Kings // c. griffin

Twenty Two

Isaac took a shuddering breath as he ran the cloth across Bellamy's forehead, wiping away the sweat that had gathered like a crown. He hate seeing Bellamy like this. He was weak and scared and nothing like his normal, confident self. It made the awkward fear of something going wrong that had settled in Isaac's stomach grow, and he could feel his stomach churning in a nervous turmoil as he gazed down at the camp's leader.

Octavia had just recently left her brother's side, leaving Isaac in her place, claiming that she really didn't trust anyone else with him, except maybe Clarke. But Clarke was busy as it was and in all honesty she preferred the taller boy to the short blonde, making her decision easy. Bellamy shifted in his sleep, a crease forming between his brows. Isaac caught sight of a glisten on his forehead and leaned forwards, carefully wiping it away while trying not to wake the older boy.

"...Octavia?" Bellamy's voice was distant and tired sounding, making Isaac unsure if the boy was talking in his sleep or if he was really waking up. He got his answer when Bellamy's hand drifted up along his mattress, dragging the corner of his blanket with. His fingers twitched and he squirmed, his eyelids fluttering open slowly. Lips parting, Bellamy was hardly half-awake when he began struggling to sit up.

Isaac placed a firm hand on the boy's chest, and Bellamy's head snapped towards him only to receive a look from the taller boy. "You need to rest," Isaac told him softly.

Bellamy's head turned and his eyes were darting all over the room. "Octavia-" he began.

"She's fine, Bellamy," Isaac assured him. "She's just getting some more water." Bellamy nodded tiredly. He looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and his skin was both sweaty and pale. Isaac squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. "You're looking better," he said. He wasn't sure if it was the lack of blood on his face or the fact that maybe he did really look better, but Bellamy certainly didn't seem as sickly as he had when he came in earlier. He'd stopped coughing blood a while ago, and while he was still quite colorless, he was less of a ghostly white than he'd been before.

"I feel better," Bellamy admitted, but he wasn't up to full strength yet. His head was still resting back against the mattress and his eyes were half closed. "Is it sad that this is the most relaxed I've been in... years?"

Isaac shook his head. "Yes," he said truthfully. He earned a look from Bellamy, but he simply raised an eyebrow in response. "You might be sick but at least you're sleeping," he sighed, turning to dip his rag back into the canteen of dirty water. "And if it helps, I was thinking the same thing about myself."

Now it was Bellamy's turn to raise his eyebrows. "You've been running around like a headless chicken trying to take care of everyone," he observed.

"And most of them are better now," Isaac reminded him. "Like you said, I've never been more relaxed." Then he furrowed his eyebrows. "Well, except for the imminent threat of death and the fact that the grounders are coming to kill us as we speak."

Bellamy scoffed, but it sounded more like a raspy cough. Isaac blinked at him, bending to grab a cup of water. "Here," he said, handing it to Bellamy. The darker haired boy nodded gratefully, taking a gulp or two before handing it back to Isaac.

"You're quite the optimist, huh?" he joked.

Isaac shrugged, an embarrassed smile making it's way onto his face. "I try," he quipped back.

Bellamy chuckled lowly before he stopped and looked up at Isaac almost curiously. "You've changed," he observed quietly, seeming serious all of a sudden, "since we've gotten down here, I mean."

Isaac shrugged off the words easily, the statement slipping over his back like water off of an umbrella. "You're not the first person to tell me that today," he admitted.