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It wasn't as if he had them every night. It wasn't as if he woke every night with the sweat, pooling at the small of his back and matting his hair at the temples, phantom pain in his hands where they'd pulled his nails out, visions behind his eyes he wouldn't be able to shake for hours. It wasn't as if it happened terribly often. But this week--this week when Raven had almost given him up to them to die--he'd had three vicious nightmares, and they had all left him in a sleepless daze. On the night Finn had died, he'd been in a panic the whole time, hiding in his tent with his fingers curled over his ears, eyes clamped shut.
It wasn't as if Finn had been important to him. But Finn had been there since the beginning, just like Bellamy and Clarke, and it had done something sick to Murphy's head to see him go. He knew everybody else would be sadder. Clarke and Raven the most. But Murphy knew what it was like to be strung up by the grounders, and he could imagine dying at their hands. He had imagined it vividly when they'd tortured him.
He didn't have the energy to be angry at Raven. He would have liked to see her dead. But he knew he'd crippled her, and he knew Raven had always been a real bitch, so he could see why she'd done what she'd done. Even if it wasn't fair. Even if a useless leg wasn't nearly on the same level as death--a death for something Murphy didn't do. Punishment made sense. Death that you deserved made sense. But Murphy had been very good lately, very good. He hadn't killed anybody or gotten into any real fights, even if not doing all that made his bones feel stiff. Bellamy had given him a gun, finally. Bellamy hadn't let Raven give him up. Bellamy trusted him again. That was all that mattered.
Plus, seeing Finn die was punishment enough for Raven. Or something.
But the nightmares were awful. And Murphy could hardly muster the enthusiasm to do what was asked of him. Today, Bellamy had asked him to go on a hunting trip--something that had used to get Murphy pretty pumped. But he had hesitated as soon as Murphy had looked at him, his eyes ringed in red and deader than usual.
"You doing okay?"
"I'm fine." He didn't even sound convincing to himself. But he wasn't the biggest fan of showing weakness, and there was no point. It wasn't like anybody could do anything to help him. The nightmares would become more scarce with time just like they had before (but they would never go away, not completely). "Let's go hunting," he added, when Bellamy looked doubtful, brows creased together in concern.
Murphy didn't like it when people looked at him like that. And when Bellamy did it, it sent a strange feeling down his spine. The fact that Bellamy could tell when something was wrong with him was invasive (but anyone could tell, this time).
"I'll send someone else," Bellamy said after a pause, turning away from him.
But Murphy reached forward--his reaction a fraction delayed due to exhaustion--fingers clasping weakly over Bellamy's wrist. "No, I wanna help."
"You need to get some sleep."
Murphy swallowed, his Adam's apple rolling under the skin. He dropped his hand. "I can't."
Bellamy seemed to freeze for a moment, that look of concern deepening just a little. And then he turned, facing Murphy full on again. "Why not?"
And then it was Murphy's turn to turn away. He smirked in that hopeless way he did sometimes, making a barely there, gritty near-laugh that cut off as Bellamy gripped his wrist instead. He gripped harder than Murphy had gripped him, and it almost hurt.
Murphy tore his arm away. His expression soured. Perhaps he was a hypocrite, but with visions of grounders forcing him to submit to things just under the surface of his mind, being grabbed like that felt like an offensive move.
"Fine," said Bellamy. "Don't tell me. But you're in no condition to man a weapon." And with that, he was gone, and Murphy was feeling vaguely ill in his stomach. The nightmares were setting him back; the gun privileges he'd begged for had been revoked.
***
The next time he had a nightmare, he woke up screaming. His throat felt raw. An extra layer of panic hit him as he realized he may have been loud enough for other people to hear. And then yet another layer hit--particularly hard, sending his heart racing and racing--when he looked up to see a figure lifting the door of his tent. He sat up, pushing himself backward instinctively, hands and heels shoving at the blankets.
"Murphy--" The figure passed through the slit in the tent, hand reached out, fingers spread. "Murphy, it's me."
Bellamy. Murphy breathed. He raised a hand up to cover his eyes, like maybe he could stop Bellamy from seeing him like this, sweaty and afraid. After a moment, his eyes narrowed, and he peeked up from behind his palm.
"What are you doing here?"
Bellamy crouched down. His whole demeanor was softened, like he was trying not to scare a boar away. "I heard you screaming. I've just come off a watch shift and happened to pass by."
How convenient. Murphy snarled. "Get out."
"No. I need you back to normal so you can help out around camp. So you need to tell me what's wrong."
Murphy breathed hotly through his nostrils. He took a moment to digest the words, their meaning having to travel through the layers of panic still shaking him, still making him sick. It was nice, in a way. It was nice that Bellamy was here because otherwise Murphy would be lying here, reliving what he'd just been dreaming about, unable to shake the images and rest.
Murphy wanted badly to be back to normal. He wanted badly to help. "It's no use. There's nothing you can do about it."
Bellamy sighed. Murphy let his hand drop as Bellamy's eyes averted, looking him over. He had a rifle strapped to his back. He looked so sure of himself. The idea of giving over problems to him was almost heady; Murphy had had that instinct when they'd first landed, had gone to Bellamy for everything. He had trusted him blindly. But he'd stopped using him like that after it had failed--when he'd asked him to defend him the day they'd hanged him.
Now it was only permission he was after when he went to Bellamy. Can I come this time? So, do I get a gun now?
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," Bellamy said gently, shifting his position so that he was sitting down fully on the ground next to Murphy.
Murphy felt trapped now. He knew he could throw a tantrum and get Bellamy to leave him alone; he knew he could drive him away. But he wanted to be in his favor so he could get more privileges, be included more in the cool stuff. So he swallowed hard and shifted his eyes away.
"It's--" He had to clear his throat, his voice rough from sleep and from the screaming. "It's nightmares. About the grounders. When Raven..." His posture collapsed a bit. He didn't want to talk about it. He had almost looked so weak in front of Bellamy and Clarke, with those tears pricking his eyes, so he had had to step forward against Raven's gun. Show that he wasn't weak.
When Bellamy was silent for a few beats, Murphy slid his eyes up carefully, only to see Bellamy's gaze fixed on him, filled up with that stupid concern. Murphy shuddered visibly, that feeling going down his spine harder than it usually did, what with how shaky he was already.
"I wouldn't have let that happen," said Bellamy.
Murphy smirked, puffed a little air out his noise. "Sure." Because yes, Bellamy had discouraged it. But he had only been being logical and fair, like a leader was supposed to. He wouldn't have stopped it had he been the only one against it, and especially not if Clarke had been on board, for instance. Murphy might have helped save Bellamy's life, but he had also attempted to take it. And while Murphy was all about eyes for eyes, Bellamy wouldn't think of things the same way. He'd think about who was valuable for the greater good. And it wasn't as if Murphy had any special skills to help at camp, not like Monty or Clarke. Anyone could hold a gun. Finn could, obviously. (And if Murphy was so important with his skills with weapons and fighting, he would have been allowed to have a weapon whenever he wanted to.)
Bellamy sighed again. "I mean it, Murphy."
"Right. Like when you stopped them from hanging me?"
The concern in Bellamy's eyes shifted for a moment to something more fiery, and Murphy fought the urge to push himself back again.
"That's in the past," said Bellamy.
"Right."
"No, shut up. If that wasn't in the past for me, you'd be fucking dead. Raven, on the other hand, has a right to have no patience with you given you crippled her. You and me? We're just fine."
Murphy knew what Bellamy meant. He meant that their throats were intact. They were alive. They didn't have any lasting injuries from what they'd done to each other. But the nightmares were lasting--they seemed pretty much fucking permanent. "No, I'm not."
Bellamy's jaw rippled. He huffed out his nose. "You will be. Raven's stunt just brought it up fresh for you, right? You've just got to bury it again."
Murphy shrugged a tense, defensive shoulder. "I guess."
Bellamy just looked at him for a moment. And Murphy stared back, even if that was hard to do, even if he felt the eye contact in his body.
Eventually, Bellamy stood up, reaching to retrieve his rifle off his back. And Murphy watched him with slightly widened eyes, unsure of what he was going to do.
"Lie down," said Bellamy.
"...no? I'm not going to be able to sleep."
"You're gonna try. I'll stand watch."
Murphy laughed a little, the sound rough. It was a rediculous gesture. And it was grand as fuck, too, considering Bellamy had just come off watch and likely hadn't slept yet. Murphy was touched. It felt good to have Bellamy at least pretend to care about him. But it was his instinct not to accept help.
"Just go, Bellamy. I'll be fine."
"No. I'm going to stand just outside. If you need something, call for me."
Murphy ducked his head, looking up at Bellamy. They made that eye contact for another few seconds, Bellamy's eyes hard and sure. Murphy wanted...he wanted to do something, but his head wouldn't let him form anything concrete. "Fine," he said quietly.
Bellamy took a step forward and bent down, his hand settling on the side of Murphy's face. Murphy tensed and looked away, but Bellamy didn't break the contact. "Look at me," he said.
Though it took him a couple of seconds to get himself to comply, Murphy slid his gaze back onto Bellamy's.
Bellamy said, "I will never let the grounders take you again. Do you understand?"
Murphy nodded. "Yeah."
"So go to sleep."
Bellamy took his hand back, turning and going to stand watch outside the tent. Murphy could see his shadow through the fabric, feet parted in a power stance. And though Murphy knew the grounders were unlikely to come to camp tonight, he felt safer with Bellamy there, ready to shoot anything that came to hurt him.
It was still difficult to get to sleep. But eventually, Murphy managed to drift off, and for tonight, the nightmares were finished.