we were born to die
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Raven says, and Lincoln and Octavia both grit their jaws at the words. “Raven!” Octavia yells, steadying herself as the jet gets closer to the landing pad. “You can’t exactly speed up the landing of a plane!”
A beat.
“Bet you I could,” she mutters back, and Octavia shakes her head. When they finally land, Lincoln gives her a firm nod and stays where he is as she pushes open the door and runs like hell into the rooftop entrance of the mansion. She can see exactly where Wells’ is–she doesn’t quite know how she knows his name is Wells, but she does–and she makes her way there stealthily enough to not get herself caught.
“You need to get out of there soon, Octavia. Alie’s almost done with Jake’s room, and she’s going to check on Wells after that,” Monty says, and Octavia nods. When she finally finds him, he’s mid-tumble, and she catches his elbow. He’s got honey-golden eyes that seem familiar to her in a way she can’t name, and she can feel the collective relief of the group as they all stare into them. She’s got a hold on him, and she runs them both back in the same direction. “Let’s go, bud,” she says as he breathes heavily, trying to keep up with her despite what looks like a rolled ankle. “Our ride is up here,” she says, pushing open the door to the roof again, and dragging him with her back to the jet. She hears the distant, heavy footsteps of the guards running up the stairs, and she practically shoves Wells into the plane’s passenger entrance, looking back just in time to see almost a dozen of them, rifles at the ready, piling out onto the roof. “Go, Linc, go, now!” Octavia yells, shutting the door as quickly as she can.
Wells sucks in, gasping for air as he starts to fall, and only catches his breath when the slender brunette takes ahold of him. He leans most of his weight on her – although he tries not to – as they break for the top of the stairs. He can practically taste the sunlight beaming through the slid of glass on the window, and when they burst onto the roof, his head starts to spin again.
He can’t process everything fast enough. There’s the taste of fresh air. The warmth of the sun on his skin. The sound of the jet roaring. And the voices in his head, complete the voices yelling at them from across the roof. He bolts for the plane door, using every ounce of energy he possesses, and flops onto his back on the floor of the plane.
He feels the force of the plane taking off, hearing the ding of bullets pelleting the metal exterior. He tries to focus on just breathing, but every sense of him is being overwhelmed, he feels more like he’s going to throw up than anything.
“Who – Who are you?” he asks, as he tries, and fails, to sit up. He blinks as the interior of the plane goes fuzzy, trying to keep everything in focus.
And then everything rushes to him again. Memories. Feelings. Pieces of his life. Flooding in his mind and seeping into every nerve. He remembers the void, the feeling of floating. He remembers his father. He remembers the face of Alie, the one who did this all to them. He can see the life he thought he was living, the fake reality of floating. He’d had thoughts. He’d done things, all in his head. He’d been alive, without really living. Without feeling.
He finally pushes himself to sit up, and he looks at the brunette who’d just saved him. “You’re Bellamy’s sister,” he says frankly, staring at her.
They’re in the air, out of reach from Alie’s minions, and Octavia is squatting down, looking at the boy on his back as he heaves for air. She watches him quizzically, and they’re all starting to throw their two cents in as they survey him. Well, everyone except Clarke, but Octavia can’t afford to think about Clarke right now. “He’s a part of us, right? I mean I’m literally sitting at my computer and I’m out of breath and nauseous, and the sun is hurting my eyes,” Monty says. “Gotta be,” Octavia replies, and she can feel their curiosity.
When he brings up her brother, it’s like he’s throwing large grains of salt into a wound that’s manifested with each of them, and she can feel that pain again. They had a mission–and somehow, deep in her gut, she knew he wasn’t dead–and she’d put it all into a back corner of her mind so that she could think straight. If she let the pain back in, she’d crumble, and that wouldn’t do anybody any good. Clarke could be the one that crumbled. Octavia was strong, and she always would be strong. For him. “How do you know my brother?” she asks, immediately defensive. “Jesus, Octavia. Go easy on him. If he knows something about Bellamy, maybe he can lead us to him,” Miller says, obviously also in denial that Bellamy is dead. “Do you know where he is? Is he alive?” her voice is a fraction softer, but she’s still getting antsy as she asks him. Tell me, she thinks, tell me that the person I love most in the world is okay. Tell me he didn’t put a bullet in his brain.
“Bellamy,” he said, repeating the name as if to trigger more memories. He doesn’t know why he knows who she is, he doesn’t even know how he knows Bellamy. Except…
“I think the same thing that happened to me happened to him,” Wells manages, his features in a frown. “There was a moment, as I was moving through the float… I could hear voices that weren’t anyone I knew… They were you,” he says, and he’s not just speaking to Octavia, but to everyone in the cluster. “I’d never heard them before, so I just kept running towards them, and the closer I got to you… He came through.”
Wells squeezes his eyes shut and puts a hand to the side of his head. His mind aches as he runs a hand across his short hair. “He told me to run, and find you. And that… I needed to find Clarke. Octavia…” he says, her name spilling from his lips easily. “He’s alive. He’s just floating. That’s why you can’t feel him. That’s why you couldn’t ever feel me.”
Slowly all the pieces fall into place. He’s always known what he was, because his father told him everything. His father prepared him for what could come. His father tried to give him everything, but ultimately couldn’t protect him from what was outside his own sphere of power.
He presses his lips together in a hard line, trying to prevent the wave of emotion from getting the better of him. His breath catches in his throat as he fights off the urge to cry. “Alie, she’s been hunting our circles forever, but she’s never been this strong. She let me out when she caught Bellamy, but it was an accident. Bellamy tore a hole through the float, and I got out. But she’s not going to be so easy to stop. She has Jake, and, and my dad…” he swallows. “The stronger her captives, the stronger she is, and the more easy it is for her to get to the rest of us. If Bellamy’s floating, it’s going to drive him crazy. I’d never connected to anyone, so it wasn’t as bad for me… But for him, it’ll be like torture. If we’re going to get him out, we need to go fast, and smart.”
The gravity of their situation sinks in for everyone. Monty is already calculating, Octavia can feel the twitch of his fingers as he clicks away on his keyboard. She can feel Miller next to him, a steady, heavy hand on his thigh to keep him grounded. Raven and her partner, Wick, are already diving into the layout of the mansion, discussing--mostly arguing--where the best escape route is. Octavia’s nodding as Wells speaks, and she can feel his fear and apprehension billowing to the surface. “You’re here with us now,” she says in her most reassuring voice, despite the fact that her brain is going about a thousand miles a minute. “We protect each other.” Octavia turns to Lincoln, who’s focused on the route to a safe house, and he must sense that she’s looking at him because he turns to face her in his seat. The expression on her face gives her away, and he knows what she’s thinking because they’re both thinking it. “Watch him,” she says, nodding her head in Wells’ direction. - Clarke is still on her knees, her forehead buried between her legs, the material of her pants soaked in salty tears. She feels Octavia before she sees her, but she doesn’t raise her head. “I need you to get up,” the brunette says, and there’s so much passion and determination laced in her tone that Clarke can’t help but sit up, revealing her puffy eyes and cheeks. “He’s alive,” Octavia tells her, and it’s like the hundred pound brick that was placed on Clarke’s chest has lifted, making her feel like she’s floating. It doesn’t make sense--she saw the gun--she felt him die, they all did.
Octavia picks up on her skepticism. “There’s no time. I need you go to get to the airport. Meet us in New Haven, I’ll send you the coordinates.” All she does is nod, because she doesn’t know what else to do. Slowly, she stands, wiping at her face. Octavia looks like she’s ready to go into battle, and Clarke feels a strong urge to hug her. She must pick up on that, too, because she reaches a hand out to grasp one of Clarke’s, and squeezes it. “We’re going to get him out. I promise.” Clarke’s on the next flight to Connecticut, and as soon as she touches down, she maps out the coordinates Octavia texted her. He’s alive, she tells herself over and over again. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.