• •

CHAPTER SEVEN;

TARGET PRACTICE.

• •

WHERE DO YOU GO WHEN YOU NEED TO HIDE FROM YOURSELF? What actions can you take when the past doggedly shadows your every step, bleeding into your existence like some poorly stitched surgical wound? The throb of your history, the echoes of your missteps, and the memories belonging to a past self all unite in a symphony of unrelenting torment. Some face it head on, taking the shadow in stride and braving it's relentless gaze. Others yearn for sanctuary, for respite, for refuge – anything to shield themselves from the impending doom of their own damn choices.

        What do you do when your past takes the form of a person?

Haven didn't know the answer to that. Not yet. She contemplated the enigma while gazing at the maroon drapery of her tent above her, it's threads weaving intricate patterns that mirrored the complexity of her thoughts. Maybe if she stared at it for long enough, a revelation might emerge. An hour had already slipped by as she attempted to rest, or whatever, but her efforts proved useless; the Smith girl's mind refused to grant her such solace.

Following Bellamy's departure, Clarke, Finn, and Wells set off in search of an herb that Clarke suspected could cure Jasper's infection. Orion, with a touch of reluctance, had left as well, citing her need for a nap was crucial to prevent self-implosion. This left Monty, Octavia, and Haven remaining at Jasper's bedside.

        It was Monty who urged Haven to leave this time around. His eyes pooled into hers with familiar depth of care and softness, despite the harsh realities of the situation. He assured her that if she tried to sleep, he'd take a break from his relentless work on the wristbands and try to get some rest as well. Of course, Haven knew that he wasn't being entirely truthful, but obliged regardless. She didn't want to add any further stress to Monty's already heavy burden.

        Exiting the dropship had felt like stepping into an alternate dimension. The soft breeze had whistled through her hair, and the sun bathed her surroundings in a gentle radiance, it's warmth tempering the lingering chill. Even now, inside her tent, the faint, sweet scent of wildflowers still clung to her jacket. Every aspect of the Earth was a welcome relief from the death that permeated the metal tomb they had arrived in.

        It should have been the perfect place to sleep. In the Sky Box, Haven's routine four-hours of rest before emerging from the clutches of nightmares had been enough to keep her functioning. But now, days had slipped by. Her body refused to slow down, caught in a relentless state of vigilance, even in the heart of the promised land.

        The looming threat death did little to better the circumstances. The fact that they were quite literally being hunted didn't help, either. Neither did running out of food, their inability to contact the Ark, bearing the grief of her mother's not-so-far-fetched psychosis, or the constant, insatiable feeling of dread. In short– everything massively, utterly, royally fucking sucked.

       Haven inhaled. Breathe. Then exhaled.

       Being in the confines of her stupid red tent was doing far more harm than good. It only offered more isolation, more opportunities to spiral into anxious thoughts until her stomach ached. With another determined breath, she unzipped the fabric and ventured toward the beckoning treeline.

       Haven wasn't entirely sure of her destination, but she welcomed the uncertainty. All she knew was that she needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the camp. She wouldn't travel too far, not far enough to risk getting speared by a Grounder, but just enough to break free from the gravitational pull of the dropship that loomed overhead.

        As she journeyed deeper into the forest, the world around her blossomed into a breathtaking panorama of green. Towering trees, like ancient castles, stretched their branches toward the heavens, their trunks cloaked in vibrant moss. Vines intertwined with ferns, creating enchanting natural tapestries that adorned the branches.

        Beneath her feet, the forest floor was adorned with a rich tapestry of vibrant wildflowers, each bloom a testament to nature's artistry. The air was alive with the songs of a diverse avian choir, and the dappled sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting an ever-shifting mosaic of light and shadow.

        Haven simply couldn't fathom that such beautiful things existed amid such tragedy. Radiation was expected to have eradicated all signs of life, stripping the planet of it's richness, color and vitality. And still, the Earth persisted. The river flowed, the flowers bloomed; defiantly alive, in spite of it all.

Suddenly, a flurry of brown and black feathers descended from the treetops. Haven skidded to an abrupt halt, her breath seemingly stolen by the animal that landed gracefully before her. With curious, golden eyes fixed upon her mortal form, Haven strained her memory to recall the animals she'd read about. Was it a pigeon? No. A... goose? Not quite. Gradually, it dawned on her– the creature was indeed an owl.

"Hi, pretty." Haven called out, still a bit skeptical. "You kinda scared me. I, uh– don't have any food."

       As she cautiously inched closer, she quickly discerned that this was no ordinary owl. It was a Great Horned Owl, a majestic beast of nature itself. It's regal presence was accentuated by a magnificent wingspan, horn-like tufts of feathers atop its head adding an air of authority to its demeanor. The formidable creature seemed like a sentinel of the woods, a guardian of the secrets held within the forest's depths.

        And there it stood in the dirt, it's unyielding gaze fixed squarely upon her. The owl's eyes were so striking that Haven wondered if she turned translucent, it was certainly how she felt. Raw. Naked. Like the creature could see straight through her– the feeling both mesmerizing and unnerving.

"I have the perfect name for you." She proclaimed, an elated smile breaking across her face. "Horny!"

The owl blinked, considering.

Haven groaned, still maintaining a respectful distance between herself and her new acquaintance. "Oh, come on. Get it? Because you have like, horns and stuff–"

"WATCH OUT!"

A blur hurtled through the air beside Haven's head. Acting on pure instinct, she ducked, narrowly avoiding the unknown projectile. She quickly turned to see the object that had whizzed by her with widened eyes. An axe was now firmly embedded in the tree trunk behind her, just inches away from her temple. As for the person who'd thrown it?

It was none other than Bellamy fucking Blake.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" He scolded, his voice a harsh and aggressive rebuke as he emerged from the foilage. Though his posture remained stoic, his eyes betrayed the same vicious intensity they always had.

"I'm walking! What the fuck does it look like?" Haven leveled his gaze with an equally incredulous look of her own. She shoved aside the disappointment she felt as she noticed the owl taking flight in her peripheral.

"It looks like you aren't watching where you're going. Clearly." Bellamy huffed, stepping closer only to retrieve the weapon lodged in the trunk beside her. With a forceful tug, it was back in his possession. "I could've killed you."

"You're walking around throwing a literal axe for fun– but you're worried about my sense of direction? Fix your priorities. And your aim." Her retort was laced with wild disbelief. Haven shook her head; to think she was worried about a damn Grounder. "Plus, you couldn't have killed me. I'm death-repellent. Remember?"

        Bellamy purposefully avoided her eyes– an action that didn't evade her. "Still, it's not safe outside of camp. You should go back."

        Haven swiftly retrieved the blade – his blade – from beneath her shirt and brandished it in the air, as if to prove a point. "I can take care of myself." She declared, tone defiant. A handful of other boys materialized from the trees behind Bellamy, each armed with... spears? Haven only recognized Atom; she often did labor work alongside him in the Sky Box. The rest were strangers. "What are you guys doing, anyway?"

        "Hunting." Atom answered, nearly in sync with Bellamy's response, "Nothing."

        Bellamy shot Atom an immediate death glare, but Atom merely shruggled. "What? She should join us." He suggested, provoking an even darker glare from the Blake boy. "She's probably a better shot than–" He gulped. It was then that he remembered who he was speaking to. "Uh... the rest of us. She could help find Trina and Pascal, too."

       "Kid's got a point." Haven smiled gloatingly, although she had zero intention of participating in their hunt. Especially not after her encounter with the owl. The Big Boys could handle that. However, the uncertainty surrounding Trina and Pascal's absence did leave her feeling uneasy.

        Bellamy grunted, jaw grinding. "Whatever. Just try to keep up."

        And so they were off. The group of four expanded to five with the addition of Haven, though the tension among them remained. Her knife skills were evident during the scuffle between Wells and Murphy a few days ago, solidifying her as an asset that not even Bellamy could deny. Even as much as he wanted to.

Since their heated conversation by the fire, the pair hadn't exchanged a word, hadn't so much as crossed paths. Deliberately ignoring each other quickly fell into the routine of ignoring each other without thought. Well... aside from the dropship today– when he threatened to kill her friend.

That was a bit hard to ignore. For the both of them.

For Haven, her emotional turmoil clouded the event so intensely that she could hardly even remember it. It was easier to try and dismiss it, to let it fade into the recesses of her brain. For Bellamy, the memory remained a persistent, gnawing presence. Like a toothache. As if it were etched into his very being. It was the kind of memory that could only be forgotten if someone were to reach into his mind and pluck it from the depths of his consciousness.

        "Vampira! It's your turn."

        The Smith girl raised her gaze from the forest floor to find Atom smirking in front of her. He pointed to a wild boar, its muscular body resembling a living tank, a tangle of bristly hair glistening in the dappled sunlight. The animal diligently rooted through the lush underbrush, its sharp tusks glinting as it sought out its next meal.

Haven crossed her arms, frowning. "Uh, no."

        "Oh, come on!" Atom persisted, his voice a fervent whisper-shout as he attempted to thrust his hatchet into Haven's hand. She refused it– naturally. "I heard about the panther. Sounds like you only missed it by a hair. What difference does it make now?"

        "A lot, actually. I can show you how to hold the hatchet, but I'm not killing the poor thing." She did not want to be having this conversation in the slighest. Especially with Atom. Even days later, the memory of their rescue mission still made her knuckles twitch. Haven couldn't discern which was worse: her fear of the panther, or her own readiness to kill it.

        "The poor thing could be our next meal." Atom continued. "He's like half-pig, I think. I've always wanted to try bacon. And if it makes you feel better about it, he's definitely too fuckin' fat to fight back anyway–"

        The boar oinked.

        "Uh oh." Haven teased. "You pissed him off."

        "I'm just saying!" Atom cleared his throat before lowering his voice even further. "He's not a threat."

        "Then why are we still whispering?"

        "Would you guys shut the hell up?" It was Bellamy's who interrupted the pair's childlike disagreement. His entry into the scene was like a sudden thunderclap, firmly asserting his presence as he pushed through the space between their shoulders. "She's mine."

        Haven watched intently as Bellamy, with the poise of a seasoned hunter, closed in on the boar. His keen eyes sharpened as they fixed on the prize before him. She couldn't quite grasp the source of his confidence, given that he had never killed an animal before, let alone seen more than two. Nevertheless, she found herself unable to avert her gaze. He approached the animal with an almost predatory hunger, twirling the axe in his hand with surprising finesse. He raised his arm to take aim–

But then, a twig snapped.

        Belkamy whipped around with frightening velocity, wielding the axe away from the boar and launching it toward the unidentified sound instead. His target landed true this time. At least, that's what Haven initially thought. The axe did successfully lodge itself in the trunk of another tree, but beside it– she saw the form of a little girl, frozen in place.

        "Oh my god." Haven rushed forward, oblivious to the other boys who were chasing after the now-fleeing boar; Bellamy was quick to follow her, Atom hot on his heels. Like a solider obeying his commanding officer. "Are you alright?"

        The girl stood still, lips parted in shock, seemingly terrified to breathe. Based on her soft features, Haven assumed she was significantly younger. Perhaps no older than ten or twelve. Her hair was tucked into a measly braid upon her head, specks of dirt marred her paled face. Wide, fearful eyes darted nervously between the group in front of her– as if trying to determine whether they were friend or foe.

        "Who the hell are you?" Bellamy questioned. His brows furrowed as he studied the girl with a deep intensity, internally assessing her with the same standard he applied to everybody else. Haven swore she could almost see the gears shifting behind his sharp brown eyes.

        The girl shifted on her feet. "Charlotte."

        "I almost killed you." Bellamy muttered, almost ironically. He was echoing the same damn words he'd said to Haven just moments prior. For the second time today, he retrieved his weapon from the tree trunk beside Charlotte. "Why aren't you back at camp?"

       "Well, what with that guy who was dying, I just..." Her voice trailed off. Haven's heart immediately seized at the mention of Jasper. "I couldn't listen anymore."

       "There's Grounders out here." Atom shook his head with disbelief. "It's too dangerous for a little girl."

Charlotte's response was immediate and defensive. "I'm not little."

Haven's heart sunk. She empathized with Charlotte's defiance all too well, though her pain stemmed from elsewhere; far, far away and up toward the Council members smirking among the stars. Age certainly wasn't deciding factor in who they sent off to die– that much was clear as glass. They failed Charlotte. They failed all one hundred of the children abandoned on the ground. Miserably. Pathetically.

Haven cleared her throat, voice softening before continuing. "How old are you then?"

It was then that Charlotte met Haven's eyes for the first time. "Twelve."

       A beat passed. "Okay, then..." Bellamy started, the faintest trace of a smile forming on his lips. Not a smirk, not a scowl. A smile. "But you can't hunt without a weapon." He reached down into his pant pocket and retrieved a small, man-made blade, presenting it to Charlotte. "Ever killed something before?"

       "OK– woah." Haven was quick to intervene. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

        Bellamy dismissed Haven's question with the careless wave of a hand, inciting a blossom of annoyance beneath her ribs. Whatever. Back to ignoring each other. Yet, as she watched Charlotte take the knife by it's blue handle - unhesitatingly, at that - her annoyance quickly transformed into inexplicable concern.

"Who knows?" The gentle smile remained on the Blake boy's face as he offered Charlotte an empowering nod. "Maybe you're good at it."

        Haven watched in silence as Bellamy resumed his stride through the forest, with Charlotte staggering to keep up beside him. She considered the situation for a moment. Though Bellamy's intentions weren't misguided... if a big, strong man offered Haven a weapon at the ripe age of twelve, with all of her anger and everlasting rage– she could not truthfully say what she might've done with it.

        To herself, or to others.

        But perhaps that wasn't a fair assessment. Maybe she was projecting too much. Maybe Charlotte would turn out to be the best damn hunter of them all. Either way, the knot forming in her stomach remained.

        And then the familiar sound of Bellamy's laughter danced throughout the air, it's warmth alone was enough to set the entire forest ablaze. To make the stars explode and fizzle into specks of silvery confetti. Haven glanced up, absorbing the sight of him. He appeared to be lost in conversation with the young girl at his side, black curls masking his eyes as he laughed again and again.

        At that, she willed herself to move.

• •

EXHAUSTION FELT like an understatement to Haven as she pushed her fatigued body to follow the group. Their continued trek through the wilderness felt as though it was never-ending. They rejoined the rest of the hunting group a few miles back, initially gleeful to be done with the day and head back to camp. But, alas, the relief was short lived upon a brutal realization: the boys had failed at catching the boar.

Which brought them to the present. Still scavenging for food. Still starving. The sun had started to set by now, the clouds cloaked in captivating hues of lavender and magenta. Under any other circumstance, Haven might have fallen to her knees just to gape and marvel at the sheer beauty of it all. She did not know the sun was capable of such things. However, here, now– she longed for nothing more than to crawl into her tent and disintegrate.

        A horn shattered the sky above them, it's eerie, echoing sound startling everybody to an abrupt stop. The breeze halted . The trees suddenly felt a lot less like castles and a lot more like a prison. Haven looked to her boots; leaves rustled frantically underfoot as even the tiniest of creatures scattered into the bushes in fear.

"What the hell was that?"

Haven did not register Bellamy's words. Nor did she feel his presence magically appear beside her. Her eyes were glued to the forest, scanning, squinting, delving into their formidable depths in desperate need of an answer. Something about the atmosphere shifted; the chill in the air had vanished, gone in an instant, promptly replaced with a looming heat. There was a tickle in her throat, followed by an itch at her skin. Her eyes– they stung. Why did they sting? Why was she fighting the sudden urge to cough?

        She felt it before she could see it.

        Golden smoke glided through the shrubbery with ominous grace. It's aura created thick, billowing clouds of fog that obscured visibility even from the highest of treetops, descending all the way to the dirt, devouring all light. The true horror of it all lay not in it's appearance, but in the way it advanced toward the group with a horrifying, lethal swiftness.

        "RUN!" Bellamy's eyes widened with dread as he stumbled backwards. "GO! NOW!"

        Haven wasted no time and broke into a full-fledged sprint. Bellamy led the way with Charlotte staggering beside him, his strong strides slowing to match the girl's smaller ones. The rest of the group split up, disappearing among the trees, swallowed by the sea of sickly yellow smoke.

She couldn't believe the speed at which she ran. She simply didn't know she was capable of it. Her heart pounded violently beneath her chest, forceful enough to shatter her damn ribcage. But her lungs... her weak, poorly functioning lungs, were on fire, not from the exertion. It was as though the air itself was scorching, blistering. She felt it searing in her chest and at her heels as she continued to move away, away, away from the encroaching danger.

"There's caves this way!" Bellamy's shout echoed in tune with the the horn that ceaselessly blared, his voice thick with panic as he tried to keep everybody accounted for. "Come on!"

A sudden thud and a bone-chilling scream erupted behind Haven. Someone had fallen, but amid the chaos, she didn't know who. Heart over head– she cast a glance behind her shoulder, regretting it before she even had the chance to blink.

"BELLAMY!"

It was Atom.

"BELLAMY! HAVEN!"

         Thick clouds of fog consumed what was left of the group behind her, rendering them barely visible through the haze. Coughing violently, eyes squinting from irritation, she stumbled, her lungs scalding from the acrid fumes that seemed to be choking the very air she breathed. Each step became a struggle as she fought to keep moving, but her vision remained tainted, leaving her to maneuver blindly through the smoke.

        "KEEP MOVING!"

        Another thud, followed by a pained cry sounded somewhere in front of Haven. Charlotte. She could place the owner of the voice, though she still couldn't see. Haven strained her eyes to pierce through the impenetrable fog, but the world around her remained a suffocating citron nightmare. It wasn't until she tripped over the young girl's body that she realized they were closer than she thought.

        "Charlotte! Charlotte! Where are you?!" Haven sputtered the words, wrenching them from the inferno in her throat. She hardly felt the slip of bone in her shoulder as she collapsed to the dirt. Desperation guiding her hand, she reached out across the ground in a panic; her fingers grazing over Charlotte's arm before she finally got a firm grip.

        Then she tugged. Then she shrieked.

        Excruciating pain burst within Haven's shoulder as the strain of pulling Charlotte seemingly snapped a joint back into place. Saltwater spilled from her eyes, the tears cold against the torturous heat of her skin. Everything hurt. Every single cell in her body felt as though it had been lit ablaze and incinerated. And still, she moved. Still, she rose– hand tightly intertwined with Charlotte's.

        "We're okay." Haven gasped. "We're okay."

        Together, the girls ran. She knew they weren't even remotely close to being okay, but she repeated it aloud regardless– as if to will it into fruition. They clung to the little that remained visible amid the haze, driven only by the fleeting hope of finding the cave Bellamy had mentioned.

        Bellamy.

        His name thundered beneath Haven's skull with a nauseating force. The Blake boy wasn't where she found Charlotte, so where the fuck did he go? Her eyes burned with fresh tears as she scanned their surroundings, searching desperately for the mop of curly hair she would recognize anywhere.

All she could see was yellow.

Before Haven could react, a pair of hands suddenly materialized from the mist, extending toward her and shoving her with brute strength. She gasped, her deathgrip on Charlotte tightening as the girls stumbled backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over their own feet. And then, as if halted by divine intervention, they stopped. Abruptly. Haven's back smacked into something cold and hard.

She blinked, frantically assessing her surroundings. There was no more fog, only darkness. No more deafening horn, only quiet. A steady drip of water splashed against the ground somewhere in the distance. She found herself surrounded by rough-hewn rocks, their cold presence pressing in from every direction, except for the opening through which the girls had been unceremoniously shoved.

        They made it to the cave.

        Bellamy came hurtling in after them.

"What the fuck was that?" His breath came in ragged gasps, unruly hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. It seemed that the irritation from the fog caused his eyes to tear as well; he rubbed at them uselessly, blinking fast as he surveyed the girls in front of him. "You guys alright?"

"It–It's acid fog. Radiation." Haven managed to explain in gasps. Her throat was raw, chest heaving relentlessly as she tried to catch her breath. The tightness in her chest only worsened as Charlotte burst into tears beside her.

        "Hey, hey. It's okay." Bellamy's voice carried a rare gentleness as he exerted what was left of his strength to crouch on the cave floor. Charlotte trembled before him, her small limbs shaking from the raw emotional come-down of their escape from the fog. He offered a soothing hand to the girl's shoulder. "You're okay. We'll figure this out."

        Haven felt a twinge of disdain at his words; she didn't particularly care if it was misplaced or not. All she knew was that the confines of the cave suddenly felt more suffocating than the god damn fog. Adrenaline had worn off by now, swiftly replaced by the unforgiving chokehold of reality.

It was a simple and cruel truth: the delinquents had been banished to Earth to die. Two of their own had already met that fate before the dropship even landed. The teenagers quickly became prey, hunted in a ruthless game of survival, with no medical supplies, no food. They were forced to kill for sustenance, and amidst the hunt itself– acid fog tried to swallow them whole. The mist more than likely claimed the lives of Trina, Pascal and... Haven's heart stuttered.

Atom.

She didn't go back for him. She didn't go back for him. She didn't go back for him. The repetition played like a tormenting drumbeat in her mind. By the time she heard his blood-curdling scream, the fog had thickened to an impenetrable veil, shrouding the Atom's form within its depths. He could've been right in front of her and she wouldn't have known. Still, she could've tried. She should have tried, but she didn't.

"Haven?"

        Bellamy's voice was muted against the haze of panic surrounding her. He glanced up from his position on the ground, brows knit with concern. Charlotte had quieted, his chest had slowed– so why hadn't hers? Why was she still panting, her lungs still scorching? Haven blinked rapidly, pressing her hand against the cave wall for support, but all she felt was cold. Cold like the sheet she'd pulled over the floaters in the dropship. Cold like the sweat that clung to Jasper's skin.

"Haven."

Bellamy was standing now. At least, Haven thought so. Her vision was split into a kaleidoscope of blue and black. She gasped, her chest burning in pure, unadulterated agony. As if someone had held a blade to her windpipe and punctured it over and over and over again until she was left choking on her own blood.

Strong hands pressed firmly atop both of her shoulders, a lifeline tethering her to the present.

"Fuck, Haven– can you see me?" Bellamy's words, distorted and muffled, reached her ears. He sounded like he was trapped underwater. "Breathe. Try to breathe."

        Haven tried to follow his words, to make her body obey, but it was pointless. She couldn't. She couldn't. Every gasp for air was a battle she had to fight within herself. Suddenly, she was on the operating room table in Abby's lab again– her chest torn open. Bloodied. Raw. She was shaking, shivering, sinking so far down into the abyss of her thoughts that it felt as though nothing could pull her out of it.

        Bellamy's eyes clung to Haven like glue. He'd been down this road with her before. Yet still, it hurt all the same; to watch her panic, to watch her tremble. Above all else– to feel so damn useless and incapable of stopping it. He scoured his brain with a desperate urge to find something, anything to ground her.

        And then he remembered.

        Slowly, Bellamy released his grip from her shoulders. "You're okay." He whispered, taking her shaky hand into his own and guiding it to the locket between her collarbones. Then, he wrapped her fingers around it. "Just focus on the metal and breathe. You're safe."

       His touch was lightning encapsulated; fingers shooting electricity into her nervous system and demanding it to pause, to feel his presence. By some miracle, it worked– Haven gripped her locket like it was an anchor and willed herself to inhale.

       "There you go. Easy, easy." Bellamy nodded in encouragement, relief washing over him as he felt their breaths slowly synchronize. He hadn't even realized when his own breathing had become erratic again. "You're safe."

        Haven wheezed as she exhaled. Bellamy was no longer a blurred vision in front of her– he was real, touchable, warm; a sharp contrast to the stranger he'd become on the ground. Her senses couldn't determine which version of him she was speaking to as she miserably choked out the word, "Atom."

        "I know."  His voice was unfathomably soft. "I know."

        The panic started to dissipate at that. Bellamy gently released his hold on Haven's fingers, though hers remained glued to the locket. Both of them moved in different directions; Bellamy carefully draped his jacket over Charlotte and positioned her to rest upon a curved rock. Meanwhile, Haven slid her back against the cave wall until she met the ground. She sat, legs sprawled, head tilted back in exhaustion. Bellamy mirrored her actions across from her only moments later.

The cave might have provided refuge from the deadly fog, but the turmoil within it was inescapable.

• •

HOURS SLIPPED by in an evasive and boundless blur. Haven was unaware of the duration of their stillness up until a glint of silvery moonlight spilled into the cave, serving as a reminder of the relentless march of time.

Charlotte had drifted off into a seemingly peaceful sleep by now, Bellamy's jacket still serving as her makeshift blanket, leaving Haven and Bellamy awake. The subtle glow of the moonlight bathed the cave in its ethereal light, casting long, blue shadows that danced along the uneven walls.

During her time on the ground, with most of it spent staring at the cave ceiling, Haven examined it thoroughly for holes and cracks. She desperately longed for a glimpse, a sliver, a peek at the stars. She had barely had the time to admire the cosmos from Earth's surface. Every night, she had been preoccupied or confined inside the dropship, next to Jasper, nursing his injuries. Now, the stars were an elusive dream, obscured by the stone barrier above– out of reach but, not out of mind.

"That's the Corona Borealis."

Haven and Bellamy sat shoulder to shoulder on a hospital bed, distractedly awaiting for Abby to return with the results of her chest MRI. She pointed to a smaller constellation within the book Bellamy had brought with them.

Bellamy nodded in recognition. "The Northern Crown."

"What?"

"The constellation. It's a myth." Bellamy explained, eyes illuminating with a softness she'd never seen before. "In Greek mythology, it's supposed to represent the crown given to Princess Ariadne by some god named Dionysus. When they got married, he placed it in the heavens to honor their union."

Haven snorted. "He sounds like a show-off."

"Definitely a romantic snob." Their laughter intertwined as Bellamy continued. "When she died, he traveled all the way down to the Underworld to bring her back to life. Then she became his immortal partner."

"Of course he did." Haven shook her head in playful disbelief. "What if she wanted to stay dead?"

"I don't know." Bellamy shrugged, acutely aware of the softness of her shoulder against his. "Like I said– romantic snob."

        Haven blinked. Presently, her shoulder throbbed with a persistent pain; an ache she had nearly forgotten about it in the midst of everything that transpired. Perhaps she had dislocated it during her fall while searching for Charlotte. Though it felt as though it settled back into its proper place, the aftershocks still lingered.

        "What happened?"

        Bellamy remained in his spot across from her, voice almost a whisper, keeping his tone hushed to avoid waking Charlotte. His gaze flickered toward Haven's arm when she shot him a confused look. "Your shoulder."

       "Oh," Haven didn't realize her discomfort was so obvious. Her gaze briefly shifted to the sleeping child, the dim cave's shadows arranging haunting forms on Charlotte's peaceful face. Returning her attention to Bellamy, she answered, "I fell when I was looking for Charlotte."

        "Shit." Bellamy's words held a tinge of regret. "I don't know how I lost sight of her. She was right next to me, and then..." He sighed, shaking his head. As if he bore responsibility for it. "Sorry."

        Haven raised a brow, dark eyes reflecting a whirlwind of fatigue, frustration– maybe even something like forgiveness. "You sorry for threatening to kill Jasper too?"

        Silence.

        "Thought so. I forgot about the whole Bellamy Blake: King of the Earth thing." Haven's words were sharp, honed as if meant to bite, but they didn't. They only carried an undertone of defeat. "It was an empty threat anyways. You wouldn't touch him."

        Bellamy stared at her with dead eyes. His response was laden with exhaustion, his usual sneer replaced with something hollow. Like he needed to hear the reassurance from her, needed to know that he wouldn't. "What makes you so sure about that?"

        How surely does the sun set at night?

        "You gave Wells the knife to protect himself. You didn't let Clarke get shish-kabobed by the spear-pit. You saved..." Haven's voice trailed off, the unspoken yet understood weight of the lives he'd spared lingering between them. Hers included. "I know you. I just know."

       Indeed she did. Better than anybody else in the damn camp, aside from Octavia. Haven had grown tired of lugging around her frustration, tired of feeding into the guessing game of who Bellamy decided to be that day. Countless unspoken words and a magnitude of questions fluttered through the air they breathed. Like birds with clipped wings, unable to soar.

But... there were bigger things to worry about than any expectations they might have had for one another. It was a disservice to the both of them; they hadn't seen each other in over a year. Things had changed, things will always change, but here, now– survival was their paramount focus.

They'd deal with the rest in time.

Probably.

        "Anyways." Haven continued, slouching a bit into the wall behind her as Bellamy remained silent. "I'm sorry for, um..." Spiraling into a panic attack. "It hasn't been that bad in awhile. I didn't mean to–"

        "Don't." Bellamy sharply cut her off, the lines on his forehead creasing as he shook his head. He inhaled, seemingly taken aback by his own response. "When have I ever asked you to apologize for that? For anything?"

        Now it was Haven's turn to return the silence.

Haven had always been an anxious child. From her earliest memories, even the smallest scrape or bruised knee would catapult her straight into a world of worry. It was never just a boo-boo; it was a potential gateway to a life-threatening infection. A common cold wasn't a minor inconvenience; it was a harbinger of impending doom. Her mother's gradual descent into madness did nothing to alleviate her anxiety. In fact, it only made things worse.

       At a very young age, too young for a child to bear, Haven was forced to take care of herself. She became vigilant about her words and actions, always fearful that a wrong move would trigger another one of Dahlia's manic episodes. The fear of being the cause of her mother's suffering haunted her to her core. The fear of not being enough to keep her sane.

        Things took a darker turn after her mother's execution, and her diagnosis of stenosis followed shortly after. Suddenly, the world became a minefield of doctors and medical procedures, once seen as saviors, now viewed as captors. The fear of death loomed over her, a constant companion; one that she had stared in the face and screamed, "YOU WILL NOT TAKE ME."

And then, after seemingly adjusting with the fact she had died five seperate times– Haven would end the day in her prison cell. Alone. Orphaned. Rotting. Perhaps the birthplace of the greatest fear of all: herself.

Bellamy didn't know every minor detail of Haven's upbringing, but she'd shared enough with him to piece it together. Now, he stared at her with a look of understanding, one that he knew she couldn't see. She was far, far away. Distant. Lost within a world that extended far beyond the mere feet that separated them within the confines of the cave. Her head rested against the stone behind her, ensnared within within labyrinthine passages of her own mind.

        The third time Bellamy bore witness to Haven having a panic attack (as both of them had mutually blocked out the first two), he noticed a subtle but telling pattern in her movements. Her fingers trembled, grappling for something solid to hold onto—a pillow, the fabric of her shirt, or even her own palms. It was then that he recognized her desperate need for an anchor, something with significance to pull her back from the brink. And so, he suggested the locket.

The locket.

Back on the day when Haven had been incarcerated, Bellamy was a member of the guard team assigned to clear out the belongings in their living quarters. There wasn't much to go through besides a few dusty books. He eventually discovered a delicate piece of jewelry tucked within a pillowcase. Beside it lay a hastily scrawled note that simply read, "Happy Birthday, Bug."

It felt too intimate to discard, so he instinctively pocketed it. Later, he snuck it to Haven upon their first time meeting. It wasn't until she shattered into tears before him that he realized it was a gift from her mother. Her dead mother.

        "You keep disappearing."

Haven tore her sight away from the cave ceiling and back to the boy in front of her. Purple watercolors weighed down the space beneath her eyes; fatigue was making her dissociate more than usual. She groaned under the weight of Bellamy's gaze and rubbed at her eyelashes. "So have you."

        "I'm fine, you're the one who actually needs to rest. I mean it, Haven. That's why I told you to a few nights ago– I knew this would happen." Bellamy sounded more frustrated than intended. Not directed at Haven, but at her self destructive tendencies. As less of a request and more as an impulse, he gently added, "Please."

       "Fine." Haven grumbled. On any other occasion, she would've feigned consideration, fought sleep a little bit longer solely just to spite him– but she was tired. Her exhaustion finally outweighed her pride. "Only if you do, too."

        Bellamy offered no resistance. "Deal."

        At that, Haven removed her jacket, rolled it into a makeshift-pillow, and placed it on the floor. After tossing and turning, she eventually laid down, resting her head upon the fabric and feeling comfortable enough to rest. Well... as comfortable as she could be, in a cave; the concept was relative. Every blink carried the weight of the world as she tiredly stared off into the rock's unforeseen depths.

        Bellamy mirrored Haven's movements with precision, lowering himself to the uneven cave floor with ease. He arranged his arm beneath his head to serve as his pillow, its hardness softened by the knowledge that Charlotte still held his jacket. He didn't mind in the slightest. To him, it was a small price to pay for the warmth of the girl's peaceful features, rendering the gesture far more comforting than inconvenient.

        With his eyes opening and shutting periodically, he couldn't resist the urge to steal glances in Haven's direction. He wanted to ensure she had actually fallen asleep. Her eyelids, still bearing traces of irritation from the fog, gradually then effortlessly closed.

        The noise in his chest quieted at last.

        Yet, his vigilance continued. Bellamy's focus was permanently fixed on the cave entrance, alert to every nuance of shadows and faint rustle of leaves outside of it. His senses were sharp, his instincts honed, as he anticipated and guarded against any potential threats that might disrupt their fragile resting place.

        For the first time in five neverending days, the Smith girl found solace in the arms of sleep, her breathing steady and her face soft. Bellamy watched over her, the weight of responsibility resting squarely on his shoulders as he kept a tireless lookout.

• •

        WELL – IT WAS NICE FOR A FEW HOURS, AT LEAST. Haven's rest was shattered by the sudden sound of crying. Her eyes flew open, heart racing in response to the abrupt disturbance. The hurried shuffle of Bellamy's footsteps filled the cave shortly after– only further fueling her confusion. She had no idea what the fuck was happening, yet she forced herself to wake almost instantly, her body becoming fully alert by the time she turned her head.

Haven found Bellamy on his knees with his back to her. He settled before the cave nook where Charlotte was supposed to be sleeping, but the telltale tears on her face betrayed her restlessness. Charlotte struggled to convey her remorse, her voice quivering as she softly confessed, "I'm sorry." Her pale cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and shame as she recognized Haven's presence approaching. "And I'm sorry for waking you up."

Haven soundlessly dropped to her knees beside Bellamy, her eyes meeting his in a silent request for an explanation. "She had a bad dream." he whispered to her. Then, he turned his attention back to Charlotte, his voice softened with... empathy. "Does it happen often?"

Charlotte's exhalation was marked by a weariness that belied her years, her eyes darting anxiously between the two adults. They both understood what she meant by it– Haven especially.

"What are you scared of?" Bellamy questioned lightly, attempting to uncover the fear at it's core. Like it was something he could snuff out and obliterate himself. But when Charlotte remained quiet, he adopted a different approach. "You know what? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you do about it."

Charlotte looked puzzled. "But... I'm asleep."

Fair point.

"Fears are fears." Bellamy reiterated, strong hands providing a reassuring presence atop the jacket that Charlotte clung to. "Slay your demons when you're awake, they won't be there to get you when you sleep."

        Haven wasn't particularly sure if it was that straightforward. She didn't really have room to talk though; suppressed trauma and crippling internal dread definitely did little to improve the nightmares of her own, and she wasn't exactly... slaying... them? Inwardly though, she felt a pang of empathy for Charlotte's struggle, aware that conquering one's fears was often far more complex than it appeared.

        Charlotte sighed again. "Yeah, but... how?"

        Bellamy's response carried a leaden weight. "You can't afford to be weak," he stated solemnly, shaking his head. "Down here, weakness is death, fear is death." There was a pause at that. Somber silence filled the air as the gravity of their situation reemerged. As it if could be forgotten. Then, he offered her a small smile. "Let me see that knife I gave you."

        "Uh–"

        The knife was already in Bellamy's hand before Haven could intervene. "Now, when you feel afraid," Bellamy started, clutching the blade bravely in his hand. "You hold tight to that knife and you say, 'Screw you. I'm not afraid.'"

Charlotte accepted the blade from his outstretched hand with a tentative grip. She repeated the phrase in a muted tone, "Screw you. I'm not afraid." Bellamy shot her a meaningful look, encouraging her to speak with more conviction. With a quick inhale, and the will of the devil, Charlotte spoke again. "Screw you. I'm not afraid."

A haunting incantation. As Charlotte repeated the words, her voice growing firmer, a disquieting feeling crept over Haven. There was something in the intensity of Charlotte's gaze, a flicker of something unsettling, a hint of darkness she couldn't quite place. She glanced at Bellamy, hoping for a shared sense of unease, but instead, he observed Charlotte with a proud smile. Blissfully unaware of the ominous undercurrent forming before their very eyes.

"Slay your demons, kid." He commanded once more, leaving Charlotte to her own devices with a gentle touch on the knee. "Then– you'll be able to sleep."

• •

HIIII

this chapter actually took everything out of me to write. theres a looot of information towards the end idk if it feels too crammed but i sincerely hope you enjoyed!!! :)

new faceclaim as well! checkout the older chapters or summary to see. i saw jaz in gen v and instantly had to have her because holy fuck !

7.3k+ WORDS MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!