station72 | [closed] should've heard them knocked-out jailbirds sing

( Tell him to speed it up. )

[It comes across as the usual irritated complaint, but there's a genuine thread of fear coiling behind it. What happens if the Nest moves on, leaves them here? They're in a system now, no place to hide, and sooner or later someone's going to realise they aren't who they say they are. They aren't from here. And that the things in their heads aren't either.

Thankfully, or not, he's interrupted from those considerations by movement from the corner of the cell he'd been specifically hoping there wouldn't be any. But Bellamy's glance around had been the last straw on holding the tenuous space they'd had. Internally, Murphy groans.]

( In the meantime you're going to need to remember that asshole I met when we first hit the ground. )

[There's a flash of memory, Bellamy back at the dropship camp before everything had truly started going to hell. Confident, arrogant, violent, all the other negative personality traits necessary to bring 100 criminal kids into line. But Bellamy didn't need to lead this cell. He just needed to survive it, and Murphy pulls himself to his feet just in time to nearly collide with their incoming company, forcing the man to stop and take a step back, away from him and Bellamy.]

Sorry, Yan. [There's nothing apologetic in his tone, drawling, cruel amusement curling at the edges. He looks the man up and down, making special emphasis for how he can see over his head.] Guess I didn't see you there.

[ The fear's not misplaced. Bellamy recognizes it, because he's harboring the same worry. What happens if they're left behind? What happens if the Nest goes and the last frail threads of connection snap? They'll be alone. Trapped. And remembering Nirad's fear at being captured, Bellamy suspects that will come to nothing good.

Though there's not time to dwell on that possible outcome, because a more pressing trouble makes itself known. The man he'd been when the dropship had fallen had been ground to practically nothing, but Bellamy immediately recognizes the necessity of Murphy's advice. ]

( Murphy. )

[ It spins out unbidden, cautionary, as Bellamy rises to his feet. ]

You need something? [ Bellamy asks, derisive. They're in a difficult position; this can't escalate into an altercation, but they can't afford to back down. ]

[The cautionary call of his name is nearly familiar, for all that it's in their heads and not quite the tone Bellamy might have used before. It still prompts a thread of amusement in Murphy's head, all the response he gives as he keeps his attention on their cellmate.

Yan is not a small man. He's stocky, over-muscled, and walks like he's carrying a stack of rocks across his shoulders. But he's short, and Murphy's already seen that he prefers to block people in while they're sitting or laying down on their cots. Both of them standing has already put him on the back foot, a flicker of it in his face, but he recovers quickly enough.]

Just saying hello. Your friend didn't introduce himself.

[He's talking to Murphy, even as he's answering Bellamy's question, but Murphy can't help thinking that's probably for the best right now. Bellamy's not back to himself yet, and Murphy has no idea if he can get back to where he'll need to be to deal with guys like Yan.]

So you throw this little welcome parade for everyone. [Because he'd had the same, when he'd first got here. Yan hadn't seemed to like his reaction then, and he doesn't look like he appreciates it now.] You know, you're going to need to find better ways to pass the time, if you're in for as long as they're saying you are. Again.

[ None of this is unfamiliar. Bellamy recognizes the posturing for what it is. Yen isn't without support and he isn't easily dismissed. Bellamy's jaw tightens as he squares his shoulders, attempting to shake off the lingering clutch of exhaustion. ]

If you're so interested in getting to know me, you can introduce yourself.

[ It's just as antagonistic as Murphy, and likely as ill-advised. But Bellamy wants to cut this short as quickly as possible. Or failing that, divert attention away from Murphy. ]

And then head back to your cot.

[Yan seems as happy with Bellamy's attitude as he was with Murphy's, judging by the thunder that breaks through the false amicability he'd had plastered over his face. Murphy can't help a curl of smug pleasure at it, and there's something comfortably familiar in this: standing shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy, facing down a foe, derisive and arrogant, the potential of violence pulsing just under the surface.

Maybe Yan senses it. Or maybe he's even more of a coward than Murphy had taken him for.]

Smart mouths. You'll want to watch those. Just a little friendly advice.

[Then he's backing off, turning back to his cot. Murphy doesn't fully take his attention off him, but he does shift to sit down again.]

( He's not done. )

[And he won't be the only one. It's a temporary victory.]

[ Bellamy stays stupidly standing until Yan's back in the embrace of his people. All the bravado in the world doesn't change how exhausted Bellamy is, but it might be a deterrent. He still remembers Finn talking deterrents in the half-dark, and Raven's cutting assessment of the strategy being proposed. The appearance of strength, she'd call it. Bellamy suspects she'd repeat herself if she saw him posturing now.

He levers himself down beside Murphy with a low groan of complaint. It's always too much to expect any given situation to be easy. Mount Weather is still lurking treacherously in the back of his head. It's too close for comfort. He focuses on Murphy's face instead; trading resigned looks of irritation is at least familiar territory. ]

( I know. Whatever they're going to try, we'll have to make sure we're ready. )

[ That being said, Bellamy's not above playing dirty. And landing himself immediately back in the medical ward. ]

[Murphy could almost roll his eyes. He's been ready. Bellamy's the one who's had to put a face on, push for an affectation that no longer seems to come too easily for him.]

( Yeah, well, we can't build any walls in here. )

[It's a lazy pointer on how different the territory they're in and the territory Bellamy's used to is. But it isn't as sharp as it could be. Murphy doesn't expect him to be useless. Just off step.

Sleep would probably help, and Murphy's close to suggesting he lay down, try to catch some more now while lights were on and Murphy could keep watch. But he's stopped by a siren breaking the air, guards coming to the door and yelling for them to line up for meal time.]

( Think you can eat? )

[Food wasn't sleep, but it was a step in the same direction. If Bellamy's stomach had settled enough to keep anything down.]

[ Jail is entirely new. Bellamy hadn't ever experienced it, even on the Ark. The idea that he'd have done better if he could claw his way back to the person he was when the dropship landed makes him uneasy. It's harder to affect that kind of swagger when all Bellamy associates it with is loss and death. He carries so much guilt; shucking it off and putting it aside is a daunting task.

The siren is unwelcome, as is the prospect of food. Bellamy sighs, but gets to his feet anyway. Right now, he doesn't have much of a choice. And who knew when they'd eat again? ]

( The sickness passed. I should be fine. )

[ It's just convincing himself to put something back into his body that's going to need work. ]

( Stay in front of me. )

[ All the better to keep himself between any incoming trouble and Murphy. The guards are opening the doors, and Bellamy doesn't have any faith in them being able to intervene quickly enough if something were to happen. ]

[It's almost an immediate thing, to tell Bellamy he doesn't need the protective act. He doesn't, really, especially if it's going to get any worse than this. But he'd be flying in the face of their history to say he doesn't need Bellamy's protection. Solo wasn't how people survived, and they worked best together.]

( Yeah, yeah. )

[The muttered response, getting into line in front of Bellamy. Yan ends up somewhere behind them. He doesn't keep too close a check. It's unlikely, he thinks, that he'll try anything with this many guards around.

He's right. They're marched out of the cell and into the central area without incident, ready prepared trays of food dumped into their hands before they take seats at the rows of tables. Murphy doesn't waste time trying to figure out what it is; he starts eating immediately, doesn't slow down for appearance or to match Bellamy's reluctant pace.

It turns out meal time is for meals only, though, according to the guard who comes over to get him moving as soon as it looks like he might just sit there with an empty tray in front of him. He gets up with a very similar acknowledgement as he'd given Bellamy earlier, turns to head back to their cell, and walks straight into the hardened plastic of one of the food trays.

It's over before it's really started. The first blow stuns him for a second, but when Yan follows it by tackling him to the floor, he gets his knees up, drives the point of his elbow into the back of Yan's neck until he lets go. Another second, a few solid punches to both his face and Yan's, and then there's the painful full-body jolt of a taser shock, Yan's weight being dragged off him and arms hauling him roughly to his feet.

Murphy catches sight of Bellamy's face briefly as the guards cart him away from the cells, and he has to smile, sharp with the blood in his mouth.]

( So much for staying in front of you. )

[ The fight happens too fast. Bellamy's reaction time is slow to start, and before he can take more than two steps to intervene a guard has him by the arm. The staff is attentive. Bellamy notes that grimly even as they haul Murphy and Yan out of the room. The quick action by the guards won't bode well for any future attempts at escape, but right now, Bellamy's more concerned about where they're taking Murphy.

The answer comes in an aside from another prisoner filing past. Solitary, probably.

Without Murphy, Bellamy's alone on their bed. He doesn't want to sleep, so he sits up, back against the wall, and watches the room resentfully. He's tugging fretfully on the connection before he can really stop himself, relieved that at least Murphy's conscious. ]

( Are you hurt? )

[ Assuming that Murphy would volunteer information about where he was along with whatever answer he provided. ]

[There's some bitter irony in Bellamy being concerned he's hurt, and Murphy, somewhat pettily, doesn't curb that from bleeding through.]

( I've had worse. )

[There's the sting of split skin on his knuckles, cheekbone, lip; the ache of a still-swelling black eye and bruised ribs. All of it's so low on Murphy's pain scale as to be non-existent, but he knows his perception might be skewed. Really, he's counting himself lucky the guards hadn't done more before they'd left.]

( Looks like fighting gets you dropped in solitary. )

[Same old, same old, and way more reminiscent of the Skybox than the previous cell had been. There's no clear glass walls and doors here. Just a tiny dark space, a cot and a toilet.]

[ Murphy's injuries bounce back to him through the bond. This isn't new. Bellamy remembers trying to spar with Kylo Ren and with Bruce; each punch he'd landed had doubled back between them. He can't ease Murphy's pain, but at least he can hold on to some of it. It'll make for a nice change from the obvious thud of guilt in the back of Bellamy's head. ]

( They wouldn't tell me for how long. )

[ Just like how they'd likely not told Murphy how long Bellamy would be in solitary. It makes sense. There's no reason for them to tell anything to Bellamy. ]

( I didn't see them. )

[ Bellamy doesn't need to say I'm sorry. The apology is so strongly implied, even in the face of Murphy's irritation. ]

[In his tiny new cell, Murphy feels the pulse of apology and guilt in Bellamy's head and rolls his eyes heaven(ground)ward, then yanks his pain out of Bellamy's hold. He doesn't need any help with it, just like he doesn't need any apologies for Bellamy being over the other side of the room when Murphy was getting a surprise meal tray to the face.]

( A day, if this place is anything like the Skybox. )

[He drops onto the cot, tucking his hands behind his head, examining the smooth black surface of the ceiling.]

( Hey, at least they dragged Yan in here too. Now we can both get some sleep. )

[ The mental equivalent of a sigh vibrates down the bond before Bellamy can stop himself. He feels helpless. There's nothing he can do but wait out Murphy's punishment as best he can while offering what little support Murphy would tolerate. It doesn't seem like enough.

He shifts, shoulders against the wall, legs drawn up. ]

( Yan had friends. )

[ Not that any of them had tried anything, but that doesn't keep Bellamy from being wary of possibilities. Or reluctant to sleep with Murphy in solitary. ]

( I'm not tired. )

[ Aka he just wants to keep Murphy company. ]

( That guy isn't going to try anything without him around. )

[Murphy's confident of it. The fact they don't know Yan's friend's name is enough to indicate how he stayed in the man's shadow, and Yan's particular manner wasn't the type to appreciate a win he wasn't around to have a hand in. Murphy can make a guess the guy's just going to stay in his corner and sleep.

But if Bellamy wants to be over-cautious, that's his choice.]

( Whatever, man. Your loss. )

[He shifts, settling his head more comfortably on the pillow of his arm. He's going to take as much advantage of his safe privacy as he can.]

[ Bellamy, unknowingly, mirrors the action. He settles on the bed with a huff. The cot isn't soft, but Bellamy's exhausted enough that he barely notices. Murphy's assessment is most likely right, but there's no way Murphy would gracefully accept the idea that Bellamy was sitting up to be sure that Murphy was alright. Nothing about this jail or the guards telegraphs sinister intention, and there's little Bellamy could do in his position, but he didn't think he could stand to wake up and find Murphy gone with the rest of the Hive nearly out of reach. ]

( I'll be here when you wake up. )

[ The "here" being connected and alert in this instance. ]

( I want to keep trying to get in touch with the others anyway. )

[ So uselessly straining. That'll be fun. ]

( Just don't give me the headache you get from it. )

[But he doesn't tell him not to bother at all. It wasn't like it was a pointless thing to be attempting, and Bellamy would have more luck with it than him. That's a reminder, though, of how disconnected he is now. Head empty except for Bellamy. The plan to have the symbiote removed had failed, but here was a small glimpse at the privacy he would have regained from it. What was the likelihood he'd ever get this again?

He doesn't cut the connection. He just pulls back, slowly putting space and walls between him and Bellamy, spinning the hold between them out. By the time he's done, the broad red of the belt has thinned to a single thread, caught tight around one finger. It's enough for contact. Continued knowledge of existence. But the inside of his head is his, entirely, nothing but his own thoughts, feelings and memories.

Falling asleep is probably easier than it should be.

He wakes up alone. The grip of it cinched down on him some unknown time before, in dream or nightmare, and it doesn't relent. It gnaws in the pit of his belly, crushes silent and cold over his chest. He pulls himself up to sit, swings his legs over the side of the cot, but the act of movement doesn't shake it loose. Just reminds him how small the room is, how empty it is, only the sound of his own breathing echoing off the smooth walls.

There are people outside. Other prisoners. Guards. There's Bellamy, the connection still strung between them, thin but steady. But that knowledge doesn't stop the swell of memory, the fear rising black in his chest that he's stuck here, that the door won't open, that the days will tick by and tick by and nothing will change, no one will come for him, no one will even look, and--

He fights, desperately, the urge to reach for Bellamy. Chokes it down. He gets to his feet, starts pacing the room, fingers dragging along the walls. It doesn't make it better. It makes it smaller, and closer, and still just as empty, his mind shaking with the effort of trying to pull up, away from the pit of fear and memory widening under each step.]

[ The request for space doesn't need to be vocalized. Murphy pulls away and the connection between them spins out, winnowing down to just a single thread. It's difficult not to start pulling on that thread and tug until he provokes a reaction. The only deterrent is the obvious fact that Murphy's alone and he's safe. There's nothing lost if Bellamy lets him alone.

He can feel it when Murphy falls asleep. In the absence of his brood and the rest of the Hive, the bond between them is the beneficiary of Bellamy's focus. He hadn't realized how much of his awareness had been instinctively devoted to monitoring the low buzz of other minds connected to his own. Even if they'd managed to cut their symbiotes out, would they ever have been able to shake that habit? Bellamy feels incomplete. There's no way to deny that.

Murphy had been right: without Yan, the others left behind are quiet. Bellamy doesn't intend to sleep, but he's able to relax slightly as attention shifts fully away from him. Alone on his cot, Bellamy stretches to try to reach Bruce, or to reconnect with Shiro, to find Clint again now that he's felt Clint's mind stirring. He comes up frustratingly empty. He circles back, opens his eyes to the jail and then sighs before closing them again.

The tug on the thread between them is customary. Bellamy expects irritation in return, but when the response doesn't come, he tugs at it a second time, insistent. ]

( Murphy? )

[Cracked, sharp and splintering, he pushes back:]

( Don't. )

[It's the worst thing that could've happened, Bellamy pulling on the connection between them right now. Murphy fights to keep it distant, not to flood it wide, the thread shivering frantic in his hold. He should let go. Cut it completely, but he can't.

He can't.

The memories are there already, rising too easily to overlay the emptiness of three months of solitude over the cell around him. He drops onto the cot again, head dipping low, the smell of alcohol that had never really numbed the loneliness, the desperate gnaw of near starvation in his stomach, ALIE and Becca, Chris blowing his brains out, over and over, the gun in his hands. His grip on the thread between them could be tight enough for it to cut into his flesh, if it was real, and all the determination he has to keep it narrow means nothing as slivers of everything in his head start to bleed into it.]

[ Maybe he should have drawn back. Bellamy wasn't oblivious to the way Murphy was attempting to stymie the connection between them. He wanted to pull back. But Bellamy couldn't ignore the obvious pain and terror. It was slipping through the bond even as Murphy tried to force it closed. There's no other course of action for Bellamy but to reel him in, grasping hold of the connection between them firmly as he tries to ground Murphy in the moment. ]

( Talk to me. )

[ Bellamy reasoned that even if Murphy were telling him to go float himself, it was a better thing to focus on than the grotesque glimps of isolation and death Bellamy was picking up. Murphy's memories are a confused jumble. There's not very much, but Bellamy can piece together a vague understanding of what Murphy was remembering from the shattered fragments. ]

( You're not alone. )

[ The intent of solitary was to cut prisoners off. And in any other configuration, it would have been effective. But just like at the festival, Bellamy slips in through the cracks and fills Murphy's head. It's the same shock of intimacy. Alone on the cot, Bellamy takes a deep breath, focuses past the phantom itch in his fingers. ]

( Murphy. Focus on me. You're alright. We're going to get out of here. )

[There's no control in it. What might have been the aftermath of another bad dream on any other day is like torture right now, his memories being ripped open, flooded into his mind as if he was back there. The bunker. The room after they took his mother's body away. The clifftop where Charlotte had killed herself. Bellamy only has a place in the last, walking away with the others, and it echoes as he pushes into Murphy's head and puts himself in all of them. The bleed of leaving him still seeping even as he pulls Murphy in, fills the empty spaces.

The hopeless chill of isolation starts to recede, warmth of connection pushing it back. Murphy wants to clutch to it, and he hates that, hates the need and how close he is to giving in. When had he ever had that option before? When had it ever not been ripped away from him?]

( You don't know that. )

[Snapped, hard, and his mind twists sharply, pulls on the memories like blades. The first week, believing he'd find a way out, break the door down, pry it open. The hope Jaha would come to find him. But he never did. He left him there. Alone in the unrelenting press of day after day, grinding everything in him down to nothing, until the only way out was dying slow from starvation or dying fast from the gun in his hands. The trigger under his finger, the press of the barrel under his chin, despair an unbearable, black weight in his head.]

[ The urge to recoil presents itself, though Bellamy disregards it. Murphy's pain is a visceral scream cutting through Bellamy's consciousness, but recoiling isn't an option. He has to grit his teeth past the memory of Charlotte, past the crushing grip of isolation and the chill of gunmetal on his skin. He can't pull back. Recoiling would confirm Murphy's point, and Bellamy can't afford it.

Or more honestly, he can't bear it. He's let Murphy down in so many ways. He can't fail in this.

Murphy's memories cut, sharp as everything else about him. But the straps between them perseveres, phantom friction burning Bellamy's palms as he presses closer and closer, folding into Murphy's mind and disregarding any sense of separation. ]

( I promise. ) [ Bellamy's word use to mean something, before everything between them came apart. ] ( I'm here, and I promise I'm not going anywhere without you. )

[ More logically, he could have made the case that he was only here because he hadn't left Murphy behind. But it skewed too closely to blame, and arguing feels counterproductive. He tries to project sensation to blot out the gun and despair, radiate calm the way he had before when Murphy had been doubled over in an alley in the midst of a celebration. ]

[A part of Murphy still wants to fight it. The calm, the warmth, the close press of connection. He feels like he can practically hear it, the echo of breath not his own, the drum of another heartbeat. Bellamy bears against the thrashing of his mind, stubborn and stupid to the last, and slowly, steadily, the memories sweep away. Dissipate like smoke into clear sky.

It leaves Murphy quiet. Wrung out from it, but his mind settled, his own. The difference is enough that he's barely able to comprehend where the furore of only a few moments ago had even come from, except for the one answer: not him. Not all him, anyway. The symbiote.

Frustrated irritation prickles alongside weariness, but doesn't spike any sharper. What's larger is low, soft discomfort from Bellamy still being so close inside his head. From what he'd said, and how Murphy doesn't really know how to respond.]

( You still don't know that we're going to get out of here. )

[Is what he manages, finally. Once he would have thrown promises back in Bellamy's face, immediate and scornful. He'd had first hand experience of how much bullshit all of Bellamy's good intentions turned out to be. But it's different now, even if Murphy still can't allow the vulnerability of accepting it directly. Bellamy's too close not to pick it up from his mind, anyway.]

[ Murphy's exhaustion seeps into Bellamy's consciousness. It's almost as if they'd physically struggled through Murphy's panic. He breathes out, shoulders loosening as he closes his eyes. Blocking out the room in front of him brings his awareness of Murphy into sharper focus. ]

( They aren't going to leave us. )

[ As little as Bellamy knows of his brood, he puts a fair amount of faith in the compulsion of the bond between them and the Darkling's vicious possessiveness. Bellamy had felt the resolve in him, and he had felt the Darkling's influence in the aftermath of the explosion at the Bout it Out tournament. He would tear his way into the jail. Bellamy didn't doubt that, and he doesn't temper his certainty. ]

( And I won't let them leave you. )

[ He can't be sure if that's Murphy's concern. But attempts to counter it anyway by posing a singular promise, drawing the phantom straps between them taut. ]

[In his cell, Murphy has to laugh, soft and huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He knows it isn't true, but sometimes it's like Bellamy is unbreakable, unstoppable resolve and determination to make whatever he believes be the truth. Back at the dropship, it's what had made all the kids follow him. Combined with Clarke, it's what had kept most of them alive. But in the moment, in the context of it being him - scepticism, evasion - that Bellamy's trying to bend to his certainty, Murphy can't help but wish he'd just let up for a moment.]

( Okay, you can stop. I get it already. )

[Tinged irreverent, the mental impression of holding his hands up, calling uncle. He tips back on the cot, eyes closed, an unknowing mirror.]

( I get it. )

[Softer. Truer. Somehow, even through all the crap they'd done to each other, there'd always been a measure of understanding, unspoken. It's not hard once he's doing it, surrendering the last pieces of distance he'd been keeping, letting that understanding chime through between them. The red belt, the rope they'd both almost died by, one way or the other. Bellamy isn't going to let go. Murphy isn't, either.]

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

cw: attempted suicide

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject