They all knew they couldn't take him one-on-one. He'd been training them for a week and had made it brutally clear that nobody beat him in a fair fight. Still, the math in their heads was that numbers, courage, momentum felt convincing to them. That pride would be their undoing.
A tense silence fell. Then one of Murphy's boys lunged, wild swing meant more for show than damage. Jason sidestepped like he'd seen the punch a half-second before it began, caught the kid's wrist mid-arc and twisted sharp and clean. The Bone snapped nearly snapped before he punched him in the face. The boy screamed, clutching his face.
"Ohhh shit my nose, that bastard broke my nose!" he wailed, mouth bleeding, before a leg came at his head and everything went black.
Another attacker came up from behind with a makeshift spear. Jason didn't even look: he dipped his hips, ducking under the thrust, grabbed the shaft, and yanked it forward, using the spear as a lever to slam the attacker's shoulder into his own knee. A sick crack echoed. The kid folded over, winded and howling.
The watching crowd took a step back. Murmurs died as the noise of fists and flesh replaced it with a close, intimate violence. Murphy shouted, trying to rally. "Come on then!" Seventeen of them moved in, a loose shell encircling him.
Jason rolled his shoulders, breathed out slowly. 'Seventeen. Should be fun'.
The first charge came in like a wave. Jason spun, chopping an elbow hard into a gut, grabbed the boy's collar, and flung him into another attacker. He put his shoulder into the momentum and toppled two at once. A third raised a club that Jason met with his forearm, absorbed the blow, and countered with a headbutt that dropped the kid like a felled tree.
Two more rushed him at once. Jason intercepted the first's jab with a palm-heel block, redirecting the arm. He dropped low, swept the second's lead leg with a clean reap, and used the momentum to slam the first attacker face-first into the dirt. He moved like a machine, efficient, economical. No flourish, no wasted energy: eye strikes, rib rakes, joint manipulations. A shoulder lock here, a groin strike there. Hard hits that ended fights fast.
A girl lunged at him hard, furious and reckless. He vaulted over two boys who'd tried to tackle him, landing behind her. She swung a fist at his back; he turned, slapped her hand away with a single open-palm strike that left her blinking and off-balance, then swept her feet from under her with a boot to the shin. She hit the ground on her back and didn't get up.
Someone came at him with a broken pipe. He read the windup, grabbed the pipe mid-swing and twisted it out of the attacker's hands. With a motion no one expected from the calm man in front of them he slammed the butt of the pipe into Murphy's chest hard, sending Murphy sprawling into the mud, coughing and stunned.
The ring of attackers tightened and then dissolved to a scatter of moans and groans; one by one they hit the ground, too winded, too stunned, or too broken to keep coming. Jason's breathing was steady. He cast a glance over the field of bodies of the kids sprawled, trying to crawl, clutching bruised ribs, bleeding noses and split lips.
He exhaled, tossed the pipe aside like it was trash. "Anyone else?" he asked.
Silence. Only the wind moved.
He walked slowly through the wreckage of the fight, looking at faces that had minutes ago been shouting for blood and now avoided his eyes. "This," he said to them as if reading a lesson aloud, "is what happens when you let chaos lead. You think this makes you strong? Beating on one another? No. It makes you exactly what the Grounders want… weak."
He planted one boot on Murphy's chest, pinned him down with effortless weight. Murphy coughed, eyes full of hate. "You done?"
Murphy spat. "You think this changes anything?"
Jason leaned in, voice low and hard as broken glass. "No, Murphy. I know it does."
He stepped off, looked at the ring of breathing, shamefaced teenagers, and gave one command. "Get them out of here."
As he turned to leave, he muttered under his breath, "Seventeen against one… pathetic." He stepped toward the tent. then stopped.
Bellamy sat up groggy, clutching his jaw. "Your boy smacked you good." Jason didn't say much. He kept looking. The tent's occupants Finn, Clarke, Charlotte were gone.
"Charlotte? Finn? Clarke?" Jason's voice cut the open air. Bellamy blinked, confused and sore. Jason's face tightened.
"They're gone," he said flatly. "Finn and Clarke along with Charlotte too."
"Gone?" Bellamy pushed himself up, then hissed. "Where—"
Jason didn't wait to answer. 'I'm going after them.' He spun on his heel and sprinted, following fresh tracks that led out past the cooking fires and into the trees. Octavia's shout died at his heels. "Where the hell are you going?"
"After them," he snapped. "Before that stupid girl does something really stupid."
They ran. The trail zigged through underbrush and over fallen trunks. The tracks blurred after a while. Finn always covered his prints well and Jason slowed to a stop, scanning the soft earth. He looked left, then right.
'If there's one thing about Finn I like, he thought, it's that he can cover a track well'. He frowned. He felt the irritation building in him: reckless kids, an already shattered camp, and now missing charges on top of an attempted lynching.
Hours passed. Night came on like a lid. Jason still followed and at one point he thought he heard Murphy call: "Come out, Charlotte! You can't hide from me!" A cold wash of regret hit him. He should've knocked Murphy senseless when he had the chance, should've taken the easy way. Instead he'd let the mob manage the beating, and now it might cost a life.
A torchlight glinted through the trees then Murphy caught up and was hunting, spitting for blood. Jason moved and then saw Bellamy running, Charlotte pressed against his side, Murphy's group slogging behind with torches carving light into the dark.
"Speak of the devil," Jason muttered, and sprang after them.
They ran to the cliff without warning, it was an old, jagged break in the ridge where the ground fell away into a broken gorge. A memory hit Jason, sudden and sharp: he knew this spot. He'd seen it in a half-remembered clip of the show and his mouth went dry.
Bellamy had Charlotte sheltering behind him like he was the world's only shield. "I'm not giving her up, Jason," Bellamy snarled, voice broken with exhaustion.
"I'm not handing her over to that blood-thirsty cockroach either," Jason said flat, stepping between Bellamy and Murphy as Murphy's gang formed up, torches chewing the air. Murphy raised his voice. "Give her to me, Bellamy! You know she killed Wells!"
One of Murphy's boys shifted to make a move. Jason's eyes focused on him and the kid stopped, frozen because Jason had that look he never wasted. Then Clarke and Finn stumbled into view, breathless.
"Enough, Murphy please!" Clarke's voice cracked. She ran forward, hands up.
Jason felt something in him colder than the night. He looked at Clarke.
"You can stop this," she begged, eyes huge. "She's just a kid, she didn't know—"
Jason's face went hard. "Charlotte stabbed Wells in the throat. That's not a mistake or self-defense. That's murder. There are consequences."
He turned toward Charlotte. Bellamy's pleading changed the air as he was almost ready to rip Murphy apart, "no," he said quietly. "She won't be killed."
Charlotte's tiny voice trembled. "Please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to please make it end."
The words hit like knives. Jason saw something raw and human in her, and for the first time the anger sagged and the responsibility settled heavy in his chest. Then Charlotte shrieked and bolted leaping over the cliff's edge.
"Charlotte!" Bellamy lunged, arms reaching but he couldn't catch her. Jason didn't think; he jumped.
For a second everything went slow with the wind screaming in his ears, toes scrabbling for rock. Jason's hand found the jagged lip and latched on. He dangled with one arm, the other hooked around Charlotte, raw fingers burning as he pulled her back toward the ledge. Bellamy hauled her up; Jason hauled himself up after them, lungs burning.
He spat mud from his mouth and straightened, heart thudding. "Stupid idiot," he muttered, more at himself than anyone.
They turned, and Murphy stepped forward to say something but Jason closed the distance in two long strides and punched him across the throat so hard Murphy staggered, retching. "I should kill you," Jason hissed.
"Jason, no!" Clarke cried, running up.
"No?" Jason spat, voice low and dangerous. "Clarke, he marched a crowd and almost got a kid killed. You want to tell me again this is just 'what'?" His chest heaved. The whole camp had teetered toward becoming predators, blood in their eyes. He wasn't going to be the one to let them eat themselves.
Bellamy, still trembling, pushed himself up and spat, "He deserves death."
Murphy began to plead and then yelp as Bellamy's raw, fury propelled him and he slugged him. Clarke grabbed Bellamy's arm, begging for calm. Jason rounded and looked at her.
"What would you suggest?" he asked, not gentle.
"Banish him," she said, voice small. "We cast him out. If he ever returns—"
Bellamy finished for her, voice flat and hard. "We kill him."
They left Murphy and all went back to the dropship. When the 100 had gathered. Jason stood before them and posed the question they all wanted to shout answers to.
"What should be done about Charlotte?"
Shouts rose. "Kill her!" "Hang the killer!" The mob lust for justice sounded disturbingly like celebration. Clarke tried to speak but the crowd drowned her words with its own rage. A lady brought out a raw-made whip of braided rope and leather, swinging its promise of pain through the air. Jason watched the whip, the upraised faces, the gleam of torches.
He walked to the woman holding the lash and, without a pause, took it from her fingers. He closed his hand around the rough braid and felt the crowd's hunger like a physical thing. Charlotte sat in the dirt nearby, tears carving clean tracks through grime, small and shivering.
Bellamy's eyes pleaded at him: 'don't let them hurt her'. Clarke's entire body said the same thing in her silence. Jason's hands shook a fraction as he held the whip and looked at Charlotte, at the blood on his own hands from the earlier fight, at the graves that had multiplied.
'Consequences', he thought. 'There has to be consequences'.
"Charlotte, for your crime of taking the life of Wells Jaha," Jason's voice carried over the crowd, heavy with exhaustion but sharp with conviction. "You will not be banished. For that crime…" He paused, jaw tightening as the murmurs rose. "I sentence you to ten lashes."
Gasps rippled through the camp like a wave. Bellamy's face twisted in disbelief.
"Come on, man! Jason she's just a kid!" he shouted, lunging forward before two delinquents grabbed him by the arms, holding him back.
"Hold him," Jason ordered flatly, his voice devoid of emotion even as his insides churned.
"Jason! Leave her alone! Take me instead, please! I'll do anything you want!" Bellamy's voice cracked with desperation, his struggle growing violent.
Jason turned his eyes toward him, calm but cold. "Would you say the same if it was Octavia lying dead instead of Wells?"
Bellamy froze. His mouth opened but no sound came out. He looked away, his jaw trembling.
Jason exhaled quietly, then turned to the trembling girl standing before him. "Charlotte."
"Charlotte, Charlotte. Just look at me, okay? I'm here," Bellamy said, forcing his voice steady despite the tears forming in his eyes.
"I'm scared," she sobbed.
"I know. But it'll be over soon. Just look at me, I'm right here," Bellamy whispered, fighting back his own breakdown.
Jason walked behind her, whip coiled in hand. The camp was silent, the kind of silence that pressed on your chest. He unrolled the whip and the faint hiss of the leather echoed through the clearing. He could see her shoulders trembling violently.
For a moment, doubt crawled through him. His fingers felt foreign, as if they didn't belong to him. He looked at Clarke as she stood beside Finn, her jaw tight.
Then Octavia stepped forward. "Let me do it, Jason," she said softly. The entire camp went still again.
Jason's eyes flickered to her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Then, quietly, he shook his head. "I passed the sentence," he said. "I'll carry it out."
Octavia stepped back reluctantly. Jason turned to face Charlotte again, the whip loose in his left hand. He forced his muscles to relax. He needed to be careful not to break her, not to destroy what little innocence she had left.
With a swift, practiced motion, the whip cracked sharp and clean and struck her back.
Charlotte screamed, the sound cutting through everyone present like a blade.
"One," Jason counted silently. He didn't flinch.
"Stop!" someone cried from the crowd.
The whip cracked again. "Two."
Each lash landed lighter than the one before, but to the onlookers it made no difference. The pain in Charlotte's cries was unbearable.
By the sixth, Jason's hand was trembling. His vision blurred. He could hear Bellamy screaming a wordless, guttural rage. Clarke turned away, unable to watch.
"Stop it! It's enough!" Bellamy shouted as he thrashed against the ones restraining him.
Jason didn't look. "Seven." The crack rang again.
"Let her go, Jason! Please, let her go!" Bellamy's voice broke, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face.
"Eight," Jason whispered, his voice barely audible.
"You're killing her!" Bellamy screamed.
"Nine."
He lifted the whip one last time, his whole arm numb.
"Ten," he breathed, and the whip fell limp from his hand. He stood motionless for a long moment before saying quietly,
"Let Bellamy go. That's enough for today. That's… enough."
He turned, hollow-eyed, and walked away without looking back. "Take her Clarke," he said.
Bellamy stumbled free and ran to Charlotte's side. "Charlotte… you're alright. You're alright," he whispered, his voice breaking as Clarke rushed forward.
"Let's go," Clarke said firmly, already assessing the damage. They carried Charlotte to the med section of the dropship.
——————-
Inside, Clarke laid out a tarp disinfected with Jasper's moonshine. Octavia hovered beside her looking pale.
Bellamy lowered Charlotte gently, her shredded jacket sticking to her back with dried blood.
Even with Jason holding back, her shirt and jacket were in tatters. Ten clean lashes marked across her back like fire.
Finn entered with a bowl of water. "Oh, so now you care huh?" he muttered bitterly, dropping it down.
"Can we not, right now, Finn?" Octavia said, voice tight.
Clarke carefully cut away the fabric. The sight drew a quiet gasp from her. "Jesus," Octavia whispered.
"You wanted to do it," Clarke reminded her sharply. "You think she'd be in less pain?"
"Yes," Octavia said bitterly. "Because at least then she'd know someone did it with compassion."
Clarke didn't respond immediately. She soaked a rag in alcohol and pressed it gently against Charlotte's back as the girl whimpered in her unconscious state.
"It's not fair," Octavia murmured. "She lost her parents, she lost everything."
Clarke froze mid-motion, her expression hardening. "I buried my best friend, Octavia. I watched him choke on his own blood and now I'm treating his killer. Whether I like it or not doesn't matter."
Octavia fell silent, her eyes welling.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Clarke sighed, softening slightly. "He let her keep her jacket on," she said after a moment. "It helped cushion the blows. And he used his off-hand." Clarke paused, stitching a wound carefully. "He went easy on her. If he hadn't… she'd be dead. Tell Bellamy that."
Octavia just nodded quietly.
"I want to believe there was a better way," Clarke said softly after a moment. "But part of me… part of me feels relieved. And that scares me."
—————-
Outside, Jason sat crouched behind the tent, staring at his hands.
A single tear fell. He'd heard every word from Clarke and Octavia. The whip still burned in his palm, even though it wasn't there.
Heavy Footsteps approached. He looked up and saw Bellamy with a bruised face, eyes wild with fury.
"I'm not in the mood, Bellamy," Jason said tiredly.
"Oh, that's rich." Bellamy's voice was venom. "You've got some nerve coming here."
Jason stood, sighing. "I'm checking on Charlotte. Seeing if Clarke needs help."
"She doesn't need your help," Bellamy hissed.
"Neither does Clarke," Finn added coldly, stepping into view.
Jason's eyes flicked between them. The two angry boys trying to play men. "You're really going to do this? Right now?" he asked, deadpan.
"Yeah. I'm doing this. Right here. Right now," Bellamy said, storming forward.
"I'm warning you, Bellamy. Stop."
Bellamy ignored him, swinging wide. Jason rolled his eyes, sidestepped, and landed a light punch to Bellamy's gut, doubling him over. A quick knee to the face dropped him cold.
Before he could even exhale, a punch cracked against his cheek. Jason didn't move, he had seen the fist and he let it hit. Finn stood before him, trembling, breathing hard.
"You too, huh?" Jason said quietly.
"Alright then."
He surged forward. Two lightning-fast punches struck Finn's ribs, then an uppercut that sent him sprawling to the ground. Finn gasped, the world spinning.
Bellamy tackled Jason from behind, and both hit the dirt. Jason's legs snaked around his neck, twisting and flipping Bellamy onto his back. Jason rose with effortless control and dropped an elbow into his temple. Bellamy went limp.
Jason turned toward Finn, who was trying to rise. "Stay the fuck down, Finn."
"Fuck you," Finn wheezed.
Jason planted his boot on the back of his head. "I could crush your skull right now and no one would stop me," he said coldly. "But I get it Finn, emotions are high. So I'm going to let it go. Do you understand me?"
"Y-yes!" Finn gasped, trembling.
Jason removed his foot and sighed.
Octavia watched from the shadows as he passed.
"Take your brother to his tent," Jason said without looking back.
Octavia knelt beside Bellamy. "Bell…" she whispered as she dragged him back to camp.
Jason reached the entrance of the dropship and looked down at his wristband. The faint green light blinked.
He pressed it to see what why it was blinking, till it came right off of his hand.
'Monty?'
"The rest is up to you now, Ark," he muttered softly.
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