Fredozy
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Chapter 13: Murderer
🕑 Added 2025-10-11 12:46:26 +0000 UTCJason couldn't sleep.
No matter how many times he turned over in the tent, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that it had been mercy that he had ended suffering and not simply ended a life, his thoughts refused to quiet. The weight of what he'd done pressed against his ribs like a vice. Killing, even in the name of compassion, still left blood on your hands.
He rubbed a tired hand across his face and finally pushed himself up. A few of the others sitting by the fire offered him a quiet greeting as he stepped out, but he only gave them a polite nod and kept walking.
The graves lay just outside the camp's walls. The fifth, newly filled, still bore the freshness of turned soil. Flowers that Clarke had planted the day before rested neatly at its base.
Clarke was there now, kneeling in front of the grave, her hands resting on her thighs, her eyes fixed on the petals that swayed with the faint breeze.
Jason slowed his pace. There was something about the way she looked right now, quiet, unguarded that reminded him of the fragility of all this.
Before he could say anything, Finn's voice broke the silence.
"Uhh… guys?"
Both Clarke and Jason spun around. Finn was walking toward them, hands raised slightly as if to show he wasn't a threat. Clarke's reflexes kicked in immediately as she drew her knife and squared her shoulders.
Jason blinked and said simply, "Just now," answering the question she hadn't finished asking.
Finn stopped a few paces away, eyebrows raised. "You guys shouldn't be outside the wall. What if I was a Grounder?"
Jason gave him a faint, tired smile. "You know it wouldn't matter."
"Against you? Yeah, no argument there." Finn returned the grin for half a second before it faded. "Still, not smart to be out here."
"Says the guy who just spent another night wandering through the woods," Clarke said, folding her arms.
"I'm reckless," Finn said easily. "And irresponsible. You two aren't."
Jason snorted softly but said nothing as Finn reached into his back pocket and produced a small colored pencil, handing it to Clarke.
Her eyes widened. "Where did you get this?"
Finn shrugged, turning to leave. "Art supply store."
Jason arched an eyebrow, and Clarke looked down at the pencil like it was a fragment of another world.
"Art's something you’re into?" Jason asked.
"Yeah…" Clarke said softly, her voice dipping into memory. "When we were kids, Wells used to give me ink, charcoal, anything I could draw with. I found out later he'd been trading his stuff for it. He didn't even want me to know."
Jason smiled faintly at that. For a brief moment, he could almost feel the warmth that must've come with that friendship before everything went wrong.
But Clarke's smile faded, her eyes clouding. "He let me hate him. So I wouldn't hate my mother."
Jason's gaze softened. "He didn't hate you, Clarke. Believe me. He was just… content knowing you still had your mom. That you weren't alone."
Her jaw tightened. "My mother killed my father."
Before Jason could say anything, Finn stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. Jason rolled his eyes skyward. ‘Of course he would’.
"I just wish there was something I could do," Clarke murmured into Finn's chest. "To tell her I know. Make her feel what I'm…"
She pulled away suddenly and started walking back toward the dropship.
"What are you doing?" Jason called after her.
"Taking off my wristband," she said flatly, disappearing inside.
Finn turned to Jason, who only shrugged. "Honestly? I think that's a fair punishment for her mom," Jason muttered before glancing back at the graves one last time.
Then, without another word, he turned and jogged toward the treeline.
—————————-
The forest was quiet, save for the occasional crack of twigs underfoot and the rhythmic hum of insects. Jason's thoughts wandered as he moved through the undergrowth. ‘Things had been… stable lately. As stable as things could be in this place’.
As long as no one did anything stupid.
That was when he heard a sound that didn't belong. It was a wet and ragged. Like someone gasping through water.
Jason froze, instincts kicking in, and sprinted toward it.
He broke through the brush and stopped cold.
Wells lay there, crumpled on the forest floor, one hand reaching toward him and it was bloody, mangled, fingers missing.
"No, no, no—" Jason dropped to his knees and pressed his hands against Wells's throat. Blood poured between his fingers.
"Wells! Shit, hold on, man!" He looked around desperately for anything like fabric, moss, anything to stop the bleeding before turning his focus back to the boy's face.
"Fuck. It's alright, buddy, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." His voice was shaking, breaths coming fast.
Wells tried to speak. "Ja… son…"
"Don't talk! Just—" Jason lifted him carefully, tucking his arms beneath Wells's shoulders. "We're almost there, Clarke's gonna patch you up, just don't close your eyes, okay? Stay with me!"
He ran, sprinting through the forest like a man possessed, the world blurring around him as he crashed through the brush. The camp walls came into sight with the guards shouting, running to meet him.
Clarke was there the moment he burst through.
"What happened?!" she screamed, her eyes widened as she saw the blood.
"I don't know!" Jason barked, rushing into the dropship.
"Was it Grounders?" she demanded, following.
Jason shook his head. "If they wanted him dead, he'd be dead. They wouldn't have been this sloppy." He remembered the signs lately, the rustle of unseen eyes watching from the woods. But he didn't say that out loud.
Clarke grabbed a cloth, pressing it to the wound. "Maybe if I can just—"
Wells convulsed once… and went still.
"Wells?" Jason whispered, pressing two fingers to the boy's wrist. No pulse. Nothing.
"Jason." Clarke reached for him, but he shrugged her off and started chest compressions.
"Jason, stop! Please! Just stop!"
He froze. The sound of her voice broke something inside him.
"He's gone," Clarke whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Jason looked at Wells, at the boy's open eyes and swallowed hard. Moving like a machine, he tore a piece of cloth from the table and laid it gently over Wells's face.
Then, without warning, he grabbed a metal plate and hurled it with everything he had. The sound of it cutting through the air was like thunder. It embedded itself into a tree just outside camp, inches from one of the guards' heads.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jason slumped to the ground, back against the wall, staring at the covered body. "I'm so sorry, Wells," he whispered.
When he finally looked up, Clarke was still standing there, broken. He stepped forward, placed a trembling hand on her shoulder, and pulled her into a brief, wordless hug.
"I'll… give you the room," he said quietly. "But when you're done… come by my tent. We need to talk."
He turned away, picking up the bloodied weapon near the table, the one that had killed Wells and stepped out into the dim morning light.
———————
The air inside the tent felt heavier than usual, thick with the smell of earth, sweat, and quiet dread. A group of teenagers stood around a small makeshift table. Jason, Bellamy, Clarke, Octavia, and Jasper.
Jason handed the bloodstained shiv across to Bellamy. The older boy turned it in his hands, examining the rough handle and chipped edge.
"This is from the ship," Bellamy muttered, recognizing the crude design immediately.
He passed it to Clarke, who hesitated before touching it. The sight of the dried blood made her stomach churn.
"Who knows about this?" Bellamy asked.
"No one," Jason said, rubbing his brow tiredly.
"Not yet, you mean," Octavia added with quiet tension.
"So… there's a murderer in camp?" Jasper asked, his voice uncertain but steady.
Bellamy's answer came sharp and cold.
"There's a lot of murderers in camp. This isn't news. We keep this quiet."
Then Clarke froze. Her eyes caught the faintly etched initials near the base of the hilt JM. She looked up at Jason, disbelief in her expression.
"We need to tell people," Clarke said firmly.
Jason's head turned toward her, his expression unreadable.
"Not yet."
That answer hit her like a slap.
"Are you serious?"
Jason met her gaze, his tone low but sharp.
"Do you even know what you're doing? This will cause chaos, Clarke. First suspicion, then paranoia and before long, they'll be turning on each other just because someone looked at them wrong. Is that what you want?"
But Clarke shook her head. She couldn't or wouldn't see his point. She turned for the exit, only to find Bellamyblocking her path.
"Get out of my way, Bellamy," she said dangerously.
Jason frowned. He knew where this was headed.
"Be smart about this," Bellamy said, his voice calmer than usual. "You heard Jason. Look what we've built the walls, the patrols. And if I'm agreeing with him, that should tell you something. In the meantime, Wells's death…"
He hesitated.
"…it's made the others work harder. They're scared. They're focused. The threat of the Grounders is real, Clarke."
Clarke's voice cracked with anger.
"That's what you care about? Fear? Control?"
Jason's voice cut through the tension.
"No. What I care about is keeping this place from tearing itself apart. We'll find who did it. They'll face trial before us, they'll be punished, but not like this Clarke this will only bring disorder."
Clarke's hand tightened around the knife.
"We know who did it. His name is on the blade."
Jason exhaled slowly.
"JM, John Murphy. But that blade could've been stolen. We don't know. And if we get this wrong, if we accuse an innocent man, we lose everything we've built. This unity is fragile, one spark and it burns."
But Clarke wasn't listening anymore. Her voice wavered between pain and fury.
"Is that all you care about, Jason? Is that all any of you care about?"
Jason's tone dropped low.
"What Wells would've wanted is unity. Not chaos. If we let fear win, we'll do the Grounders' work for them."
But Clarke only shook her head, jaw trembling. She stepped closer to him until her face was just inches from his.
"Move aside, Jason. If you can't do this for Wells… then I will."
For a moment, Jason said nothing. He only stared into her eyes, then stepped aside.
Clarke stormed out into the open night.
Bellamy rounded on Jason.
"You're seriously letting her do this?"
Jason sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Lessons learned in pain are the ones remembered longest."
He didn't like it but maybe she needed to see what chaos really looked like.
Moments later, screams erupted from outside.
Miller tore the tent flap open.
"Bellamy! You need to see this!"
Bellamy ran past him, with Jason following slower, muttering under his breath.
‘Is this what that damn entity wanted? Babysitting children? For fuck's sake…’
He stopped as Octavia grabbed his arm.
"Jason, you really need to go out there."
"Why?"
"Because it's chaos out there!"
"Maybe that's the lesson Clarke needs to learn," he muttered.
But Jasper's voice stopped him.
"Wells wouldn't want this, man."
Jason froze for a moment, his jaw tightening. He let out a long breath, then stepped out of the tent.
—————————
Outside, dozens of faces, young, angry, and terrified circled around a figure. Murphy.
The boy was beaten and bloodied, his shirt torn, a noose tied tight around his neck. Bellamy stood nearby, helpless as the mob howled for blood.
"Bellamy, stop this!" Clarke shouted, trying to push through.
"I can't," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
"Stop this! Cut him down!" Finn demanded, trying to intervene only to have two guards pin him back, a knife flashing against his throat.
Then came Jason's voice, booming through the air like thunder.
"ENOUGH!"
The noise stopped instantly.
The crowd parted as Jason strode forward, his eyes blazing. Murphy tried to speak through the gag, panic in his eyes. Jason's gaze hardened.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled his knife n
the blade slicing clean through the rope. Murphy dropped to the dirt in a heap, gasping.
"He killed Wells! He deserves this!" a dark-skinned boy shouted from the crowd.
Jason's voice carried, low and cutting.
"I don't know if he killed him. And I'm not about to hang someone on an assumption. Look at yourselves killers, thieves, liars and even rapists handing out judgment like gods. This isn't justice. It's a barbaric circus."
"His name's on the knife!" another shouted. "He's guilty!"
The crowd roared again, but Jason's eyes drifted toward Clarke.
When she saw the disappointment there, a single tear fell from her cheek.
And then, cutting through the chaos…
"STOP IT!"
A small voice.
"Murphy didn't kill Wells!"
The entire camp froze as Charlotte stepped forward, her small frame trembling.
"I did," she whispered.
Jason's heart stopped.
‘That bastard… so this was what he didn't let me remember’.
The crowd backed away from her slowly, leaving the girl standing alone in the dirt.
————————
Moments later, inside a nearby tent, silence reigned. Jason, Finn, Clarke, Bellamy, and Charlotte sat in tense quiet.
Bellamy crouched in front of the trembling girl.
"Charlotte… what are you talking about?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I was just trying to slay my demons. Like you told me."
Bellamy froze, horror dawning in his face.
"What the hell is she talking about?" Clarke yelled, glaring at him.
Bellamy shook his head.
"She misunderstood me." He looked back at Charlotte, gripping her shoulders. "That's not what I meant, Charlotte. Not like this."
Jason said nothing. He just watched with steady. ‘She's twelve… maybe thirteen? For God’s sakes’, he thought grimly. ‘And she's already killed’.
Finally, Jason spoke, voice low.
"They'll kill her if this gets out."
Clarke turned on him instantly.
"We can't allow that!"
Jason's reply came sharp, exhausted.
"Then maybe you should've listened instead of being the cause of this damn chaos. One day, Clarke, you could've waited twenty-four hours for me to find who did this."
Clarke's lip trembled.
"I'm sorry…"
Jason sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It's useless blaming each other now. What's done is done. Now we deal with it."
"Give her to me." Murphy screamed out.
Everyone turned in the crowd kept looking at him. His face was bloodied, but his eyes were pure hatred.
"Please… don't let them hurt me," Charlotte whimpered behind Jason.
Jason exhaled sharply and stepped outside the tent.
"Pipe down, Murphy."
Murphy stumbled forward, trembling with rage.
"Oh, that's rich. You all tried to hang me! For a crime I didn't commit! But now you're protecting a murderer?"
"Give her to me, Jason."
Jason tilted his head slightly.
"You're not hearing me, Murphy. I said no."
The camp fell silent.
"Murphy, enough," Bellamy said, stepping out of the tent as well.
Murphy's gaze flicked between them, disbelief etched across his bruised face.
"You too, Bellamy?"
Bellamy's jaw tightened.
"She'll get punished. But not by you."
"Not enough," Murphy spat, his voice breaking. "Not nearly enough!"
Bellamy stepped closer, eyes locked on Murphy's.
"Let it go. It's over."
Murphy gave a short, bitter laugh.
"Whatever you say… boss."
And then he snapped.
In one violent motion, he lunged and smashed his fist into Bellamy's face. The impact sent Bellamy sprawling into the dirt, unconscious.
Octavia screamed.
Murphy turned toward Jason, breathing hard, face twisted with fury.
Jason's voice came low, calm and almost disappointed.
"You really don't want to do this, Murphy."
"Oh, I think I do. Numbers are on my side this time." Murphy gestured toward the crowd forming behind him.
Jason tilted his head, rolling his shoulders with a calm smirk.
"Numbers, huh?" He sighed, cracking his knuckles. "Good. I was starting to wonder if any of you learned anything from the training."
He took a step forward, his expression turning cold.
"Alright then… bring it. Let's see what you've got."
The first boy, a tall kid with a shaved head yelled and lunged straight at Jason.
And Jason moved.
Fast.
