Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The camp was restless as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a dim orange glow through the trees. Fires sputtered to life in scattered rings, their crackling voices filling the air as delinquents huddled in groups, sharing scraps of food and laughter. It all seemed normal on the surface, but Murphy knew better. Normal didn’t exist here—not really.
For two days, he’d been keeping his secret, gritting his teeth through the pain and the exhaustion. The makeshift solution he’d rigged wasn’t cutting it anymore, but there was no chance of asking for help. Not when the idea of anyone knowing made his stomach churn worse than the cramps already tearing through him.
He sat on an overturned crate near the edge of camp, fiddling with the frayed hem of his shirt to keep his hands busy. His face was drawn, pale, and faintly damp with sweat, though he was trying his hardest to hide it.

“Murphy!”

The sharp bark of his name made him flinch, nearly knocking the crate over. Bellamy’s voice cut through the air like a whip. Murphy stiffened and glanced toward the sound. Bellamy was standing near the center of camp, his arms crossed, scanning the groups of delinquents like a wolf picking out its next meal.
His gaze swept over Murphy, lingering a moment too long before narrowing.
Murphy cursed under his breath. He didn’t have the energy for this, not tonight.
Bellamy moved toward him with his signature deliberate stride, every step heavy with the weight of authority he wielded like a weapon. Murphy felt his stomach twist with equal parts irritation and dread.

“Murphy,” Bellamy said again, his tone low and clipped.

“Bellamy,” Murphy replied, not bothering to mask the sarcasm in his voice. He didn’t look up. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Don’t tell me—there’s a new ‘emergency’ you need me to fix.”

“Cut the crap,” Bellamy snapped, stopping a few feet away. His arms stayed crossed, his eyes sharp. “What’s going on with you?”
Murphy’s jaw tightened. “Wow, didn’t know you cared,” he shot back, the edge in his voice a little too raw.

“I don’t,” Bellamy said flatly. “But I’m not an idiot. You’ve been acting weird for days, sneaking off, skipping work, and looking like you’re about to keel over. I don’t have time for this, Murphy. Spill it.”
Murphy forced a grin, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Newsflash, Bellamy: not everything’s about you. Maybe I’m just tired of your overbearing, self-righteous ass breathing down my neck every second.”
Bellamy’s expression hardened. He took a step closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous tone. “If you think you can just walk around here and screw up without consequences, think again. Whatever you’re hiding—”

“I’m not hiding anything!” Murphy snapped, standing up so fast he swayed slightly. His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at Bellamy. “I’m fine, okay? Just back off.”
Bellamy didn’t move, his gaze boring into Murphy with infuriating calm. “You’re lying.”
For a moment, they stared at each other, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. Around them, a few heads turned toward the commotion, but Murphy barely noticed. His vision swam slightly, the edges darkening, and he swallowed hard to keep himself steady.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered finally, brushing past Bellamy.
But Bellamy wasn’t letting him off that easily. He grabbed Murphy’s arm, yanking him back with more force than necessary. “You think you can just walk away? Not happening.”
Murphy wrenched his arm free, the sudden movement making him wince as a sharp pain lanced through his abdomen. “What the hell is your problem?” he growled, his voice hoarse. “Why do you care so much what I’m doing? It’s not like I matter to you—or anyone else, for that matter.”
Bellamy’s scowl deepened. “Because when you screw up, it affects all of us! You want to play lone wolf, fine. But if whatever’s wrong with you puts the rest of us in danger—”

“I said it’s nothing!” Murphy snapped, his voice cracking slightly. “God, you act like I’m plotting some kind of rebellion! I just want to be left alone!”
The sharpness of his words carried through the clearing, silencing even the faint chatter nearby. Octavia, who had been sitting a few feet away, stood abruptly, her eyes darting between the two of them.
“Hey, is everything okay?” she asked, her voice hesitant but edged with concern.

“Stay out of it, O,” Bellamy said without looking at her.
Murphy laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s rich. Always gotta be in charge, huh, Bellamy? Can’t even handle a private argument without dragging an audience into it.”

“Enough,” Bellamy snapped, his voice sharp. He lowered it slightly, his tone turning dangerous. “If you’re hiding something that’s gonna screw the rest of us over, I will find out. And trust me, Murphy, you won’t like how it ends.”
Murphy glared at him, his hands shaking with barely contained frustration. He wanted to lash out, to hit something, but he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Bellamy always won. Always.

“Just leave me alone,” Murphy said finally, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “I’m not your problem.”
Bellamy didn’t respond immediately, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied Murphy. For a moment, his expression softened, but it vanished just as quickly as it came.

“You’re making yourself my problem,” Bellamy muttered. He turned and walked away, his posture rigid with irritation.
Murphy stood frozen for a moment, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He could feel the weight of Octavia’s gaze on him, but he didn’t dare look her way. Instead, he turned and walked toward the tree line, desperate for some space to breathe.

Later That Night
The camp had settled into its usual restless quiet, the fires burning low as most of the delinquents huddled into their makeshift shelters. Murphy sat alone near the edge of camp, his knees pulled up to his chest as he stared into the darkness beyond the trees.
For two days, he’d been barely holding it together, and he could feel himself unraveling. The makeshift bandages weren’t enough anymore, and the constant discomfort was wearing him down in ways he didn’t know how to cope with.
He leaned his head back against the crate, closing his eyes for a moment. His thoughts churned, Bellamy’s voice echoing in his mind: You’re lying.
He wasn’t wrong. But what choice did Murphy have?
The sound of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He tensed, his hand instinctively moving toward the knife at his belt, but it was only Octavia.

“Relax,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m not here to fight.”

Murphy sighed, dropping his hand. “What do you want?”

“To check on you,” she said, sitting down beside him. “You looked ready to pass out earlier.”

“I’m fine,” Murphy muttered, the words automatic.
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because that’s totally convincing.”
Murphy didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” Octavia continued, her voice quiet but steady. “But you should tell someone. You can’t keep this up.”
Murphy’s throat tightened, but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

After a moment, Octavia sighed and stood. “Just… don’t let him get to you, okay? Bellamy’s a jerk, but he’s not always wrong.”
She walked away, leaving Murphy alone with his thoughts.
For the first time in two days, he let himself consider the possibility that she was right.