stared up at her in fear.
Finn was instantly shouting, "Clarke! Get her up! Pull her up!"
"A little bit of help," Scythe gritted out, "would be great."
Bellamy was the first to react and grabbed Clarke's other arm and together they hauled her up. Finn instantly was at Clarke's side, checking her over.
Scythe was unable to smother her wince and put a hand over the cloth that bound her wound- feeling the wetness of blood seeping through.
"You good?" Bellamy asked more out of obligation than concern and held out a hand to help her up.
"Yeah," she responded, taking it and watching silently as Clarke and Finn pulled Jasper down.
Suddenly Scythe heard a low growling and perked up, Bellamy alert by her side.
"I'm starting to think they hung Jasper up for a reason," Bellamy mused.
"Is it Grounders?" Finn asked, standing in front of Clarke protectively.
Suddenly a huge black animal came barreling out of the bushes, snarling. It had a deadly, animalistic rage in its eye and Clarke shouted, "Bellamy, gun!"
He checked his waistband and his eyes widened in panic when he couldn't find his gun. He didn't have his gun.
Scythe did.
Bang! Bang!
She shot two shots with perfect accuracy and the black cat fell at her feet.