Jasper emerges from the dropship, goggles hanging haphazardly around his neck. He nods drowsily at Octavia, who smiles back at him. Huh, that's new. A few people stare at him, but he tries to ignore them. One hand goes to his neckline, making sure none of his scars are visible.

"Jasper," Clarke calls out, getting his attention from across the camp. She jogs over, her eyes flicking over his face and posture.

Jasper rolls his eye. "Come on, Clarke, I'm fine. A spear to the chest can't keep me down for long."

Her mouth tightens. "You shouldn't be walking yet. Moving around now will only keep you injured longer."

"If I spend one more day cooped up there I swear I will explode. Would you rather have me out here or splattered across the walls?" Clarke opens her mouth to respond but Jasper holds out a finger to quiet her. "That was rhetorical. So, what do you say. Will you give a dying man a day of freedom before boxing him up again?" Jasper pleads, clasping his hand at chest level.

Clarke's jaw tightens for a brief moment before she relaxes, sighing and glancing over her shoulder. "Fine, but don't over exert yourself. No hunting, and nothing that requires stretching. If you tear open your stitches I swear you are not leaving the dropship for another month." She turns to leave, but pauses. "And, if you need to talk to someone, well, you should do that. I'm sure someone will listen."

Jasper can hear the underlying please don't make it be me in her statement, but he's too confused to be insulted. So Clarke doesn't want to listen to his problems, but what problems does she think he has? Besides his paranoia, uselessness, and inability of going beyond the walls. Maybe he should talk to someone.

He sits with his back to the camp wall, watching the progress being made. Maybe he can't help, but he certainly wasn't going to get in the way. They needed this place as fortified as possible so no one else would get hurt.

The 100 scurried around like ants, setting up fallen trees like poles to form a wall then weaving branches and discarded metal through to strengthen it. Some were collecting firewood, some were smoking meat, and a few were sorting through plants. They should ask Monty what was edible, he could probably set up a farm in no time sharp.

And there, among it all, was Murphy. Strutting around like he owned the place, the boy was overseeing the construction of the wall. One of the smaller kids stumbled, and Murphy pounced on her, a sadistic smirk shaping his face.

"Hey, Murphy," Jasper shouted, pulling himself to his feet. "How about you pick your fights with someone who actually has a chance, huh?"

Murphy turned, his expression falling to blank. "Oh, because you're fighting for yourself now, are you."

Jasper bristled, balling his fists. "What's that supposed to mean? I can defend myself just fine."

The girl Murphy was going to pick on glanced back and forth between them, then stepped forward. "Hey, he's still messed up, you know? Leave him alone. And Jasper, it's okay. Really."

Jasper strode forward and pushed the kid back. "No, it's not. I'm sick and tired of sitting around letting everything happen, and I swear that if I see Murphy push around one more person I'll knock his teeth in. You're younger than me, so stop babying me."

Despite all odds Murphy didn't rise to the bait. He stepped back, one of his eyebrows so high it looked like it would float off of his head. "Just where was all of this a week ago?" he asked. "Have you been saving all that for me? I'm honored, kid, but I think your little friend would have appreciated it if this came out earlier. Personally, I think you should sit back and let her take the beating for you. Might as well continue the pattern, right?"

"I was stabbed, idiot. I'd like to see you going around defending the weak with a spear in your chest. But just because I'm still recovering doesn't mean I need protection."

Murphy scoffed, his face twisted incredulously around the edges. "Wow. You know, people call me a dick, but they should really take a look at your hypocritical ass. Have fun guarding the weak, you ungrateful little shit." He turned and walked off into the woods, leaving Jasper standing there with part of the work crew hovering around him.

The nervous tension was broken when the girl stepped forward, more cautiously this time. "Are you... okay?"

Jasper blinked away tears, an ominous feeling growing in his gut. "I'm not sure," he murmured, feeling heavy all of a sudden, he sat back down with a thump, elbows braced on his knees and eyes secured on his hands. There was talking going on around him, but he was too unfocused to understand it. "What's going on?" he whispered.

"What's this about?" a voice rang, jolting him back to the present. "Get back to work." Bellamy, of course. His form practically radiated confidence and authority, nothing like Jasper's own. The leader knelt next to him. "What's wrong, Jasper?"

"I-" his voice croaked. "Do you know where Monty is? I think I need him."

Suddenly strong hands were on his shoulders and his back was straightened against the wall, forcing his head up. "What? Jasper, stop fooling around," Bellamy responded, his voice strained. "You don't... see him, do you?"

Jasper shook his head, not caring that it released drops from his eyes. "No, I haven't seen him all day, I just," his throat closed, then he was sobbing and he didn't even know why. "Please."

"Jasper," Bellamy slapped him lightly, drawing him back to their conversation. "Listen to me. I'm sorry, but Monty's dead. You know that. Stop pretending, you're freaking everyone out."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." It wasn't true, it wasn't. But then there was a grounder in the doorway and Monty was the only thing between them and he was screaming to run but the stupid idiot twisted to look at him, solemn, and turned around again, but then five seconds later it was too late, and there was a pole through Monty's stomach, and Jasper struggled to get up but his chest was on fire. His chest was on fire and Monty was choking and there was too much blood and then hands were forcing him down and the grounder had died somewhere in between but it didn't even matter because he was the one with a hole in his body, not Monty, and they had gotten it all wrong and nothing would ever be right again.

"Shh," Bellamy hissed, pulling him to his feet. "Let's get you back to the dropship," he stated, voice a little too loud and eyes a little too frantic.

Jasper trailed behind the boy, eyes dead.

Left Behind. 1,154 words. Updated December 9, 2014.

Random urge to write this, who knows why. Clarke could have been more comforting, but in my head timeline this is a bit after the whole Wells thing, so she really can't deal with other peoples problems on top of her own right now. Please review, tell me if they're as out of character as I feel like they are. I feel like I don't have enough material to get a good grasp of their personality, let alone their speech patterns.