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chapter twenty-five!
THE RUG PULLED
FROM UNDER
YOUR FEET
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THERE ARE FEW times in Ares' life when he can remember being speechless. Walking in on his mother and another man had been one of those times. He can't recall another after that. But now, standing on a dirt trail, staring at his father in the flesh for the first time in almost two years, he finds that all words in both languages he speaks have fled his brain.

Castor Ortega looks similar to how he had appeared on-screen when he'd requested to speak with Ares the same day they'd ingested all of those hallucinogenic rations. While Ares shares his mother's heart-shaped facial structure, his father's is more square, the skin tanner than it had been in the Ark's poor lighting and his beard neatly trimmed. His brown eyes are missing the constant redness and faraway, glassy look that they used to have. It's strange seeing his curly hair not a tangled mess. Instead of a tattered pair of pajamas, he wears something interesting: a guard's uniform.

That's strange. Ares is surprised they'd let his father join the Ark Guard, what with his drinking history and the fact that his son had been arrested for a brutal murder. But judging by the fact that he hadn't come out first with Kane and the rest of the elite guard members, he's probably still in training— a Cadet, maybe.

He's staring at his son with wide eyes and a nearly slack mouth. Collins, Oliver, and Bellamy glance between one another, clearly aware that something significant is happening even as Bellamy struggles to stand. Monroe and Sterling are silent. It feels like time has stopped.

"My boy," Castor breathes out like he's afraid if he says the words too loudly, Ares will cease to exist.

A dark cloud rolls over him. It's an invisible storm not too different from the hurricane that had ravaged the camp a few weeks earlier, mixed with rumbling thunder and tumultuous winds. Ares feels lightning flash within him as he curls his hand into a fist so tight his hand shakes and his nails threaten to break the skin of his palm. His mouth pulls into a frown, eyes glinting like light off the edge of a blade.

Sometimes silence can be worse than words. Before, Ares had cursed at his father and stormed out of the tent. But now, when he knows that anything he says will be remembered by Castor forever, he decides to do what will inflict the deepest wound. He says nothing and walks to retrieve his knife from the brain of the dead Grounder.

"Wait," Marcus Kane tells him. Ares feels half-inclined to keep walking, but he doesn't want to antagonize a guy with armed guards surrounding him, so he obeys with clenched teeth.

Kane crouches beside the unmoving Grounder and places two fingers on the side of his neck to check for signs of a pulse. How he could still be alive with both a bullet and a blade embedded in his brain is beside Ares, but he lets the man make himself feel better by double-checking. After a moment, Kane glances up at the rest of the Arkadians and nods.

He wrenches Ares' knife from the corpse's head with a slight cringe, wiping the blood-soaked blade on the man's clothing. But instead of holding it out for Ares to take, he pockets the weapon.

Rage flares within Ares as he takes a step forward. "That's mine."

"Not until further notice," Kane replies, then signals to the Commander of the Guard again. He doesn't even bother looking at Ares when he talks. He's already moved on from the conversation as if speaking to him is a waste of time.

Ares' blood boils, lightning crackling within his bones. Pardoned for their crimes, huh? He was right from the beginning— they're already being treated like outcasts again, and it's only been two minutes.

Abby Griffin approaches Bellamy, Oliver, and Collins. Ares hears her inquire about Clarke's whereabouts. The question reminds him that Kiernan is still hidden in the trees, so he starts moving toward the spot, only for the nearest guard to load her gun with a familiar click that has him freezing in place with his hands up.

Kane reaches over and pushes the barrel of the rifle down. "Easy, Mrozinski— he's one of our own, and he's unarmed."

That almost makes Ares scoff. He considers using his belt as a makeshift garrote just to prove a point, but he doesn't want to get arrested again. Instead, he points to the place he'd left Kiernan and says, "Kiernan Adams is over there. He's injured and sick, so he needs medical attention."

Kane nods. He and Mrozinski, along with some others, go to retrieve him, leaving everyone to be distracted. Ares moves slowly so he's less likely to be seen. He creeps sideways, eyes flickering between the guards to ensure they're not looking, until he finally locates the knife that had missed its target. Then, he quickly swipes the other from the Grounder's pocket, locating a new dagger as he does so. He smothers an excited smirk and conceals the weapons in his clothing before anyone can see him.

Except someone does see. Ares glances up to see his father staring at him. For a moment, he thinks Castor's new job will force him to alert Kane, but he looks away without a word as if he hadn't noticed anything.

"Sinclair," Kane calls. The two men converge in the center of the clearing, allowing Ares to pick up on their conversation. "One guard detail comes with me to the dropship, everyone else here goes with you to Alpha Station. You have the coordinates. We'll follow as soon as we can."

"Yes, sir," Sinclair says. Just as he begins to turn away, Kane grabs his arm.

"Anything more from Jaha?"

Sinclair's eyes cloud and he averts his gaze. "No. Nothing in the past hour."

Ares' eyes shoot up his forehead. The great Chancellor has gone MIA? Maybe when they get back to the dropship, Ares and Nate can throw a party together.

Nate. Realization barrels into his gut like a sucker punch. Ares' eyes whir around each face, trying to see if he can recognize Sargent Miller, but he's not here. He can only hope that the man had survived the Ark's crash and is back at Alpha Station. If not... Nate will be crushed.

"Kier?" Oliver's voice asks. His bloodied face goes slack with shock as Kiernan is lifted from behind the trees. He brushes past Bellamy and limps toward the blond boy, cringing and pressing a hand to his ribs with every step. "What happened?"

"Got stabbed," Kiernan replies through a gasp of pain when Mrozinski shifts his weight and helps him stand. Oliver tries to take his other arm, but Kiernan waves him off with an unconvincing smile. "M'fine, Ollie."

Oliver's troubled frown indicates that he, like everyone else, knows that Kiernan is not fine, but doesn't try to argue when he's so clearly out of it. He takes a step back so he can receive the attention he needs.

Abby begins tending to Kiernan with a bag of medical supplies. From what it looks like, she has a syringe full of some kind of liquid that she injects just above the gash in his thigh. She manages to re-tie Ares' hastily-made tourniquet, but there isn't much she can do to patch him up while his jeans are stuck to his skin and they can't clean the wound.

"Take him back to Alpha," she says to two guards. "Jackson will know what to do. Don't let him fall asleep."

As soon as she finishes speaking, Oliver rushes forward to take Kiernan's other arm despite his half-slurred protests. Kiernan's face is still pale, each freckle standing out stark against his skin, and he cringes with every step. Ares watches as he passes. Half of him wants to accompany him, but he knows that isn't an option. Kane will want him under his watch, and he also wants to see what has become of the dropship camp.

"You six with me," Kane orders with a motion toward the guards in front of him. He looks at Ares, Collins, and Bellamy. "You three, lead the way."

Ares finds himself relieved that this group does not include his father. He feels Castor's prickling stare on his back as he joins Bellamy's side, but doesn't turn around or even acknowledge his existence.

Give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him know how the six years they'd spent together after his mother's betrayal had felt.

It's silent as Collins, Bellamy, and Ares lead the way to the dropship camp. Abby asks a few questions, such as how many of them were left after the battle (they don't know) and how Wells had died (killed by one of their own). Ares is grateful that he doesn't have to talk— the other two do all of it for him. His throat still burns with every swallow, his curls matted with sweat and oil. He shivers and pulls his jacket closer to him. Though his breath still forms clouds in the air in front of him, the others don't show any signs of being cold. Great. He still has a fever.

There are five guards with them. On one hand, Ares is glad they have them and their guns to pick off any Grounders who take them by surprise. On the other, he's wary of the people who are supposed to protect him. He suspects they feel the same mistrust toward him. As they trek through the uneven terrain of the forest, he has the sense that they're waiting for him to make a wrong move so they can put a bullet in him.

Ares grits his teeth. Every step is careful and even, deliberate. He doesn't even move his hands. Instead of shoving them in his pockets like he desperately wants to, he keeps them visible at his sides. He doesn't dare to look at the guards. Who knows how trigger-happy they are? If they ever actually thought of him as a threat, would they hesitate before taking him out?

He wants to laugh. He was right this whole time. All that arguing at the beginning of their journey about how they'd still be treated as outsiders to the Privileged? It was true. It shows in the way Kane flickers his gaze to him at regular intervals, how the guards stiffen when he so much as clears his throat, and how nobody walks close to him except Bellamy and, by loose association, Collins.

If the two boys have noticed the adults' attitudes toward Ares, they make no indication of it. Collins' expression is faraway and distracted like he's thinking deeply about something. It's fitting, especially since the two-timing bastard should have a lot to reflect on. Bellamy's face, covered in dried rivers of crimson, is set in grim determination.

They look dreadful. Ares knows he can't be much better— he hasn't showered in almost a month and he has blood, dirt, and Christ-knows-what-else stuck to his face like a second layer. They don't look like the same youthful kids who had crash-landed here in September. There's something haunted in their eyes, a sense of adulthood and independence lingering around them even if they aren't much older now. That innocence, that optimism, had died along with those two boys who hadn't survived the landing.

It becomes obvious when they're close to camp. The acrid stench of burned flesh and forest gets harder to ignore, along with that of death. Not only the slowly-decaying corpses of those who hadn't been burned in the explosion, but emptied bladders and bowels. And blood.

Ares' first movement is to slap his palm over his mouth and nose to block the foul smell. His eyes water not just from it, but from the memories that come in flashes: a blade slashing at Nate, the crushing realization that their bullets weren't doing shit, a Grounder raising his sword to kill Kiernan, blood and brains spraying at Ares' face. It hadn't felt real until now. Even while on the run, part of Ares seems to have convinced itself that it had all been some horrible nightmare. Their camp isn't completely destroyed; Nate is waiting for him to get back in his tent.

But he knows the truth. There's no tent to go back to.

They discover the first of the bodies a few seconds later. Abby sucks in a breath at the sight of them sprawled over logs, slumped on the ground, and even impaled to trees. Ares pointedly avoids looking at them and the way their lifeless eyes keep their frozen stares on the heavens. He swallows down a sudden wave of bile that rises in his throat, stinging the back of it.

"It's too quiet," Bellamy notes in a whisper.

Ares hadn't thought about it until now, but it's true. The only sounds are their footsteps crunching over twigs and rocks. They should be able to feel some indistinct chatter from the camp if it's occupied.

"Maybe they're still in the dropship," Ares guesses. It's the only explanation he'll accept because the other is impossible to consider.

Bellamy starts forward again, but Kane places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "We'll take it from here. Banks, Scanlan, you stay with them. We'll signal once we're sure it's safe."

The trio of delinquents shares a half-incredulous, half-annoyed expression that's almost identical on each of their faces. As Kane, Abby, and one of the other guards leave, Ares chuckles dryly and sits against a fallen log, sprawling his legs out in front of him.

"Remember when you said they wouldn't treat us differently, Collins?" he asks. Collins tightens his jaw but says nothing.

The two guards climb to the top of the ditch they're in to get a better vantage point of the camp. Once they have their backs turned, Ares takes the Grounder's dagger out of his boot and inspects it. The blade had clearly been loved— there's not a hint of rust or dullness anywhere. It gleams in the pale sunlight as he turns it around in his calloused hands. The handle is sturdy and has ridges to fit his fingers into, giving him a better grip. It will certainly come in handy in this ongoing war.

Bellamy paces restlessly while Collins continues perfecting the art of doing absolutely fucking nothing. Ares half-considers lightly stabbing him just to have something to do, but that wouldn't put him in the good graces of the guards, plus he'd probably get arrested again and never gain the adults' trust. So Ares continues admiring his new weapon while Bellamy wears a hole in the dirt with his boots and Collins sits like a statue.

Voices snap them all into action. Someone shouts, "We need a stretcher!" and causes Ares and Collins to shoot to their feet. The three boys rush uphill, boots sliding on the loose dirt, but Banks and Scanlan block their path.

"Woah, woah, woah," one of them protests with a hand out toward them. He doesn't put his hand on his gun, which is a plus, but Ares knows fighting his way past them isn't an option.

Bellamy takes a step back with a nod. He glances back at Ares and Collins, then flickers his gaze past them. Ares takes a moment to create a mental map of where they are right now. If he's correct, there should be a foxhole tunnel somewhere behind him.

Moving as one unit, the trio cracks into motion, sprinting like hell toward the secret passageway as the guards yell at them to come back. All of their demands fall on deaf ears. Ares almost faceplants when he trips on a fallen rifle and staggers, but keeps moving, his heart racing and adrenaline beginning to burn his veins once again.

The stench of ashes smacks them in the face the instant they reach the end of the tunnel. Ares coughs into his elbow as a result of it, wrinkling his nose in disgust. But it makes sense why the smell is so potent. Everything in the camp has been reduced to ash. The ground, once densely-packed dirt with patches of lush grass, is fried and gray. A few charred skeletons lie on the ground. Ares almost trips on a skull, then puts his foot through a human ribcage while he tries to catch his balance. It's barren— nothing remains, not even a scrap of fabric from a tent.

It's a graveyard. And it's empty.

Collins voices his thoughts. "Where is everyone?"

A familiar tone strikes Ares' ears. "It was awful. It was awful. There were hundreds of them..."

Kane emerges from the dropship with one of John Murphy's arms around his shoulders. The boy continues talking, but Ares doesn't care enough to listen to whatever pathetic spiel he's making.

Bellamy stalks toward them with an eerily blank expression. Ares had expected him to sprint and explode, but his motions are slow and smooth like a beast tracking its prey.

Murphy notices him once he's within reach, attempting to smile or grimace or whatever he can do with his blood-soaked face. "Bellamy, you're, uh... you're alive."

The bomb explodes.

Bellamy releases an enraged yell and seizes Murphy by the lapels of his jacket. The two go sprawling to the ground in a flurry of limbs before Kane can stop them, Bellamy pressing Murphy hard into the dirt and then lifting him up to throttle him like a rag doll.

"You murdering son of a bitch!" he shouts, his voice crackling with pure rage that erupts like thunder. He raises a fist and slams it into Murphy's jaw.

Ares raises his eyebrows and watches the show.

"Bellamy, stop!" Collins cries as Bellamy punches Murphy again.

"This is for Raven!"

Kane turns to the guard at his side and nods. The man flicks out his electric baton and touches it to Bellamy's side, causing him to convulse and instantly collapse beside Murphy. His body jerks in awkward intervals as the electricity courses through him.

"Place him under arrest," Kane orders.

Ares' eyebrows climb even higher up his forehead.

"Wait," Collins says as the guard yanks Bellamy to his feet and starts handcuffing him, "you don't understand. Murphy murdered two of our people. He shot another one. He tried to hang Bellamy."

"I don't care," Kane tells him without an ounce of sympathy. "You are not animals. There are rules, laws." He glares straight at Bellamy. "You are not in control here anymore."

It takes every ounce of Ares' willpower to keep himself in place. His head fills with a deafening roar of fury that blocks out every other sound, causing him to set his jaw so tightly it hurts, forcing himself not to wince. His body begs to inflict broken bones. He wants nothing more than to hear the satisfying crack! of Kane's nose shattering, to see his shocked face as he's tackled. So what if it wouldn't be a fair fight? Screw what the Underground had beaten into him. It hasn't been a fair fight since he'd landed on Earth.

Because this is how the adults will always be. Never mind that they've been on the ground for a month and know these woods like the backs of their hands. Everything they've learned, everything they've lost, it doesn't matter. They'll always be viewed as criminals. Stupid kids. Lesser than the adults.

Two other guards exit the dropship with a stretcher between them. Ares recognizes the red jacket first. Raven lies on the canvas, so sickly pale and slick with sweat that his heart lurches in his chest because he thinks she's dead. But when Collins races to her and she lightly stirs, he's so relieved he could collapse.

He looks toward the dropship and waits for someone else to come out. Nate. Clarke. Even Jasper. But the seconds tick by, and the cloth covering the inside of the ship remains still.

Ares starts moving before he's even processed the action. His feet carry him to the entrance, up the ramp, and his arm pushes the parachute aside, but it's as if he's watching himself from above. It doesn't feel real. Even when he's standing in the dropship and it's silent and empty, he reaches down and crushes the skin of his hand between his forefinger and thumb, begging himself to wake up, wake up, wake up.

"Nate?" he calls, his voice hoarse and thick. There's no response, but he doesn't stop, circling around to the other side of the first level, scouring every nook and cranny. "Nate? Nate, come on, man."

Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup.

"Nate, this isn't funny." Now his voice is trembling. He tries to make it stop, but it wavers against his will as he says, "It's not the time for a joke."

WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKE—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when he notices something on the floor. The guards must have left it, deeming it insignificant, but Ares would recognize it anywhere.

He bends down and picks up Nate's hat.

The fabric is soft after years of use, a few holes worn through the bottom edges, but it's so familiar and Nate's. It doesn't feel like it's a coincidence that it had been left here. There's not a single article of clothing to be seen aside from the hat. It almost seems like a message, like Nate had been hoping he'd find it.

"Ares?" Kane's voice echoes through the dropship. "We're getting ready to go."

Ares moves robotically. One foot in front of the other, moving him out of the dropship and onto the dead grass outside, where he stops. He doesn't know what he's looking at or what he's thinking, just that he's distantly aware of the way his chest risesanddipsrisesanddips but it doesn't feel like he's breathing, and that the hat is still clenched in his hands.

Ever since he was arrested, he's never had to live a waking moment without Nate. Even if they were physically separated on the ground, Ares always knew he was there. They'd spent a year and a half in a cell together. Ares became familiar with the way he breathed, every micro-expression his face could portray and what it meant, and yet he'd still taken his existence for granted.

His legs buckle underneath him. Within a moment, he slams to his knees in the ashes, his hands climbing up to knot his fingers in his hair, tugging to the point of pain. He can't get enough air.

Is he still alive? He's watching himself from above again, out of his own body. The world has tilted on its axis. Everything is wrong. So wrong—

They'd always seemed untouchable. They'd floated above it all, like the cusp of tragedy had always flown around them, never penetrating their little bubble. But now Kiernan's face is growing ever-paler, and Nate is gone, and Ares realizes that he actually hates being alone.

Maybe he was right before. Maybe love is heartbreak, and he doesn't realize he loves someone until they're gone.

_________

a/n:

pain.

stop here. re-read the last paragraph. now scroll back up to the top and watch the gif play a few times because this is what ares looks like as he's freaking out. now enjoy the suffering :)

this chapter took way too long to write, but now i'm a working woman and it was difficult to find a work/school/writing balance. but hopefully things will be rolling from here!

i'd recommend going back to chapter 19 and revisiting ares' thoughts about love and what it means. that's what i referenced at the end of this chapter and it's pretty important for him going forward, especially since this is him admitting to himself that he loves nate, but he didn't realize it until it was too late (that rhymed!)

as always, i hope you're doing well and please let me know what you thought!

—kristyn

( word count: 4.0k )