to_survive | that cold black cloud is comin' round

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that cold black cloud is comin' round

"Clarke! We're out of time."

When the dreams happen, it's like living through the same memories, all the emotion and pain heightened to a sharp point that slices and cuts until Bellamy wakes. He lives those moments over again and it's usually in waking that he remembers they're in the past.

He is very, painfully aware that this is a dream, and it feels much too real.

He remembers falling asleep with an arm around Clarke's waist, her body pressed up against his under her sheets. Gone is the smell of her hair, replaced by the acrid tang of blood and recycled air that he'd come to associate with Mount Weather. The familiar adrenaline rush is back and he recognizes this moment, knows exactly what they're about to do.

The monitors are quiet but he can still see their people trapped as Clarke's mother is drilled for her marrow, can see Octavia on the ground with a gun pointed at her head. Bile rises in the back of his throat as he remembers the words he'd uttered as he watched the screen, knowing if they didn't do this, she would be dead along with all of them.

"Clarke," he says, his hands shaking as he tries to figure out why this is so different, why it feels so real. His body aches and he smells like blood and sweat, singed flesh and fear. The entire control room stinks of it.

He knows what she says next and waits for it, heart in his throat at the idea of having to live this all over again only to wake up with her in his arms and unable to change any of it.

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This dream is different from ones she's had before.

Normally her dreams are haunted by things she's done, memories misplaced and gone sour. This is different, this hurts. It's a nightmare so at odds with the safety she'd felt when she'd gone to sleep that Clarke almost doesn't know what to do.

Awareness crashes over her, like a blunt force trauma that shakes her to her core. The clothes on her body are different (wrong), the stale air a heavy reminder of what she'd fled. Her heart is pounding her chest as she takes in the scene around her. Bellamy's clothes, Monty's face, the body on the floor, all of the horror playing out on the monitor.

Her hand is on a leaver, covered in a glove that she's never seen before. At the sound of her name, Clarke looks at Bellamy, desperate and afraid. "Bellamy?"

It doesn't feel right, and the moment Clarke speaks, Bellamy knows it's different. She's afraid, but not because of what she has to face. She's confused. This isn't how it goes, and he takes a look at the screens again, sees Octavia on the floor with a gun pointed at her head and again, he knows he has to save her -- save all of them -- at all costs.

Bellamy takes the steps to close the space between them but before he can say anything, Monty speaks up.

"If we're doing this, we have to do it now, guys."

Maybe if there were room in his chest between the anxiety and terror, Bellamy could think about how much he misses that voice.

The sound of Monty's voice should be a relief. It should be a good sign, seeing her friend after so long. But it isn't. There's too much going on, too much she doesn't understand.

If this is a dream, then Clarke wants to wake up right now.

Her eyes locked with Bellamy, she licks her cracked lips. "Bellamy. I can't," she says just above a whisper, hoping that this Bellamy, this one that she cares about more than anything just like the one back in her bed understands. Tears are in her eyes and she squeezes them away, eyes flicking back to the monitors. "Please don't make me."

"No..." Bellamy shakes his head and looks around the room, catching Monty's confused glance before he looks up to the monitors again. Octavia's still alive, but the guards are too tense, and next to that is Emerson outside their door, only twenty feet away.

"This isn't how it goes," he says mostly to himself when he looks back at Clarke. She doesn't say those words, but now that she has, Bellamy can't bring himself to do it. Before, it had been about understanding the decision and knowing if it was going to happen, it would be on both their hands. Now, he doesn't know if he can. Especially not with Clarke begging him.

"You don't have to," he says, his voice breaking as he covers her hand with his, then gently takes her hand off the lever. "We'll figure out another way."

This is not the world that Clarke wished for. This isn't a nightmare she understands, populated by a life she doesn't remember living but feeling so real and solid under her feet. All she wants to do is wake up.

Bellamy's hand on hers, the softness of the gesture, the way his voice cracks makes her wonder if this is what happened when they were really here. Had she hesitated? Had she wondered if this was the right thing? Or had the bile rising up into her mouth been supressed just long enough for her to pull the lever.

"Okay, good," she nods, eyes closing briefly before opening. She searches the face of the Bellamy in front of her, looking for a hint of the man holding her in her bed. "Let's find a way for everyone to live. I can't...we can't do this. I never wanted this."

She can hear movement beyond the door, dampened by the thickness of it. They are running out of time.

Neither of them have ever wanted this-- the allure of command had been irresistible in the beginning, especially as the oldest, but Bellamy could never have imagined it would bring them here. He desperately wants out of this warped dream, wants to be back in his escape with Clarke, where nobody demands anything from him; especially not himself.

"Come on," he tells Clarke, and though he can't feel her hand beneath the glove, he takes it and squeezes anyway, an assurance that he's on her side. He leads her away from the console and over to Monty, who is staring at them in a way that Bellamy has come to recognize. Fear and resignation as he looks to them for an answer.

His eyes track back to the screens, where he can see Octavia is still alive -- but if he knows his sister, she won't want to stay on the ground for long, even with the odds stacked against her. They have to save her. Save all of them.

"Is there anything else we can do to get Cage's attention?" It's a long shot, considering Dante's body is only a few feet away from them, but they have to do something. When he looks back to the other screens, Bellamy curses under his breath. Emerson looks dangerously close to being done but it's Jasper who catches his attention. "What the hell is he doing?"

Faces fill up her line of vision. Even if she can't make out the small details, her brain is quick to supply the details of those she's seeing on the monitors. Her mom. Raven. Octavia. So many of them. The lump in her throat is matched by the gnawing pit in her stomach.

This isn't something she's prepared for. None of this is what she wanted. The comforting squeeze that Bellamy gives her isn't enough to stop the tidal wave of emotions running through her.

The cold, rational part of her brain starts to click on. It wants to gather information, to assess, to analyze and conclude. It wants time.

Her gaze snaps to the monitor that displays Jasper. "Jasper, no," she says even though he can't hear her. The boy is no longer against the wall with the others, instead he's free and moving towards Cage. "He's going to attack him. It's suicide."

Monty makes a sound next to him and Bellamy can't look over at his face, knows he'd see exactly the same thing he feels every time he looks at Octavia. Fear and pain at the idea of losing someone so close that you can't imagine life without them. Bellamy can't let that happen. Jasper had been the first serious injury on the ground, and he survived that. They can't let him die, not underground, not in this war, not like this.

"Can we do something about it?" he asks Monty, making sure his voice is steady and strong before speaking-- for both Monty and Clarke. Sounding like he's in control is almost enough to convince them (and himself) that he is. "Maybe set off an alarm, a distraction."

Cage has noticed Jasper now and he's making motions to get the guards moving toward him. Bellamy walks over to Monty, eyes still on the screens, and it feels like every one of those faces on the screens is a fist wrapped around his heart and they're all squeezing.

He looks at Clarke to make sure she's okay, then turns his gaze back to Monty. "We need to do something n--"

One moment he's speaking, and in the next he has only a half second of sensation before everything goes dark; a deafening noise, a bright light, the breath being squeezed out of his lungs as something slams into his body.

This isn't what Clarke wants. She understands Jasper's motivation, the burning need to do something, but Cage has men with guns on his side. Jasper is just one person, one kid, broken and desperate. There has to be a way to stop it.

Her heart is thudding noisily in her chest, harsh and ragged, as she tries to figure out what to do. She knows what she had done, what they had done, but she can't do it. Not if there's any other way.

All thought is cut off in a flurry of darkness, explosive light and noise. It crushes down on her, baring into her body. The last thing she registers is that Bellamy's hand is still in hers. Then there's nothing.

Until her world slides back into focus, her hand on the lever once again. It's like nothing had changed. Monty's looking at her, repeating words that she'd heard only minutes ago, "Clarke, we're out of time."

He should startle, should scream, should react in some way to what has just happened, but the room around them looks like nothing ever took place, like the dream is simply repeating itself, and Bellamy is standing there as he always is.

This has never happened before, and in the time it takes Monty's words to filter through Bellamy takes a few steps back, staring at Clarke, then at Monty.

They look as they always do, as the dream always plays out, but everything is going all wrong again. Whatever had happened felt too real. When he wakes up, Bellamy suspects the sensation of having the life crushed from him in half a second won't fade away like most of his dreams do in daylight.

"Clarke?"

Her hand is still on the lever, locked in as if it can ground her to the situation. It's an echo of what she's just lived, despite the fact that her ears are still ringing and she can still taste the combination of dust and smoke on her tongue.

Do nightmares always repeat themselves so clearly? This hasn't happened to her before.

"Bellamy?" she asks, looking at his face, searching for an answer. Does he remember what she just happened or is it just her? She can't imagine being trapped alone in this circular hell, but the idea of him being caught in it too makes it worse. "Did he...Emerson...he blew the door. Do you remember?"

She sounds insane, but she has to know.

As comforting as it is to hear those words from Clarke, they're also a touch terrifying. Bellamy's never been through anything like this before, has never had dreams so vivid. And even the comfort he might find in knowing Clarke remembers the explosion fades quickly because it's all in his head anyway.

"I do," he says as he lets out a breath, but it doesn't help the tightness in his chest. When Bellamy turns to look at the monitors again, he ignores the confusion in Monty's face, struck by how similar, almost identical, the situation is.

Emerson planting the explosives. Octavia and Maya on the ground. Clarke's mother on the table and Jasper being brought in.

"We need to take care of Emerson," he says, knowing that if things go the same Jasper's going to make his move soon, but they won't be able to help him at all if Emerson is allowed to blow the door. Again.

The vice that's clenched around her throat, releases slightly when she gets confirmation that she's not alone. That he remembers. This might be a hellish circular nightmare, the scars of which she can still feel even though they're no longer there, but at least he's here.

She glances at Monty, who has turned away from the monitors, staring at them in confusion. It's all fitting back into familiar pieces. There is an order to act in. Not acting got them killed, failed to save anyone, they have to have a plan.

"We do." Clarke nods, hesitating before reaching for her gun. Her hands are shaking. "How about we open the door and go after him? Try to catch him off his guard. Or will we not have enough time?"

Bellamy wants to go to her, to comfort Clarke (and himself) with more than just a nod or a few words, but now is not the time.

"Guys, what the hell are you talking about?" When Monty speaks, Bellamy looks over and shakes his head as he pulls the sidearm from the holster on his thigh. There's too much to explain, and he's not even sure Monty would believe them at all.

"Not now," he tells the other boy, and is gratified that Monty doesn't ask. What Bellamy gets in return is a frown of confusion, but Monty has always understood when to speak up and when not to. Especially when all their lives are on the line. With one last glance at the monitors, Bellamy steels himself for what he has to do. He already has blood on his hands; one more body isn't going to matter much in the grand scheme of things. As long as he gets them out of this alive, it won't matter. Not really.

He walks over to the door, touching Clarke's arm briefly to make sure she follows. "You open the door," he tells her, "and I'll take him."

A pang of guilt runs through her at Monty's confusion, and she frowns sympathetically at the boy even as she moves to follow Bellamy's lead. She knows how this story could end, knows the moves of the players, but this time she's less frozen by guilt and fear. There's steps to take, actions to play out.

Eliminating Emerson might leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but it's the closest threat and the easiest solution. Her gun is clasped in her hand as she moves to the door.

"Okay," she nods, more for her benefit than for his. An impulsive thought takes over her and she quickly steps towards him, brushing a messy kiss against his cheek before moving to the door. Monty's out and out staring at them both again, mouth opened to pose a question that he never says.

Hand gripping the heavy handle on the door, she knows it will take more than just one hand to open it. Setting her gun on the ground, she kicks it over towards Monty, who bends down before picking it up. "Just in case." Turning her attention back towards Bellamy, she grips the handles. "On my count. One...two...three," she cranks it open, breaking the seal as she pulls with all her strength.

The kiss nearly undoes him right then and there, an action he wouldn't have expected from this Clarke -- not even in his own messed up dreams. Even if they weren't living through the memory again, changing it somehow, Bellamy would have known something was off by that alone. But he can't stop and ask, can't do anything except get his mind back to the door, to what he has to do in the next few seconds. It shouldn't be difficult. It's just another person he has to put down in order to keep them alive, another life to add to his ever growing list.

He nods when she starts the count, his hand steady as it holds his (stolen) pistol out in front of him, finger on the trigger. The door takes a touch too long to swing open, and though Bellamy can see Emerson the second it's open more than a few inches, the guard is already stumbling back, reaching for his own gun.

Bellamy shoots before the door is open all the way, but the small gap leaves him with little room to aim; when the door opens he can see blood covering Emerson's shoulder, soaking his shirt down his left arm and dripping to the floor where Emerson is sprawled. It's the blood that distracts him, the blood and the half second it takes for the door to open enough to let him through.

Pain shoots through his entire body and he's not even sure where yet; Bellamy's only aware of pulling the trigger again and watching Emerson fall back, making sure the man doesn't move again before he allows himself to fall to his knees.

Someone is screaming.

It echoes off the walls, burns in her ears, and it's moment too long before Clarke realizes that she's the one screaming. A completely useless act in a moment that requires action.

The small part of her still capable of reason thinks of Raven, screaming for Finn.

Rushing forward, she doesn't even think of Monty and the others, so sure that Emerson's stillness means he's no longer a threat. The real problem is in front of her. Sliding down onto her knees in a fluid motion, she grabs Bellamy's shoulders hastily looking for the wound, for something she can fix.

"Bellamy, Bellamy, no, please, I..." she says mostly for herself than for anyone else. "We can do this, we'll triage the injury and then we'll get the others." Running her hand gently along his abdomen, she feels for the tell-tale wetness, trying to not think of the entirely different way that she touched him earlier.

Her forehead touches against his, as she looks into his pained face. "Everything is going to be okay."

Monty's risen to his feet, standing closer to them than not and it isn't until he clears his throat that she remembers him. "What can I do?" he asks.

Clarke doesn't even look at him. "Just tell me what's going on with the others. We're gonna figure this out."

Bellamy's sure he's felt pain like this before, he must have; he's been beaten down and hurt enough since coming to Earth that this experience would have a match somewhere along the way. He's become used to pain on the ground, accepted it as the cost of fighting.

It's Clarke that is totally unexpected-- he knows she's screaming, knows she's talking, knows that she's scared, but he doesn't register much beyond that initial knowledge. The pain is fading into an overall shock, the edges of his vision spotting out and fading slightly into nothing. But he can't stop now, can't allow himself to be brought down before they've gotten everyone out, before he's made sure Octavia is okay.

And Clarke...Bellamy tries to reach for her, vaguely aware of Monty's face beyond hers. But she is all he can see, her words coming back, a memory he's held close. She can't lose him too.

It's all a dream, he remembers. It feels real, terrifyingly so, but he'll wake up and she'll be there beside him and he'll be unable to sleep for days...but he'll wake. And she'll be there. She has to. He can't be the one to bring even more loss into her life.

He wishes he could say something, anything, but everything is fading and he can't see anymore.

"Clarke! We're out of time."

Words keep dying on her lips. There's so much that she wants to say, that she needs to say, but they're stuck. It's too hard to get air into her lungs, let along exhale long enough to say what she needs to say.

Bellamy can't die. Not like this. Not when she needs him still.

Then the world is blurring, going dark and then righting itself again just in time for her to hear Monty say the words that she has memorized by now. Clarke's hands are shaking, tension spilling into her movements.

"You're alive," she says, whisper soft and half-choked as she stares at Bellamy, whole once more. "We're not doing that again."

The sudden change makes Bellamy gasp and reach for his stomach, clutching at the vest and shirt covering his torso, feeling for wetness and a wound that isn't there anymore. Whatever the hell is going on, Bellamy hopes he never has to do that again.

And he hopes he never has to see Clarke like that again-- let alone be the one causing all that pain.

"I'm alive," he repeats, unable to look away from Clarke, not for one second. The look on her face is all he can see, and Bellamy knows that when he wakes, it'll haunt him for a long time to come.

"Where's the radio?" he asks when he finally breaks out of it, forcing himself to look away from Clarke and back over to Monty. He wants to move toward her, to comfort her and be comforted, but Bellamy knows if he does he won't want to leave Clarke's side.

He wants to be back in the apartment, in bed, safe and warm. He doesn't want any of this.

When he reaches the desk Monty's stationed at, Bellamy gives the monitors a glance, trying to remember how long it was before Emerson blew the door. Two minutes? Five at most? Not nearly enough time.

"Can you cut the lights to the lab? That might distract them long enough."

Her breathing is coming in staggered rasps. It's like a boulder is resting on her chest, heart racing, vision blurred. A panic reaction, her brain supplies unhelpfully. There's nothing to do but push through it, eyes fixed on Bellamy's face. Clarke is still staring even as he breaks eye contact, talking to Monty. It brings her back to the moment, reminds her that it is more than just the three of them. That their family is out there in the mountain, all in various states of distress.

They have to do something.

Monty looks at them both confused and wary as he nods. "I can. Give me a second."

Clarke thinks for a moment. "Also try releasing the door locks. If they're distracted, it might give time for some of our people to get out."

Bellamy's eyes are on the monitors again, the scenes replaying exactly as he remembers them. Abigail on the table. Jasper working his cuffs to get free. Octavia and Maya on the floor.

He nods at Clarke's suggestion, looking back at her with the weight of knowing she'd screamed and cried for him as he died. That he caused that sort of pain. Bellamy intends on never doing that again, if he can.

"Cut the lights, Monty. We need to stop Emerson now."

Maybe it won't stop him entirely, but it'll buy them a little bit of time.

Something solid and made of steel is forming in the pit of her stomach. It's stomping out the queasy twist of her stomach, the sense of overwhelming doom. This has to work. There isn't much time left.

There isn't much left in Clarke that could stomach who she could lose next.

Monty nods and in seconds, the lights go dark on all the screens in front of them. A ragged exhale of relief escapes her, just a moment too soon as the lights in the surgery flicker back on moments later.

"Shit," she curses softly. "They must have back up generators."

Bellamy echoes Clarke vehemently. They can't stay here and watch Jasper die on that screen, because that is exactly what's going to happen if he's stupid enough to try to kill Cage himself in front of all those guards. But they're running out of options.

Emerson's screen doesn't light up, though Bellamy isn't sure if that's a good sign or not. He knows the guard must have a flashlight in his vest if it's equipped with the same items as the one he's wearing, but they can't take the chance that he's gone. Bellamy is not opening that door again unless he must. He'd rather go out like the first time, barely understanding what's going on and not having to look Clarke in the face as he dies, or knowing she's going to die.

This is fucked up. All of this, everything in this dream is beyond fucked up.

He hears Monty say something and immediately turns his eyes back to the only source of light on the screens. The harsh lamps focused on Abigail are just enough to illuminate the rest of the room, and it's not hard to imagine what happens, especially when a silent muzzle flash lights up the edge of the screen before everything stills.

A dark figure stands over Abigail again, and Bellamy imagines he can hear the drill going, even though the only sound filling his ears is his own ragged breathing.

Clarke doesn't cry out.

Her mouth opens, the air getting caught in her lungs as she watches the scene with Abby unfold. She might have a lot of issues with her mother, but Abby is the one parent that she has left. This isn't how she deserves to go. How any of them deserve to go, tied up like lab rats and used to exploit some crazy asshole's big plan.

That damn generator. That generator is letting them cut into her mother, to kill her, messy and bloody and full of pain, just as Jasper goes for Cage. There's a desperate guard outside their door, pushing to get in.

In one of the other darkened screens, she can see the outline of movement. Her mind picks out that it was the one where Maya and Octavia had been shown. "Monty, can we get just those lights in the hall turned on?"

To Monty's credit, he does what he's asked. From his spot behind Monty, Bellamy can see he's shaking and is probably ready to fall apart at the seams, but he listens and keeps moving, as though it's the only thing that will keep him together.

It probably is. Bellamy would be doing the same, for the same reasons. He gives Monty's shoulder a squeeze, feels the boy go rigid beneath his hand, and he wonders what the point of all this is. Living through all these variations of how terrible being in Mount Weather had been -- for what?

There's more movement on Abigail's screen and Bellamy moves over to Clarke's side, his arm touching hers as he stands there and watches with her. He wants to reach out and take her hand, to pull her close, but that's not what happens here. Even though none of this is supposed to happen, he knows this Clarke doesn't feel the same. She might accept his comfort, but it wouldn't feel right.

Nothing is going the way Clarke wants it to. The lights, or lack there of, do little to deter Cage and his surgeons. She doesn't need audio to be piped in from the surveillance feeds to know the sound of a medical drill. Her blood runs cold on memory alone.

Something has to give. One of the choices they make must work.

"Please," she mumbles, eyes fixed on the screen, begging to a god that doesn't exist or certainly can't hear her. Cage is looking directly at the screen as the surgeons go for Abby, Jasper fruitlessly trying to escape only to be fired it.

She winces.

"We have to do something," Bellamy says, even though they already have multiple times, even though he knows the one way this works out is the last thing he wants to put Clarke through even in a dream. There has to be some way to fix it all, or to at least leave the mountain with most of their people, scattered as they are.

But there's no way he can think of to save them all. They've tried.

"We have to," he repeats, and that's when dim emergency lights finally flicker on, running off whatever backup of a backup generator is out there. It paints their skin sickly green and the monitors light up again, each screen familiar. Emerson is gone, finally leaving them a way out, but they're still separated, still levels away from everyone else.

Movement on one screen catches his eye almost immediately; all Bellamy sees is Octavia fighting back, but she can't be doing that, it's just her against all those people, just her and Maya and he barely watches her go down before he's headed for the door.

Not Octavia. Not while Bellamy still has breath left in his lungs.

Edited 2016-01-21 22:02 (UTC)

"What's even left?" Clarke wonders aloud, knowing all too well what option is left. They've tried everything else short of teleporting or sliding through the vents, neither of which are particularly reasonable at the moment if ever.

This is not a scenario in which everyone lives.

Her stomach aches at that realization. She's never felt quite so doomed, not even as she was preparing to slide the knife between Finn's ribs. That, at least, was an act of kindness in its way.

Eyes moving from camera to camera, she waits, processing on borrowed time. Emerson's absence is an illusion. He'll be back. He'll be successful.

Then it lands on the screen that must be killing Bellamy. "Octavia, what is she doing?"

"Goddammit," Bellamy snarls when his hand slips, and he hits the door with the side of his fist before getting back to undoing the locking mechanism. They're so safely locked in that it makes getting out difficult.

"She's being a Grounder," he answers Clarke, his voice raised with anger -- not at Clarke or Octavia, but at the fact that any of this is happening at all.

It's hard to work the door and watch the screen at the same time so he looks back every other second, sees Octavia surge up and take out one of the guards in short flashes of blurry action with each time he looks back until he finally sees her go down.

And she doesn't get back up.

Her nerves are already too frayed to really be upset at Octavia's actions. After the neverending loop of dying or watching others die, watching Bellamy's sister fight like that makes weird amounts of sense. Octavia isn't the girl who grew up under a floor anymore.

"We should," Clarke stops herself, shaking her head as she goes back to watching the screens. "Good for her."

A throb aches at her temple, pulsing from adrenaline and anger and fear. "Do we have any options left?"

"Screw the options." His hands are slick with sweat and they're trembling as he fumbles with the lock again, all of it feeding into the frustration and fear that lances through him every time he thinks of Octavia surrounded by guards and their guns.

She's become an excellent fighter, a true Grounder in her own right, but she's not invincible.

"I'm getting my sister."

Bellamy doesn't look back at the screen, focusing instead on the door in front of him. He doesn't want to look back and see the fight is over; he doesn't want to even chance it until he can get to her.

"Bellamy!" Clarke tears her attention away from the screen, from Octavia's fight, from her mother being ground into. There's too much going on, a pounding in her head that threatens to engulf her.

"Bellamy, stop," she urges. Octavia can hold her own, but she's outnumbered. As much as she wishes there was any other way, the best choice is the one attached to the lever. "Don't leave. We can stop this. I can stop this."

She nods to Monty. "We're ready, aren't we?" Monty nods his ascent. "Yeah. Just need to open the vents."

Taking a deep breath, she grabs ahold of the lever. "Bellamy. I can save her from here."

It's not until she says his name a third time, just as he finally feels the door latch release, that Clarke's words penetrate his panicked fog. Bellamy wants to keep going, wants to run down the hall and kill anyone in between himself and Octavia, but his arms go limp with the realization of what Clarke's saying.

"You don't have to," he tells her even though he's let go of the door, even though his eyes are on her hand on that lever and he knows his hand belongs on top of hers. "Clarke, you don't..."

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that cold black cloud is comin' round

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