reproached | inbox.

[Bellamy wakes up before Murphy does, of course. It means he goes through the utter disorientation of dying on the Volary floor and opening his eyes to find himself back in bed as though nothing happened, and has to scramble to put the pieces together alone. Clarke helps, because of course she does. She always does. But Bellamy doesn't head to Red Wings. He can', not when Murphy isn't back yet. The thought of Murphy dying and finding himself alone is horrific when Bellamy knows all too well how afraid of death he is.

So he stays, and paces, going back and forth, back and forth, between the bedroom and the living area, nervous energy and worry shoving his own trauma to the back of his mind. All he can do is hope that it's quick, and make sure he's here.]

[ It isn't quick. Losing Bellamy is only the first of many tortures Murphy is forced to endure before his heart gives out. The harrowing process of Strange's retaliation is a hell that makes the one he's always feared seem tepid in comparison, although that still doesn't make death feel like a mercy when it finally comes.

Murphy wakes up screaming, scrambling across the bed until his back hits the wall, thrashing and kicking at the blankets like there's a chance they'll come after him. He throws his arms up and hugs his head, shrinking and hiding behind his knees. He has no idea whether he's out or whether he's only been catapulted into the next level of Strange's psychic judgment day. Any second now, he's sure, the hammer will fall. ]

[He's in the living room when he hears the scream. Maybe he couldn't be in the room when Murphy came back. Maybe that's some strange rule, but he makes it back into the bedroom in record time. Seeing Murphy curled up, as though desperately trying to protect himself, rips Bellamy's heart out.]

Hey, hey. I'm here.

[It comes out rough, and Bellamy kneels next to the bed, reaching out to brush his fingers against Murphy's arm, safely over the fabric.]

[ He wants it to have been a dream. Hearing Bellamy's voice now, feeling the reassuring touch of his hand, it's close enough to waking from a nightmare that Murphy can convince himself. If he picks one reality over another. Easy enough, when there's only one reality he survived. ]

Shit. Bellamy...

[ The relief takes his breath away. He almost takes Bellamy's hand as he drops his arms, lowering his guard, but he doesn't want Bellamy to experience any of the damage Strange has left on him. He holds onto the sheets, instead. There's a dampness to his face that feels like more than sweat. He's not sure whether he was already crying or if it just started the moment he laid eyes on Bellamy. ]

You're okay?

Yeah.

[It takes a hell of a lot of willpower not to reach out and brush the tears from Murphy's cheeks. Bellamy swallows, tightening his grip instead, eyes searching Murphy's face.]

We're okay. You're safe.

[ Likewise, it's taking all of Murphy's strength to keep from throwing his arms around Bellamy. ]

What the hell was that?

[ He's not fully convinced that they are safe. But Bellamy looks unharmed, at least. Certainly doesn't seem to be on the verge of shaking apart, like Murphy feels. ]

I don't know.

[Bellamy might be doing a better job at hiding it, but there's an unsteadiness to his voice. Most people wouldn't pick up on it, but Murphy certainly will.]

Some kind of alternate reality.

[That's the consensus he's seen, anyway, but he's still reeling. It's hard to wrap his mind around it, and so he doesn't even bother. He pulls himself up onto the bed beside Murphy and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in Murphy's shoulder. He doesn't have any comforting words to offer, or any explanations that will make it better. He just wants to take a second, ground himself in the fact that Murphy is here.]

[ The tension coiled in every muscle of Murphy's body finally begins to unwind as he sags against Bellamy. With that relief comes a fresh wave of tears, but at least he doesn't feel any more screams building in his chest. With Bellamy's arms around him, he's close to convinced the nightmare really is over. He's back home. They both are. Does the explanation matter? ]

It wasn't real.

[ Behind the immediate memory of his brutal death, a whole other life stretches out across more than a century. Something got into his head and told a lie about a world where he had everything except this.

Bellamy missed him, too. He can't take that for granted. This could have easily been an entirely different reunion. If this life mattered to him a little less. If the other one seemed a little truer. Murphy holds him carefully, afraid to see anything deeper. If there's any part of Bellamy that wishes he hadn't come back, he's not ready to confront it. ]

[Bellamy is quiet for a long moment, just holding him. If it's easier for Murphy to tell himself it wasn't real, he doesn't want to snatch that away from him. But...]

I've still got the tattoo.

[ That's just about the last thing he wanted to hear, but Murphy's glad Bellamy isn't trying to hide it. ]

It doesn't make sense. We can't be two people at the same time.

I don't know. We were gone here. Maybe time got screwed with.

[He's at a loss. Monty and Raven are the ones who would come up with a genius explanation, not him.]

[ Murphy slowly draws back. This isn't a good way to go, trying to rearrange space in their minds to make room for a life they don't want.

...They don't want it, right?

He exhales a short, mirthless laugh and scrubs at this eyes. ]

Do you think I did that stuff?

No.

[He says it softly, brushing his fingers through Murphy's hair, empathy bond be damned.]

I think whatever happened fucked with us, and we weren't ourselves.

[ Doubt radiates from Murphy, and he nearly jerks away to keep Bellamy from feeling it, too. His shoulders stiffen briefly before he eases up and lets himself lean into the touch. He wishes that could be enough to soothe him, let bygones be bygones. But he barely had a place here to begin with and it's hard to shake the feeling that he doesn't have it any longer. ]

You hated me.

[ Which isn't an accusation, but a solemn observation. What he doesn't say is that there's nothing out of character about that. In fact, if he really thinks about it, there's nothing about that life that would feel wrong for either of them. They both did exactly what they would do, given the chance. ]

[It's a relief when Murphy doesn't pull away. Bellamy needs the contact, too, and it eases something in him, even as he struggles with how to respond.]

I hated myself, too.

[Maybe that isn't so different from how things are normally, though.]

You know how much I care about you, Murphy.

Yeah.

[ And he does. Truly. In spite of everything. Abandoning all hope of avoiding their connection, Murphy rests his forehead against Bellamy's. ]

But the rest of them don't care about me.

[ If everyone's going to come back with the sense that it was real, then there's bound to be a few of them out for blood. ]

[Bellamy lets his hand slip down to cup Murphy's cheek instead. After the chaos of the Aerie and the misery of waking up alone, just this contact is enough to make him feel more settled, more grounded than he has in... who knows how long. Maybe that's what puts the insistent tone in his voice.]

I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You weren't the only one who hurt people.

[ Murphy's so afraid. And it's not the sharp terror of his first waking moments, but the kind of dread that seeps straight into his bones. If everyone else could just play along and pretend none of it happened, everything would be alright. But they won't. And because they won't, the promise of Murphy's life in this world is crumbling before his eyes. No more safety in anonymity. No hiding behind Clarke's carefully constructed reputation. Now they all know what kind of person he is. ]

I'm sure they've got room for more than one noose.

Then they'd need one for me, too.

[There's no way Bellamy would let them get to Murphy without taking him out first. But—]

I don't think anyone is going to be interesting in putting each other on trial.

Really? Because in my experience, nothing boosts morale more than a good old-fashioned execution.

[ Murphy's not particularly comforted by the idea of Bellamy swinging from the gallows along with him, but it's not going to be an issue. Clarke would never let Bellamy do something so stupid. ]

Things don't work here the way they did back home.

You're right. The Arena was so much flashier than anything we put on back home. Really added a spicy kick to the jus drein jus daun.

Murphy.

[It comes out soft and insistent, his thumb tracing Murphy's jawline.]

Listen to me. Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together. Right now, we don't even know how people will react to you.

[ Murphy shakes his head, pulling away from that touch. ]

Why would anyone forgive me?

[Bellamy exhales, disappointed, but lets him move away.]

Nothing was normal for any of us there. We all know how this place screws with our heads.

[It's happened time and time again. The Aerie was just the most all-encompassing example of it. But—]

Is this about you thinking you don't deserve it?

inbox.

hey u

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)