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Murphy woke up screaming, like he hadn’t for quite a while now since the grounders had let him go. He sat up, the panic still sitting deep and sour like acid in his stomach and combed a hand through his wet hair. He was covered in cold sweat and his breath was quickened and unsteady, his heart going fast, too fast. He tried to breathe through his nose to avoid hyperventilating. That had happened once and it had been absolutely awful. His lungs still hurt at the mere thought of those fifteen minutes he had desperately tried to get air into his lungs until his body had given up and he had fallen unconscious.
He twitched when he heard a noise from outside his tent and frantically tried to stay quiet, tried to control his heaving for air. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility of someone seeing him like this. Murphy had sat his little tent up as far away as possible from where the others slept, almost directly next to the electric fence. Far in the dark where no one usually went. That’s where he spent his nights.
Another noise came from outside and Murphy, still not quite calmed down and still not able to really breathe properly, looked around. It sounded like someone was walking in his direction, but surely that wasn’t possible? No one ever came back here, that’s why he chose the spot.
He was making too much noise with his heavy breathing, he realized, and his chest began to hurt, his lungs still sore from the last time he hyperventilated, screaming at him in protest.
The noise was coming nearer. It sounded like steps.
Murphy tried to bite back the whimper that almost escaped his sore throat and quickly shoved his fist into his mouth, biting down on it hard enough to ground himself, to keep himself from making unnecessary noises. The low sound of pain he made when he felt his skin break was swallowed by his own flesh.
It was them. He was sure of that. They were coming back to get him.
They killed Finn, Finn was dead, but he hadn’t been alone in that village. Murphy was as much to blame as Finn. No, Murphy was even more to blame than him. It was his fault, Clarke was right. He should have done something. He should have tried to stop him harder. He didn’t try hard enough.
Finn was a good person. He was not.
Of course she told the grounders that it was his fault, he was sure. Why wouldn't she? She blamed him. She couldn’t save Finn, but maybe she had told them that if they wanted to take him, they could have him. She didn’t care about him, no one did. They didn’t want him here. And it was his fault that Finn was dead. He should have exchanged himself for him like Raven had wanted. Then Finn would still be alive. But he didn’t and Finn wasn’t so why would Clarke care what happened to the person who was at fault for all this mess anyway? Why would anyone?
They were coming back for him.
And this time they wouldn’t let him go again. This time he would have to stay with them until he died. A slow painful death.
He wanted to run, but he knew there was nowhere to go. It was too dark for him to see his gun in the small tent, but he also couldn’t move. His legs felt like iron weighing him to the ground, body unable to move even the slightest inch. He could taste his own blood in his mouth from where he was still biting his fist, but he didn’t feel any pain. He felt numb.
The steps stopped in front of his tent and Murphy clenched his eyes shut, praying that this was just a dream, just a bad dream…
“Murphy,” a familiar voice suddenly broke through his frantic thoughts and a broken sob escaped him in the same moment as Bellamy opened the tent and bended down to look at him in the dim light of the flashlight in his hand.
“What-?” Murphy started but he couldn’t finish his sentence. He felt like he might throw up any minute.
They weren't here, they weren't here yet, they wouldn't take him back, and they wouldn't take him back yet. His head was spinning.
“What’s wrong? Murphy?” Worry crept into Bellamy’s voice. Murphy had heard this tone several times, only usually not directed at him. “What happened? Murphy?”
He couldn’t answer. He heaved, the air coming easier now, but the numbness that had paralyzed his body was fading now and his body returned to the constant aching state that he was in ever since he left the camp what felt like ages ago. Usually he was able to just ignore that.
Bellamy climbed into the tent, coming closer and Murphy jerked away on instinct, not wanting any more bodily contact than couldn’t be avoided. Bellamy put the flashlight on the ground next to him so they could see and put his hands up, like he surrendered, or like he was trying to make a small wounded animal understand that he wasn’t going to hurt it.
“It’s okay,” Bellamy whispered. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s going to be okay, alright?” He tentatively put a hand on Murphy’s shoulder like he was testing his reaction. Murphy still felt nauseous and dizzy and he was hurting all over.
“What are you doing here?” Murphy demanded and winced slightly when he heard how his voice sounded. So weak, so pathetic. He cringed, but set his jaw stubbornly, finally lifting his head enough to look up at Bellamy coldly and shrugging the hand on his shoulder off.
He was hit by how good Bellamy looked, even in the crappy light of the flashlight on the ground. How could Bellamy look so good? It was the middle of the night, they just lost Finn, nothing was okay, they still hadn’t gotten the kids in Mount Weather back… there was enough for Bellamy to worry about, and yes, while he did look tired and kind of exhausted, he also just looked very good. Murphy’s lips twitched at the thought. Bellamy always looked good.
“I was wondering where you were?” Bellamy offered and Murphy scoffed in response. “I was,” he insisted.
“Yeah, right.” Of course he was lying. Why would he wonder where he was? He’s been here the whole time, and nobody had cared. Why would he?
“Look, we didn’t come back to the drop ship, alright, and that wasn’t okay,” Bellamy said with an even voice. It was the voice he had used in all of his little motivational speeches yet, the voice that had had Murphy hang onto his every word. He still did.
He used to blindly trust him when he used that voice. That he didn’t anymore.
“We shouldn’t have left you there. And after everything that’s happened… I was just wondering where you were. Raven told me she’d seen you creeping around here sometimes.”
“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” Murphy said, completely ignoring the fact that he had been very much awake when Bellamy had looked for him and found him. He tried not to think about Bellamy seeing him like this, in his most vulnerable state. Why didn’t he go away again?
“Yeah, that’s why I wanted to know where you were,” Bellamy confirmed.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Murphy growled through clenched teeth. He hated how sincere and genuine Bellamy could sound when he wanted. That just made it all the harder for Murphy to not believe every single word he said.
“Murphy, what’s going on? Why are you out here all on your own? After what happened with Finn-“
“After what happened with Spacewalker, do you think anyone would still want to have me near them? Raven would shoot me and everyone knows she’d be right to do it,” Murphy gritted out. Slowly but steadily the nausea faded and his head felt a little bit better, not thumping as much anymore, letting him think some.
Bellamy raised his eyebrows, he looked confused. Murphy wanted to spit in his face and tell him to just leave him the fuck alone, to go back to his girls, to Raven and Octavia and Clarke, and just leave him be like anyone else did. He wanted to hit him in the face until he stopped looking so good, goddammit.
“You know Clarke and I would never let that happen,” Bellamy insisted. Murphy snorted disbelievingly, but Bellamy ignored him this time. “Raven is in pain, she lost her family and she needs someone to blame it on. She will calm down again soon.”
“You know she won’t. And I doubt the princess would object too much when it comes to the question if I should die,” Murphy said and tore his eyes away from Bellamy, from his flawless face and his honest eyes.
Instead he looked at his hands. The outline of his teeth was a bright red on his pale skin and blood was still spilling from the fresh wound. He raised his eyebrows and tried to wipe his hand on his dirty trousers.
“Go away, Bellamy,” Murphy said, still looking down, not meeting his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me.”
Bellamy stayed silent for a moment and Murphy was actually tempted to look up again. Tempted to look up into his warm brown eyes and fall back under his spell. Tempted to believe everything Bellamy said, tempted to trust him again, to believe that he wouldn’t let any of the delinquents kill him.
He couldn’t. Bellamy had failed him before.
“What happened?” Bellamy then asked and before Murphy had figured out what he was talking about he was already reaching out and taking his injured hand. “Murphy. What’s going on?”
He sounded so worried, so helpless as he pulled his hand into the light of the flashlight and watched the blood seep out of the deep puncture wounds Murphy’s teeth had left behind.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Murphy protested, but in his ears his voice sounded weak again. It was because Bellamy was cradling his hand in his own and Murphy tried harshly to pull his hand away, but Bellamy had quick reflexes and held on to it.
“I heard you scream,” Bellamy then said, so bluntly that Murphy gasped in shock. No…“I wanted to see where you were and when I saw the tent I thought I’d leave you be but then I heard you scream.”
“It’s nothing, it’s none of your business, go away,” Murphy muttered, no real connection between his sentences. “Go away, Bellamy, leave me alone, it doesn’t matter.”
Bellamy knew. Murphy felt the panic settling in his stomach like a big rock, his lung started aching again when his breathing quickened. Bellamy knew, he knew that Murphy was a fucking coward, that he still had nightmares about the grounders and screamed like a child when he woke up. He wanted to bash Bellamy’s head in.
“It matters.” Bellamy still held his hand; the bleeding was slowing down, and the blood was already crusting. “Murphy, it matters to me. Look at me!” He raised his voice at the last part and jerked him closer to him by his hand.
Murphy screwed his eyes shut and shook his head stubbornly. He wouldn’t give in; he wouldn’t give Bellamy the satisfaction. “Go away, Bellamy. Just go away, leave me alone!” He tried to shove him away, but he was stronger and held on to him, one of his hands resting on his shoulder now, the other still gripping Murphy’s wrist tightly.
“Look at me,” Bellamy repeated and his stern voice didn’t leave room for discussion. Murphy slowly opened his eyes and looked up at him again. “It matters to me. What’s going on with you?”
“You don’t care,” Murphy muttered, not breaking the eye contact. He couldn’t look away; he was under Bellamy’s spell again. His eyes were so brown, so deep, God, he would do anything for him…
“I do. Tell me.”
“You. Don’t. Care.”
He didn’t care, he never did, he would have let them float him without a second thought, and he had thought they were friends at least…
Bellamy rolled his eyes and Murphy didn’t know what he expected.
Maybe a punch in the face, maybe that he would just get up and finally leave him alone, let them both forget that he ever saw him like this, that this weird situation ever actually happened. Whatever it was he expected, it certainly weren’t Bellamy’s lips on his.
He held his breath.
Bellamy’s lips were chapped and rough on his own, but he still kissed him carefully. Murphy felt like a puppet without strings. His whole body became limp in Bellamy’s grip and if he hadn’t been holding him he was sure he just would have melted. Bellamy’s eyes were closed as he kissed him and with a faint whimper he felt his own eyes slide shut. Bellamy smiled against his lips.
He kissed him.
Bellamy kissed him. Bellamy kissed him. Murphy didn’t know how long the kiss lasted. It wasn’t over fast enough. It was over way too soon.
The kiss ended and Bellamy pulled back, looking at him, but still holding onto him. Murphy was speechless, his mouth hanging open slightly and he didn’t even want to imagine what his face looked like. His cheeks felt hot.
A smirk was tugging on Bellamy’s lips but he looked like he tried hard not to let it show. Murphy hated his face and never wanted to see it again. Murphy wanted to kiss his face forever.
“I hate you,” Murphy whispered. He hated him. He…
“It’s because of Finn, right? Because of what happened,” Bellamy assumed, just ignoring what Murphy had said. Had he even heard him?
Bellamy pulled Murphy closer. It didn’t seem to bother him that Murphy was dirty and that his hair was still wet from his sweat and that his lips were full of his own blood from biting his hand and oh, Bellamy had kissed him. On the lips.
“You’re afraid,” Bellamy concluded.
“I’m not,” Murphy denied immediately.
“It’s okay,” Bellamy soothed and slowly lowered Murphy down on the single blanket he had in his tent. Murphy let him. He couldn’t move anyway. “It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”
“I don’t believe you,” Murphy breathed.
“I know. That’s okay,” Bellamy answered and lay down next to him, face to face. He took his injured hand in his again, stroking gently over the crust that now the covered the wound. It wasn’t bleeding anymore. “Maybe someday you will be able to trust me again.”
“You can’t stay here…” His voice sounded so weak, so disgustingly hopeful that Murphy cringed. He wanted Bellamy to finally leave. He wanted Bellamy to stay with him forever. “Please, why won’t you go away.”
“Because I care,” Bellamy simply answered and then he reached out to close the tent again. “Sleep. It’s gonna be alright, I’ll be here, nothing will happen to you.”
Murphy didn’t believe him. He wanted to believe him, to trust him, he wanted to so bad, but he couldn’t. He didn’t. He wouldn’t ever. Maybe he would one day. But as he lay there and looked into Bellamy’s eyes, he thought that maybe for tonight he would like to pretend.
He sighed silently and closed his eyes. He couldn’t quite relax, but that was okay, he usually couldn’t, he was used to it. After some time he felt exhaustion take hold of his body, making his limbs and eyelids heavy.
Before sleep took hold of Murphy entirely, he felt Bellamy entwine their fingers. He was too far gone already to protest, but he wanted to break every bone in Bellamy’s fucking hand and tell him to finally get the hell out of his tent.
And maybe he also wanted to lie in this tent with Bellamy’s fingers between his own forever and just forget that a world outside of this tent existed.
Fin