Warnings: Spoilers for seasons 1, 2 and the beginning of season 3. Alcoholism mentioned and a lot of death. Trigger warning for those who may be sensitive.

Word Count: 1829 words.

I finally had an excuse to use the title.

~

Moderate silence filled the space between yourself and Monty, both of you focused on sorting the scrap metal. In the distance, you could hear the usual drunken yelling of Jasper, your old friend. After what happened in Mount Weather, he'd been completely different. He buzzed his hair, turned to alcohol and hated everything and everyone. Especially you.

He blamed you for what happened to Maya. You were the one that-

A loud crash grabbed your attention, and the sudden movement of your hand caused you to slice it open of a piece of scrap. The cut stung badly, and you could already tell you would likely need stitches.

"Crap." You groaned.

Monty looked towards your bloody hand, concerned.

"Do you need me to take you to the med bay?" He asked. You shook your head, ripping a portion of your shirt off to wrap around the wound.

"I'll be fine. I can get there myself. Besides, these piles of garbage won't sort themselves." You taunted.

Monty released a light chuckle, seemingly distracted. You knew exactly why, and placed your unharmed hand on Monty's.

"He'll be okay." You assured.

Monty nodded, looking back to the piles of metal before him.

***

You rapped your knuckles against the med bay wall, gaining the attention of Clarke's mother, Abby. She walked swiftly towards you, her comforting smile bringing you a little bit of happiness.

"What did you do this time (y/n)?" She asked, unsurprised by yet another visit. "I can see you haven't broken your nose again." You'd sort of made a habit of this. Med bay was a frequent place for you to be seen in, as you managed to get yourself into trouble quite often in the safety regard. The worst had been a few weeks ago, when you tripped in one of the buggies and twisted your ankle.

You laughed a little, following her to a bed. "Don't push it, you'll jinx me."

Abby smiled, grabbing your arm and tenderly lifting the makeshift bandage. Blood had already soaked through the cloth, but it seemed to be clotting. The doctor's expression quickly changed to one of concentration. After a few moments, she lifted the bandage away completely, collecting a clean one from a nearby cupboard as well as a needle, thread and some alcohol.

"What's the diagnosis doc? Is it terminal?" I said in a faux accent.

"Well, it shouldn't cause you too much grief, but you'll need stitches. It will likely leave a scar too." The woman said.

As she began working on your hand, the one and only Jasper Jordan stumbled into the room, a large gash on his forehead. Abby's eyes widened slightly, leaving you momentarily.

"Jasper? Jasper can you hear me?" She called. "Are you alright? How did this happen?"

A slurred string of nonsense flew from the drunk's mouth, his sluggish expression and the strong smell of alcohol telling half of the story for him. Abby sighed, reaching over to her sliding tray to grab a cloth and some rubbing alcohol.

"I'll need you to wait there for a moment (y/n), he could have done some serious damage." She said.

You nodded.

After doing a few checks with a flashlight, Abby tenderly touched the area around the gash. Grabbing another needle, the older woman began to stitch Jasper's skin back together. He grimaced at first, but relaxed a little as the process continued. The boy remained focused on a single wall in the room the entire time, running his finger around his knuckles absentmindedly.

After a few minutes, the doctor wiped her bloody hands on a clean cloth, placing the needle on a tray beside her.

"Your head may hurt for a little while, especially with a hangover," Abby began. "There shouldn't be any serious damage, but I want to keep you here for a few hours just in case."

Jasper shook his head. "No way. I'll just go back to my room."

Abby sighed. "Jasper, I'm your doctor, and I want to make sure you'll be okay. You can go back to your room later."

"I'll be fine. Just let me leave."

A moment of silence passed.

"I'll let you leave after an hour." Abby said, turning to you. "In the meantime, grab a clean cloth and try and stop that cut from bleeding too much. I'll be back in a minute."

You nodded, avoiding Jasper's gaze.

As the door to the storage room clicked shut, tension filled the air. You stood, collecting the clean cloth the woman had intended to use earlier. Jasper's harsh stare was boring into the back of your skull, watching your every move. You awkwardly walked back to the bed, sitting on its edge and keeping pressure on your wound.

"So I'm invisible now?" He asked in a condescending tone.

You sighed, not quite knowing how to respond.

"The least you could do is answer me," he began. "You're the reason Maya is dead."

Gaze travelling to the ground, you started to fiddle with your hands. You held your tongue, refraining from saying the harsh and defensive thoughts that flooded your mind. He was entering dangerous territory, and you didn't want to start a fight.

"If you hadn't convinced Clarke that we wouldn't be able to give people the bone marrow transplants safely, then she'd still be alive." Jasper continued, standing. "I don't understand how you can even live with yourself."

"Jasper-"

"No, (y/n). You don't get to apologise." He yelled, face angry. "You don't get to feel bad. I thought you were my friend. But you stabbed me in the back and murdered hundreds of innocent people. You're disgusting."

Tears began to fill your line of vision, your throat threatening to close up.

"You know that isn't what I wanted-"

Jasper yelled, smashing his fist into the tray beside you, causing you to jump.

"Then why the hell did you do it? You wanted those people dead, because if it wasn't them, it was us. But you don't understand that this world isn't worth shit. I spend every minute here thinking about what we could've done and waiting for my life to be over while people like you just stand around like genocide is nothing."

You began to feel hot tears dribble down your cheeks, the weight of his words taking hold. Guilt had fuelled your actions for the weeks after Mount Weather, and the reality Jasper's words seemed to cut you into desperate, damaged pieces. Sobs tried to work their way out of your throat and you swallowed, hard, burying your emotions beneath your feet.

"You are like a cancer, (y/n). You are a cancer that spreads and kills us all, just like Clarke."

You stood, slapping the teen across the face.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that again." You said in a low voice.

Jasper's eyes darkened and he gritted his teeth.

"I didn't have a choice. Everyone would've died had I not done what I did." You said, voice shaky from the anger that seemed to control your actions. "You think killing all those people was easy? That I enjoyed watching them die? I have to live with that for the rest of my life!"

"And I have to live without her for the rest of my life!" Jasper yelled, spit flying from his mouth. In a burst of rage, he pushed you into the wall.

"I couldn't let them kill you!" You screamed, pushing him into the trolley beside you. Jasper fell to the ground along with the instruments Abby had used, each clattering to the ground loudly.

The doctor rushed into the room, the commotion finally reaching her ears. She rushed towards Jasper, calling a guard to restrain you. You snapped and turned to run, but one had captured your cut hand before you could escape. He pulled your hands behind your back, pain shooting up your arm.

"I have to watch you waste yourself away, wallowing in self pity without a single thought as to what it does to the rest of us!" You spat, attempting to lurch forward. "It tears me apart to see you do this to yourself. You can't even begin to understand what this feels like - to watch someone you love slowly kill themselves."

You sobbed, finally giving up on trying to get to Jasper. The guard dragged you away, and Abby followed you into the spare room she had been in moments before. The guard left the moment the doctor entered the room, presumably to prevent Jasper from leaving.

You ran your cold and bloody hands down your puffy face, trying to wipe away the tear tracks that had appeared. Letting out a curse, you kicked the wall and slumped to the floor. Abby's expression changed, a mother-like demeanour taking over.

"Are you okay (y/n)? Did he injure you?" She asked in a soothing voice.

You shook your head, wanting to be alone.

"I'm fine." You managed to croak out.

Abby nodded. "I still need to stitch up your hand."

Holding out your arm, you turned away, praying to sink into the floor. The Doctor knelt down to your level, producing a needle and thread from her pocket. You focused of the feeling of being stitched, though the needle did nothing to numb the emotional pain you were going through.

She was done quickly, packing away her things and helping you off of the dirty floor. Her lips moved to form words, but you ignored her, instead waiting for her to dismiss you so you could leave. Eventually she noticed your behaviour, letting you leave to find Monty.

***

It took you an hour to find him.

His face fell the second he saw you and he knew something was wrong. You rushed over to him, wrapping your arms around him, an embrace he returned with just as much pressure. The familiar smell of your friend calmed you slightly, comforting you.

"What's wrong (y/n). What happened?" He asked.

You paused a moment before responding. "I'm alright. I just need a friend right now." You said, burying your head into his shoulder. "Just to get through today."

Monty nodded and rubbed small circles on your back, evening out your irregular breaths.

"It's okay. Everyone has bad days. We'll get through it." He said quietly, so only you could hear.

You nodded, finally letting go of the teen. He suggested bringing you to your room so you could relax, maybe even some soup that had been made in camp. You nodded eagerly, wanting to leave the common waters as soon as possible.

Monty grabbed a walkie talkie, ready to leave before spotting Jasper in the corner of his eye, looking guilty as ever and, for once, sober.