Disclaimer – I own nothing.

A.N. – So, Bellarke is killing me slowly, and I'm having a horror of a time trying to write my next chapter for The Devil's Backbone, and so this is where I land. I always wondered what would have happened if Bellamy had believed Murphy when he said that he wasn't the one to kill Wells. Well, we're all about to find out. Note: THIS STORY BEGINS DURING SEASON 1, EPISODE 4 "MURPHY'S LAW." **SERIOUSLY SLOW BURN BELLARKE**

The Garden of Blood

By LoverGurrl411

/I'm just a step away, I'm just a breath away, losin' my faith today (Fallin' off the edge today)

I am just a man, not superhuman (I'm not superhuman)

Someone save me from the hate.

It's just another war, just another family torn (falling from my faith today)

Just a step from the edge, just another day in the world we live.

I need a hero to save me now…a hero will save me (just in time)

-Hero, Skillet

Chapter 1 – Every Story Has Its Scars

Don't overreact. Don't overreact. But dammit, he wants to. Bellamy wants to shake Clarke until her head rattles and her teeth smash together and sees finally, finally sees reason. But he doesn't.

He watches as she goes outside the tent and confronts Murphy in front of the hundred. The hundred that are left. Murphy glances at him, denial on his lips. Hope in his eyes.

Bellamy wishes he could look away, but he has to be strong. He has to be worse so he can be the leader they need. What a load of shit, he tries to tell himself but he can't deny the proof in Clarke's hands.

And like a volcano erupting, Murphy's on the ground. Murphy's bleeding, and his blood drips all over the floor. Pain is messy. It's so fucking messy, and Bellamy can't move. In a blink they've all moved deeper into the woods.

"You can stop this!" Clarke yells at him, but she's pleading with her eyes as they string him up. Everything's happening so fast. Too fast. Faster than either of them can think. "They'll listen to you!"

"This is on you, Princess!" Bellamy can't help but yell back, anger lacing his words. This is all her fault. If she would have simply listened everyone would still be building the wall.

There's so much blood on Murphy's face that he's barely recognizable. But the hope in his eyes still shine bright. There's so much damn hope that his leader will save him. Hope that his leader won't abandon him. Hope that his blind faith in Bellamy is substantiated by this moment and he won't forsake him.

But can Bellamy be that type of leader? Can he stand between Murphy and an angry crowd? Is he willing to stand up for someone who isn't his sister or his responsibility? But he made them his responsibility when he silently took charge, didn't he?

The blood drips onto the ground in little pit pats that no one hears. The crowd chanting Bellamy's name is too loud, too boisterous, too overwhelming. Yet, in those pits and pats of Murphy's blood there's a salvation. There's a hope inside of himself that tells Bellamy that he can be that type of leader if only he would try.

He feels his body move before he can register and suddenly he's in front of Murphy's body, the same body that's barely hanging on. Murphy's trying to yell and plead at him that he didn't do this, but it's muffled by the gag. Bellamy understands anyway. Bellamy hears him and nods. He nods so slightly that only Clarke and Murphy notice and the relief in Murphy's eyes is so intense that Bellamy looks away as he cuts him down in one swift motion with the ax in his hands.

Silence.

"You're all my people," Bellamy looks around at the crowd. He doesn't need to yell. They all hear him as though he were shouting at the top of his lungs. "My people, and I'll need a helluva lot more than a bloody knife with initials to willingly hang any of you."

His words are simple, but passionate. More passionate than anything any of them had heard him say yet. All the speeches he'd given up until now had been riddled with self-importance. A sense of empowerment through his elevation. But not this. Not this. Not now, when the life of one of their own is at stake. And it matters.

There's approval in his sister's eyes, but he can't stand it. He let Murphy be hung, even if he did cut him down. He could have easily decided to kick the stand away instead of cutting the rope. He could have easily been a monster. Heck, maybe he still is one.

But his eyes land on Charlotte. Her frail young face filled with tear tracks. Her haunted eyes, filled with guilt, and Bellamy knows. She goes to speak, to make public her shame, but Bellamy can't let her. He shakes his head 'no' at her, but she speaks anyway. She speaks because she's too young to understand the subtle nuances of looks and slight shakes of head like the one Bellamy just gave her. She speaks and her words cut something inside of him.

No. Not her. Not innocent Charlotte with so many demons.

But the words are out there. The tension is in the air. Bellamy can feel the anger rising in the silence trying to battle the confusion.

He moves like a panther, he's so swift, as he comes upon her, and silently drags Charlotte away before anyone can move. Finn, Clarke, and surprisingly Murphy aren't far behind him. Everyone else follows, slightly confused and wary, to wait outside of Bellamy's tent.

Time is moving too fast. He can't stop it and he can't stop the words that are out of his mouth once he's inside of the tent, away from prying ears. "Why Charlotte?"

"I was just trying to slay my demons just like you told me," Charlotte responds, a cry for help not far from her lips.

Slay my demons. Slay my demons. Slay my demons. Bellamy feels like his chest is caving in on him. There's a pressure that tries to crush him—the same pressure he felt the moment he shot Jaha. This is all my fault.

"What the hell is she talking about?" Clarke glares at him, but he sees past that. He sees the anger she has at herself. She accused the wrong person. She could have gotten the wrong person killed. But this is still my fault.

"She misunderstood me," Bellamy tries to explain himself. He hopes she understands. He hopes, and there's a desperation to his hand movement and eyes that speaks volumes. "Charlotte, that's not what I meant."

Murphy doesn't speak. He can't speak. Slay my demons. That was Charlotte's reason, and he can't even blame her. It seems as good a reason as any to kill another human being. Heck, it's probably a better reason than most have. Better than power, or money, or love. Slay my demons. Wells represented everything that haunted her. Wells represented everything that haunted every one of the one hundred. He represented his father.

"Bring the girl out now, Bellamy!" someone roars in rage. But they're not angry at Charlotte for killing Wells. Not really. They're just angry, and Charlotte's an easy target. Murphy gets that. He understands more than he would ever care to admit.

That could have been him. If Bellamy hadn't saved him…if he had been disillusioned of his leader…that voice yelling to be heard and witnessed and valued full of fury could have been him.

"We can't let them have her," Murphy's voice is raspy but strong. The blood on his face makes him look like a monster. He feels like a monster. He feels hopeless, but he can do something about that. He can make sure that the rage inside of the mob won't get Charlotte. He can try.

"If any of you have any bright ideas, now's the time," Bellamy inquires in frustration.

They don't say anything. They can't say anything. So they look away, unable to bear the burden of looking Bellamy in the eye after causing this. If they'd listened to him then everyone would still be building the wall. Murphy understands their shame, too, but they're not a little girl. He can't find it in himself to empathize with their plight.

Charlotte pleads for Bellamy to not let them hurt her. She pleads and begs, and it rips at Clarke. It rips at her, though she can't help it because she's silently pleading for him to fix this, too. She defied him, so sure that she was in the right and that the people have a right to know. But this wasn't the ark. Their people weren't stable. Their people didn't function like the ark the same way Bellamy and her didn't function like the council. I should have known better.

Shame tries to eat at her as Bellamy bends at the knees and looks Charlotte in the eyes and reassures her. He reassures her that everything is gonna be okay, but Clarke isn't so sure. Not anymore. Not after she had seen what the worst of them were capable of. Not after she realized how little she could trust her own judgement.

But Bellamy doesn't hesitate. He sends Charlotte with Clarke and Finn, to run. To run and never stop running until he finds a way to save her. He doesn't say it, but as he looks at Clarke, she sees the promise in his eyes. He sees the fear in her. They never stop to contemplate if Charlotte has it in her to run forever. They never stop to contemplate if Clarke has it in her to shelter Wells' killer.

Murphy stays behind with Bellamy, ready to back his leader. Ready to back the man who cut him down. Ready to swear to never let him down, but nothing ever goes as planned. Bellamy in true Bellamy-fashion doesn't discuss his game plan—not quite sure if he even has one, himself— and instead comes out of the tent with sharp words on his tongue.

"Where is she, Bellamy?" the one with the rage asks. Murphy can't remember for the life of him his name, and it doesn't matter. Not really. Not when he's asking for a little girls head. Not when he could be Murphy so easily. He's the mirror-Murphy, and something claws at Murphy's chest to realize it.

"Dial it down, and back up," Bellamy commands. Without meaning to the one who isn't Murphy, but is, does as told.

Bellamy senses the difference, but it doesn't last. Nothing ever lasts on the ground. Before Murphy can react, the Mirror-Murphy is demanding justice, and spewing about the princess wanting rules and trying to build a society, and it's all too much. It's all too much and Mirror-Murphy attacks Bellamy with a wooden club. It's all too much and Murphy swings his ax without thinking. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted to tell the Mirror-Murphy that Bellamy will fix this. That Bellamy can fix anything.

But there's so much blood. There's so much silence. There's so many stares. He looks to Bellamy, wondering if now he will be hung. He's so sure that Bellamy can't fix this; he can't rescue him from something he did do.

Pit. Pat. The Mirror-Murphy's blood spills on the ground. Bellamy can't look away, until his sister whispers his name. It reminds him of when she was a little girl hiding under the floor board, scared of the dark. Screw you, I'm not afraid. So he looks up into the sea of teenagers, some barely twelve and thirteen. He sees their eyes filled with fear and he understands that if they don't replace their fear with courage and strength, they're never going to survive.

But he's not afraid. He's not afraid, and he hopes that they can feed from his strength. He looks to Murphy, and there's a resignation in his eyes that he refuses to accept. No. Because Murphy's his people, too.

Miller stands, hands at his side, beanie hat in place, heart beating a mile a minute. He feels the crowd, he is a part of the crowd, and they all feel the same way—conflicted. That boy, that boy that now lays dead, he had a name. He probably had a family on the Ark and a girl or maybe a boy that he liked. That boy had a life but his rage had overtaken him and he had asked for a little girl's head.

Miller wants to feel bad for him, but Murphy might have just saved Charlotte's life. Murphy might have just saved Bellamy's life. If Murphy can find it in him to protect the reason why he was almost killed, then how could he judge the ax that fell from his hands?

Miller doesn't think he can, and no one else seems to think so either because no one comes to the dead boy's defense. No one speaks, waiting to take their cue from their leader. But all Bellamy does is clap Murphy's shoulder once and look at the crowd with eyes a thousand years old…but fearless.

Miller sees what they all see—acceptance that sometimes the monstrous decision is the right choice. A few people in the crowd move forward to grab the body, other's to build a pyre.

"We need to find Charlotte and Clarke. I sent them away," Bellamy says gruffly, his voice tangled with emotions. Miller nods, along with so many others, but no one speaks because they're tangled with emotions, too.

"Took you long enough, earlier, but…thanks," Murphy says in that snarky way of his. Snark masks the self-loathing and pain.

"Yea, well, you needed to learn a lesson," Bellamy lies while telling the truth simultaneously. "Being a jackass, pissing on people—yea, I saw that—isn't gaining you any favors around here."

"I'm an ass. It's who I am," Murphy looks away, a little lost and a little stubborn. Bellamy sees him clearly, and understands in a way that he wishes he didn't.

"You don't have to change who you are, but something's gotta give." Bellamy claps him on the back in comfort and brotherhood, and something more that neither can define…but it helps them walk on.

They search, all the hundred left, yelling out Charlotte's name. But Clarke, Finn, and Charlotte don't know that it's safe. They don't know that the situation has been fixed with blood and life. And so they try to outrun them. But Clarke can't bear to touch Charlotte's hand. She can't bear to look Charlotte in the eye knowing that she is a killer. A murderer. Innocent, little Charlotte. Tears fall from Charlotte's eyes in shame and despair, but Clarke can't find it in her to comfort her. Charlotte doesn't blame her.

Finally, finally they hear Bellamy's voice among the crowd. They stop. Hope springs in their chest. Charlotte knew Bellamy would fix everything. She knew it, and her faith in him is like the brightest star in the sky.

"What happened?" Clarke asks without preamble. Her hands shake but she focuses on Bellamy. His eyes. The blood splatter on his face and neck that hadn't been there before.

"It's safe now," Bellamy says, but a small crowd forms behind him and distracts his gaze.

"What happened?" Clarke pushes. She always pushes, and Bellamy hates and respects her for it.

"The kid's dead," Bellamy looks at little Charlotte with tears in her eyes. "It's safe."

Charlotte wants to rage and yell that she didn't want people dying over her. She had only wanted to slay her demons. She had only wanted to stop the nightmare. The endless nightmare. The endless cycle of death and hauntings. But her words aren't fast enough, and Clarke lashes out at the boy-man she sees as a demon. The boy-man who Clarke had been so sure would fix everything, even though she would never admit it. But this hadn't been what Clarke wanted. Not this way.

"We don't decide who lives and dies! Not down here!"

Her words pierce Bellamy deeply, and his breath slows. The world sets into slow motion for a second, and for that moment he despises her. He despises her because she stands righteous on a pedestal, screaming for action but then judging the only action available. Murphy hadn't had a choice.

Maybe Charlotte hadn't had a choice either. Slay your demons. And she had. She had slain her demons, and survived, and damn it all to hell if he isn't proud of her in some twisted way.

"You weren't there, Princess. You don't get to judge!" Bellamy reacts, no one noticing that he missed a beat. Finn backs Clarke up, the moral high ground his permanent resting place. People yell in the background, defending their leader, defending their own inaction.

"I know that this isn't who we are! This isn't what we do. We need rules! We can't just kill each other. We can't just live by whatever the hell we want."

"Stop!" Charlotte screams and suddenly Bellamy realizes that they're all too close to the edge. "Just stop fighting! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry that I killed Wells, and I'm sorry that someone else died because of me…I don't want anyone else dying because of me."

The silence is too heavy. His body is too slow. Bellamy and Clarke lock eyes; they understand the intent before their brains can consciously comprehend, their bodies react, hands outstretched, the word "no!" on their lips.

But it's too late. Charlotte's body is weightless like innocence and joy and everything good in the world before it crumbles. Charlotte's body falls like rain from the sky, and they can't breathe. They feel this pain like ten thousand volts of lightning, and there's so much to say but no one says anything at all.

Grief is heavy, too, like silence, and grips too tight. Everyone stands, unsure what to do. They wait. They wait for Bellamy, the rebel leader. They wait for Clarke, the beacon of reason. They wait for the loudest voices in the hundred to say something.

But Bellamy knows if he speaks first he'll blame her. He'll rage like the largest storm. But this is on both of them. They weren't fast enough, or sure enough. They weren't good enough.

Maybe if the mirror-Murphy hadn't died, then Bellamy could have blamed him. Bellamy would have beat him into the ground with the sheer force of his anger, and then done something to appease his conscious. But there is no one left to blame. Just himself. Just Clarke. Just them, and their grieving souls.

One look into Clarke's eyes, and Bellamy knows he doesn't have the will to break her down even further. Two souls lost tonight is enough.

"We need rules," Clarke whispers hollowly, as if the reason and logic behind those words are the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he responds bitterly, a sure bite attached. His rage runs too deep. His apathy towards her have reached new heights. A little girl is dead and Clarke wants to discuss rules and leadership. He shakes his head, understanding comes to him unbidden; rules are her escape. It's the only way she feels she can fix this horrible situation. "And who makes those rules, huh? You?"

"For now, we do," she doesn't break eye contact. Neither does he. But the shuffle of feet behind them remind them that others are waiting for his cue. They're waiting for their leader to tell them how to deal with tragedy.

He doesn't have an answer for them. He can barely deal with the tragedy in his own heart. So, instead of answers he offers them reprieve. "Get back to camp, and get some rest. We'll search for her body tomorrow at daybreak."

No one works on the wall that night. They're defenseless, but they'll be free of the horror facing them worse than any obstacle on Earth yet: the realization that they all had a hand in an innocent girl's death…an innocent girl that wasn't so innocent…and the fact that no one is quite sure whether or not that makes them all a little bit of a monster.

Sooo? How was it? Like it? Hate it? Let me know and Review!