The storm had passed.
But the camp looked like a graveyard of effort and exhaustion.
Jason stepped down the ladder of the dropship, passing Clarke, who was tending to Finn's bandaged body.
When his boots hit the mud outside, he stopped, exhaled a long, weary breath, and muttered,
"...Shit."
The once-organized camp now looked like a battlefield. Half the tents were torn open, their fabric hanging like wounded skin from the makeshift poles. The walls they'd built with those thin wooden barriers that were supposed to protect them were all cracked and leaning, sections of them caved in. Supplies lay scattered across the ground, soaked through by rain and trampled by boots.
He rubbed his temple, a dull headache beginning to pulse behind his eyes. The exhaustion was the kind that came from trying too hard to keep things from falling apart when everything inevitably did.
He started walking through the wreckage, weaving between people scrambling to clean up the mess. The sound of shouted orders and clattering wood echoed through the air as they were trying to rebuild, to salvage what they could. But Jason could see the slump in their shoulders, the quiet frustration that came after realizing just how fragile all of this really was.
He stopped near a group of boys wrestling with a collapsed tent pole.
"Hey," he called out, "what's the word on patrol?"
One of them lookup mud-smeared and panting looked up. "Patrol? Nah, all hands are on repair right now. Bellamy said—"
Jason cut him off with a shake of his head. "No. Get back out there. We need eyes on the perimeter. Storms don't stop everything else that wants us dead. We can't afford to slack off now."
The boy hesitated but nodded quickly, motioning to the others before jogging off toward the tree line.
Satisfied, Jason exhaled again and made his way toward the far corner of camp. The rain had soaked the ground into a dark mire, his boots sinking slightly with each step. When he finally reached the edge, he crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees as he surveyed what was left.
Footsteps approached from behind. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Jason…" Raven's voice broke softly through the hum of work and the crackle of dying fires. She stopped a few feet behind him, her breath unsteady. "I… I thought—" she faltered, swallowing hard, "I thought he was going to die."
Jason turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze over his shoulder. Her eyes were red, the remnants of tears barely hidden. He stood up, brushing the mud off his hands, and said quietly,
"But he didn't. And he isn't anymore."
Raven nodded slowly, her lip trembling. "He's all I have left, you know that?"
Jason's gaze softened. "That's not true."
She blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"Here on the ground," Jason said, his voice steady, "we've all got each other now, Raven. Because that's all we've got. Right here." He gestured around at the damaged camp and the people working, the sound of makeshift hammers striking wet wood. "We don't have anyone else to rely on but each other. Not the Ark. Not command. Just us. And we've gotta learn to live with that."
Raven's eyes dropped to the mud. "He's been there for me since we were kids," she whispered. "Always. I don't even remember what my life was like before him."
Jason hummed softly, a sound halfway between agreement and sympathy. "Yeah," he said, watching the camp repairs slow as exhaustion caught up to everyone. "I know."
"But what we did… that grounder…" Her voice cracked. "It wasn't right, Jason."
Jason sighed not in irritation, but in understanding. "I know," he said. "I was expecting this from you, from Clarke. Hell, from myself."
He took a step closer. "But Finn was dying, Raven. You saw him. We didn't have time. And you're lucky that Octavia saved him."
Raven looked up sharply, tears welling again. "I saw what you did," she said. "You gave her that knife. She could have died."
Jason looked away for a moment, toward the shadow of the dropship still glistening with rainwater.
"But she didn't. Did she?"
Raven didn't respond. She just stood there, hands clenching the edge of her jacket, breathing unevenly.
Jason continued, his voice low and rough, but sincere.
"None of this was right, Raven. Torturing him, hurting him, it's not something I wanted to do. Not something any of us wanted. But survival isn't about what's right or wrong anymore. It's about what we can live with afterward. And sometimes," he said, looking her in the eye, "sometimes there's no choice that doesn't hurt."
He paused, watching as her expression wavered between anger and sorrow. "We didn't do it because we wanted to. We did it because we had to. And that's what's gonna keep us alive down here."
Raven nodded slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "You sound so damn sure," she muttered.
Jason gave a faint smirk. "I'm not. I just fake it better than most."
She let out a small, shaky laugh, and for a brief moment, the storm's shadow seemed to lift just a little.
Jason clapped her shoulder gently before turning away. "Get some rest, Raven. You've done enough for today."
And then he walked off, boots crunching through the wet soil.
——————
Inside the dropship, Clarke was kneeling beside the grounder, trying to clean the deep wound in his hand where Bellamy had driven the nail. Lincoln flinched every time the cloth touched him, his breath ragged but steady.
"Hold still," Clarke muttered.
He resisted again, pulling his arm slightly away. Before Clarke could react, a gentle hand reached past her and she saw Octavia. She knelt beside the grounder and took the rag from Clarke.
"I got it," she whispered. Her voice was a bit hard and somehow it worked. Lincoln stilled.
Clarkes gaze flicked toward the ladder, where she could see Raven sitting beside Finn below. Relief flooded her features for the first time in hours along with jealousy before she made her way out of the dropship.
Outside, the wind had calmed, Clarke followed moments later, rubbing her temple. Jason was standing near a broken crate, hauling a heavy container toward what was left of the food stores.
"You okay?" Jason asked, setting the container down when he noticed her.
Clarke sighed. "Yeah… I just have a splitting headache."
Jason nodded, leaning against the crate. "You shouldn't worry too much. We did what we had to do."
A voice from behind them cut in—gruff, tired, but certain.
"Yeah. What he said."
Bellamy stepped into view, his expression unreadable as he walked up to Clarke. Without another word, he reached out and gently took the bent nail from her hand, the same one he'd used earlier. He looked at it for a long moment, the metal glinting faintly in the firelight, before tossing it aside.
Jason was about to say something when a shout came from across the camp. Someone calling his name. He glanced toward Clarke and Bellamy. "Handle things here," he said, before turning and heading off toward the sound.
———————
The sky was a pale wash of gray when Jason returned to camp, his breath was steady from the morning jog. The air was crisp, cool enough that mist still clung to the trees at the edge of the clearing. Behind him, four others followed, each carrying rabbits strung together by thin vines. Jason had the most with six in total, slung over his shoulder.
They crossed the clearing, boots sinking into the soft earth as they passed the half-repaired fences and patched tents. A few people looked up, their faces showing the kind of tired hope that came from seeing food return with the hunters.
As Jason neared the center of camp, he spotted Charolette. She was smaller than most and she was helping two older girls lift one of the damaged tents upright, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. When she noticed Jason and the group, her eyes immediately went down.
Jason dropped the rabbits near one of the cooking pits and stretched his arms with a small groan before walking over. "How are you holding up?" he asked with a steady voice despite the exhaustion etched in his tone.
"I'm okay," Charolette replied quickly, brushing hair from her face. "Just doing what Clarke wants."
Jason looked at her with a long, quiet look that spoke of both concern and the weariness. He sighed softly. "Good," he said finally, his expression unreadable.
Nearby, one of the girls who'd been working beside Charolette was staring at him, her curiosity thinly veiled. Charolette noticed and, without missing a beat, the girl said, "Clarke wanted me to keep an eye on her."
Jason followed her gaze, then gave a small, knowing nod. "Good. Keep doing that."
Without another word, he turned and started toward the far side of camp. He spotted Octavia near one of the makeshift tables, already awake and packing a few small bags.
"Hey," Jason called as he approached, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "You're up early."
Octavia glanced up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. I promised I'd help Monty and Jasper with something today. They need an extra hand."
Jason nodded. "I'm gonna check on the grounder. Make sure nothing's happened to him."
Octavia hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. "I mean… you don't have to," she said.
Jason stopped, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. "I don't think your brother's gonna let him off just like that," he said flatly.
Octavia shifted, uneasy. "He wouldn't try anything… would he?"
Jason met her eyes for a moment, "No," he said finally. "I don't think he would."
Then he turned and headed toward the dropship. The ladder creaked faintly as he climbed.
When he reached the third level, the air inside was cooler, quieter. The light filtered in through cracks in the hull, painting pale stripes across the floor.
"Jason," Bellamy's voice came instantly from the far side of the room. He was sitting near the wall, one leg bent, his knife in his hand but idle more for comfort than use.
Jason closed the hatch behind him with a low metallic thud. "I'm here to check on the grounder," he said, glancing toward Lincoln, who was still tied but sitting upright now.
Bellamy leaned back, expression unreadable. "How long have you been here?" Jason asked, folding his arms.
"A while," Bellamy replied simply.
Jason turned slightly, scoffing under his breath. "You two are more alike than you know," he said quietly, half to himself.
Bellamy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Jason waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing," he muttered as he walked past him toward the grounder.
Lincoln's eyes followed Jason carefully with that calm and sharp look. There was a quiet, restrained intensity there, one Jason couldn't quite place but didn't ignore either.
"So," Jason said finally, breaking the silence. "What now?"
Bellamy exhaled, setting the knife aside. "Nothing. Not unless he gives us a reason."
Jason turned to him. "We're not killing him."
"I know that," Bellamy said, meeting his gaze.
"Good," Jason replied evenly. "And maybe next time, leave out the maiming of the guy who literally saved your precious little sister."
Bellamy gave a small, reluctant chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay. Things kinda got out of hand, I'll admit."
Jason didn't respond right away. He simply looked at Lincoln again.
After a few moments, Bellamy spoke again, his tone lower now, more measured. "How about next time we want to talk to him, you're here? Make sure nothing goes properly with a hitch."
Jason let out a slow sigh. "I'll think about it," he said, with a flat voice but not dismissive.
Before either could continue, the hatch above them opened with a clatter. Miller dropped down, landing with a thud. His eyes immediately locked onto Jason, a glare already forming.
Jason caught it and smirked faintly, one brow lifting. 'Amusing,' he thought, before glancing back toward the tied grounder.
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