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Bellamy’s back is against the bar. He’s crouched down, facing away from the action, wincing only when he hears broken glass crashing to the floor, an auditory reminder that a bullet has destroyed even more of his property.
There’s a shoot-out going on in his bar for the third time this week. Bellamy’s starting to regret becoming the neutral bartender.
Silence overtakes the situation. This time around, he’s smart enough not to stand right away. The first time he was involved in one of these situations, he did just that, and had to feel a bullet zing over his head and crash into his alcohol display behind him. Today, he stays crouched, facing away from the action, determined to save his supply.
He’s a temporary fixture in the bar, but the good stuff is hard to come by.
It’s while he’s reflecting on this situation that the cowboy vaults over the bar, skidding along the counter top before crashing down on the other side, right next to Bellamy. “You can’t be back here,” is all Bellamy says, giving the newcomer a disdainful look.
“Ah, c’mon,” the cowboy protests, rising into a sitting position and sliding right next to the bartender. “You really tryin’ to deny my service, Blake?”
Bellamy sighs, rubbing his temple in frustration. “You and I both know I could never stop you, Murphy.”
“That’s right,” Murphy says, shooting him one of his easy smiles. John Murphy’s been a blight on Bellamy’s existence for as long as he’s been at the bar, despite being a regular customer – always coming in and disrupting the peace. Bellamy’s pretty sure he’s the reason for two of the shootouts this week, and he might be responsible for this one, too.
“Can you please find somewhere else to hide?”
“Shush, and stay low,” Murphy says. He’s turned back around now, facing the bar, but still crouching to avoid being hit. “Don’t want you to ruin that pretty face of yours.”
Involuntarily, Bellamy’s cheeks flush red.
The shooting seems to carry on for far too long. Eventually, though, silence fills the bar once again. “Are you done now?” Bellamy asks.
Evidently, they are not, as above him he hears a click of a gun being raised. Slowly, Bellamy turns and looks up, only to see a barrel of a gun looming above his head, being held by a very tall, very scary cowboy. “Today’s your last day on this good Earth, Murphy,” the cowboy says, his voice low and gruff. “Got any last words?”
Somehow, despite all of this, Murphy is smiling. “Not for you, partner.”
“Wait!” Bellamy says, before he can stop himself. When the attention gets moved over to him, however, he doesn’t even know what to say. “I – how about free drinks? If you leave us alone?”
There’s a pause. “You the owner of this establishment, then?”
“Yes. I am.”
“So then if you’re dead,” the cowboy says, “there’s nothing stoppin’ me or my crew from free drinks all the time.”
“That’s – well, hang on, now–”
The gun goes off once. All that Bellamy registers is a ringing in his ears and warm blood on his face before it goes off again, and the ringing goes silent.
It’s during this time that Bellamy remembers.
To anyone that asked, he’d claim he hated it when John Murphy walked into the bar, so confidently, ready to take on the world and defy anyone that asked any kind of favour from him. His gun would be at his hip, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for the west.
Bellamy would serve him, and he’d only give the man a nod, but it was – it was nice. It was nice to have him there.
When the shootout started, as it always would when Murphy made an appearance, he’d slip the man an extra drink across the counter before taking cover. “Ah, you do love me!” Murphy would cheer, downing the shot and firing his weapon in the same breath.
Bellamy would roll his eyes and lament about the property damage, but he’d never try to deny it.
It’s all silent. It’s all too silent, for far too long, until it starts up again far too quickly and far too loudly.
Suddenly, Bellamy’s back behind the bar. The lights are out, and the room is quiet, but he knows for sure that’s where he is – he knows his bar. For a moment, he thinks that it was all some sick nightmare, but when he looks to his right, he sees Murphy smiling back at him.
“Well, isn’t this something!” Murphy cheers.
Bellamy just groans. “What the hell is this, Murphy?”
Murphy scoffs in response. “I dunno why you think I know more than you, but if I had to guess, I’d say we’re both dead.”
He remembers the gun. He remembers hearing the shot, knowing that Murphy was gone. He’s pretty sure that it’s true, but still, it doesn’t make any sense. “And what makes you say that?”
“Watch this,” Murphy says, and then he reaches out, moving to pick up one of the bottles on the shelf. When his fingers get close, however, they pass right through the bottle, as if he isn’t even there at all.
Bellamy’s eyes widen, and quickly, he attempts to do the same thing. Just like Murphy, when he tries to grab the bottle, his hand passes right through. He tries the same thing with the bar itself, to reveal the same effect. Finally, he places a hand on Murphy’s shoulder, relieved when he feels the solid contact. “I can touch you,” he says, “but that’s it.”
“Oh, that’s it?” Murphy says, raising an eyebrow, but not moving away from the contact. “Is that really all you can do?”
Bellamy removes his hand, rolling his eyes. Secretly, though – and he’ll never, ever admit this – he’s glad that he’s got Murphy with him in this. “So, we’re dead, then.”
“That we are,” Murphy agrees. “Now, let’s go explore the world, hmm?” He moves to stand, but halfway the motion, he abruptly freezes and slides back down.
“What was that?”
Murphy’s brow furrows, and he reaches up, his arm only rising about halfway high. “Can you feel this, too?”
Bellamy copies the movement and reaches upwards, feeling something solid blocking his way. The two of them try to breach the blockade, but it’s solid despite being invisible. “Are you kidding me?” Bellamy sighs, leaning back against the bar in defeat. He doesn’t question why it is that he doesn’t fall right through when he can’t even grab a solid surface. The rules, evidently, do not apply here.
“Looks like we’re stuck here,” Murphy says.
Bellamy’s about to retort something, when suddenly the lights in the bar turn on and the door opens. Someone he doesn’t recognize walks behind the bar and starts arranging bottles and cleaning. Though they both suspect it won’t matter, they instinctually move out of the way when the new bartender is about to step right on top of them.
“I want to haunt him,” Bellamy says, before he can stop himself, after moving out of the way for the umpteenth time. “This is my bar.”
“You are a ghost,” Murphy replies.
“Am not.”
“Ghost. Ghoul. Spirit.”
“No, I’m Bellamy.”
Murphy can’t stop himself from laughing. “Yeah, okay, Bellamy the Ghost.”
Customers have been coming into the bar the entire time, and the noise is getting increasingly annoying. “This can’t be my fate for all eternity,” he whines. “You, maybe. But not me.”
“You sayin’ that you’re better than me?”
“Yeah, actually,” Bellamy says. “I was just a bartender. You’re the reason I was patching bullet holes in my wall every night.”
“Well, I’ll tell you–” Murphy pauses, then, pondering the sentence. “Actually, that’s true, yeah.”
“See?”
“You let me hide behind your bar, though. That’s – what does the sheriff call it? Aidin’ and abettin’.”
“I did not let you!”
“Sure thing, partner. Sure thing.”
Bellamy lets out a long sigh, determined not to lose his cool. “I am not your partner.”
“You see anyone else around?” Murphy makes a long show of checking the bar for anyone else that could hear him. “No? Looks like that makes you my partner, partner.”
“That’s not – surely there’s more criteria for that.”
“Don’t know what to tell you…partner.”
“Okay, now you’re just doing it to annoy me.”
Murphy smirks, raising a brow suggestively. “Sure am.”
“I can’t stand you.”
“That’s fine,” Murphy says, “you’ve got an eternity to get used to it.”
As it turns out, there’s far more to their situation then they initially discovered.
The bar closes, many hours later, and the lights go out. After the bartender leaves the counter and closes and locks the door as he leaves, there’s only two beats of silence before an odd feeling overtakes them both. “Do you feel that?” Bellamy asks. “It’s like – pins and needles, all over.”
“Yeah,” Murphy agrees, “I do.” The cowboy stares at his hand for a second, narrows his eyes, and then reaches up as they had both tried to do before. This time, instead of meeting some invisible barricade, his hand carries on and he can reach all the way above the bar. Bellamy gasps when he sees the success, and then tries himself, and gets the same result.
“We can leave when the bar’s closed, then?” Bellamy suggests, slowly gathering himself into a standing position.
“Suppose so,” Murphy says, and with a smile, he rises. Bellamy follows soon after. The feeling of elation that fills him is indescribable, but as he stands next to Murphy and stares over the bar that’s suddenly all theirs, he’s never felt quite so at peace and yet quite so happy at the same time.
It’s all shattered, far too soon.
Four figures suddenly rise, two on each side of the room. On the left of the bar is a large fish tank that takes up the space of the entire wall – a feature which was definitely installed after Bellamy’s venture as bartender, because frankly, it’s hideous – and from it, what looks like two beautiful men emerge. They seem to come right through the glass pane of it, as if they can move through objects. Bellamy thinks that one of them has a fish tail, for a moment, but when he blinks, they’re back to being legs. On the other side of the room are two women. Both of them are holding long swords, and one has an eyepatch covering her left eye. They’ve upturned a table onto its side and are using it as a shield as they stand behind it, glaring at the two men who are glaring right back.
“Oh my god,” Bellamy gasps.
“You’re seein’ this too, then?” Murphy says.
“Pirates,” Bellamy agrees, “and – mermen?”
“This just got a lot more interesting.”
It’s that comment that rouses the attention of the four figures. “Newcomers,” one of the pirates says.
“It’s been a long time,” one of the mermen agrees. It all seems well and good until he turns and walks over to them quickly, threateningly leaning towards them over the other side of the bar. “Whose side are you on?”
Bellamy thinks that, if he dared to speak, it would only come out as a squeak. Murphy, though, has managed to keep his cool. “Not on any side,” the cowboy says, retaining the arrogant tone he always had in life.
“That’s impossible,” one of the pirates agrees, and suddenly all four of them are at the other side of the bar, staring at the two of them suspiciously.
“You’re on your own side, then?” the second merman asks.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and all present,” Murphy cries, dramatically, “I promise you we are not on anyone’s side! Unless, of course – you tell us what you’re fighting about.”
Bellamy’s eyes widen. “Murphy!” He only gets a wink in response.
The first merman sighs dramatically. “The wood this bar is made from – it was repurposed from an old sunken ship.”
“My old sunken ship!” one of the pirates says. The other pirate places a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, but the mermen ignore this completely.
“Where we made a home,” he continues, arms crossed in front of him. “So now, when the moon rises and the living leave this place, we fight for our right to stay.”
“I see,” Murphy says, “a territorial dispute. Best we stay out of this one. My partner and I will be headin’ out, but we wish you the best of luck in settlin’ this matter.”
Both the pirates and the mermen laugh. “As if we haven’t tried that,” the second merman chuckles. “We can’t leave.”
Of course it can’t be that simple.
“So, we ask again,” one of the pirates says, “whose side are you on?”
Bellamy exchanges a look with Murphy, feeling increasingly out of his depth with the situation. “I think it’s best that we–”
Before he can even blink, there’s a sword an inch from his neck. “Raven!” the second pirate gasps, futilely attempting to pull her friend, Raven, back.
“This was my ship, Emori,” Raven growls, “and they’re trespassing.”
Emori, the one with the eyepatch, shakes her head but doesn’t do anymore to pull Raven back. One of the mermen lifts a small pitchfork that Bellamy hadn’t even realized they were both holding and brings it up to Murphy’s chest.
“Jasper, what are you doing?” the second merman asks his friend, the one with the weapon.
“It looked like a good idea,” Jasper says, “and besides, Monty, I’m just having some fun.”
Murphy glances down at the pitchfork, then whistles. “So, it looks like you don’t want us on either side.”
“No,” Raven hisses, “we want you on the right side.”
What happens next happens too quickly for Bellamy to do anything about. Murphy grins, and then reaches down and pulls out his gun in one swift movement. He lines it up to the second merman’s head, moves to pull the trigger, but then – before he can do anything, in a panic, Jasper drives the pitchfork through his chest.
Bellamy’s mouth falls open in an abandoned scream. The gun falls to the floor with a bang, the bullet shooting through the floor. Jasper pulls the pitchfork back, and then scrambles several feet away, bringing Monty into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he says, but his attention is focused more on the wellbeing of his partner than anything else.
Murphy stumbles one step, two steps back. He looks at Bellamy, gives him the weakest, smallest grin, and then crashes to the floor.
“No!” Bellamy yells, falling to the floor with him, cupping Murphy’s cheeks. There’s blood, everywhere, and the wound is catastrophic. He’s seen enough to know this without having to check again. “No,” he repeats, “Murphy, please.”
If he’d looked behind him, he would have seen the pirates staring at them, Raven holding Emori in her arms and kissing her forehead in a show of solidarity. He would have seen the sadness in Jasper’s eyes, and the protective grip he kept on Monty, as if to make sure he was still there and wasn’t shot. Bellamy doesn’t look behind him, though. He stares at Murphy the entire time, smiling through his own tears, offering the cowboy whatever comfort he could possibly give.
Murphy manages to look at him, grab hold of his arm, and open his mouth to say something before the life leaves his eyes and he’s gone. Bellamy’s whole body trembles as he leans over him, pressing his forehead to Murphy’s, letting the tears fall freely. The idea of an eternity is sounding more and more like a punishment.
The tears turn quickly into anger. He moves back, slowly, closing Murphy’s eyes and softly kissing his forehead before rising. When he does, he locks eyes with Jasper. “How could you?”
“I’m sorry–”
“How could you?”
“Wait,” the second merman, Monty, says, pulling out of Jasper’s embrace to approach him slowly, much to Jasper’s protests. “He’ll be back, tomorrow. That’s how it works.”
“I – what?”
“You’re both already dead, right? If we die here, we come back the next day. I don’t know why, but that’s how it’s always been. He’ll be back, okay? He’ll be back.”
Bellamy just shakes his head, unable to process the multitude and magnitude of emotions passing through his mind. “I – I don’t understand.”
“It’s true,” Raven agrees, “we come back. Dying here sucks, but it’s temporary.”
He glances down at Murphy’s still form, and thinks that the universe is absolutely cruel to allow someone like Murphy to have the life ripped away from him – twice. But if it’s true, and he will come back, then he has to wait and see. He has to. “Okay,” he says, “but I don’t understand. Don’t you all hate each other?”
“Nah,” Jasper says, “it’s just more fun this way.”
“I – more fun?”
The pirate with the eyepatch, Emori, approaches him just as Monty had done. “What’s your name?”
“Bellamy. That’s Murphy.”
“Bellamy – it’s true that this was our ship, which sunk, and the merpeople made a home out of it. When we died, our spirits stayed, fighting over its true ownership. But we don’t – we’re friends, outside of that, I think. I love Raven. Monty and Jasper love each other. We fight, because it’s honourable, but that’s it.”
“We try not to kill each other,” Monty adds.
Jasper’s eyes fill with sadness. “I am sorry. I thought – I thought he was going to kill Monty.”
He looks at the four of them, the two couples, and he sighs. “This was my bar,” he agrees, “so I guess – I guess it makes sense why I’m here, then.”
They nod, and then Raven sighs. “We shouldn’t fight tonight,” she says, “out of respect for our newcomers.”
“Hell of a welcome,” Bellamy says, but in a weird way, he’s grateful for it.
“It’s almost Christmas, anyways,” Jasper says, and he and Monty smile at each other.
“Is it?”
“We don’t fight on Christmas,” Emori replies.
“Right. Right, yeah, sure.” He’s very quickly getting overwhelmed yet again.
Raven gives him a look, appraising the situation, and then takes Emori in her arms once again. “Let’s call it a night,” she says, “and go back to our normal schedule tomorrow, okay?”
The mermen both nod and agree, quickly returning to the tank at the side of the room. Bellamy doesn’t see them disappear, but one moment they’re there, and the next, they’re vanished into the shadows. Raven and Emori leave as well, their swords firmly in their grip and their free hand wrapped in the other’s.
Bellamy just sinks to his knees, looks at Murphy’s still form, and cries once more.
Many hours go by before Murphy stirs. He takes a deep breath, and then sits up, eyes wild.
“Hey,” Bellamy says, immediately reaching for him. “Hey, you’re good, you’re okay.”
Murphy glances around them, sees the familiarity of their surroundings, and then grabs Bellamy’s outstretched hand. “I – I had the craziest dream.”
“Yeah,” Bellamy says, relief pouring out through his voice, “about that…”
He pulls Murphy up into a sitting position, grateful to see that the wound is disappeared, and the blood is gone. He rests his back against the bar and pulls Murphy close against his chest, wrapping his arms around the cowboy. Somewhat surprisingly, Murphy doesn’t protest, and allows himself to be held. Bellamy starts slowly, explaining what happened, and explaining the rules of their new situation.
Murphy, also surprisingly, takes it very well. “Pirates, mermen and cowboys,” he hums. “Locked in battle forever. Sounds fun.”
“You’re the cowboy,” Bellamy says, “I’m just the innocent bartender.”
“Sure thing, partner.”
Bellamy hums in amusement, but then poses the final question that’s been bothering him the entire time. “Emori said something interesting,” he says. “The pirates and mermen, they’re here because of a special attachment to this place – it was their home. I’m here because this was my bar. But you – this wasn’t your bar, or anything. What kind of attachment did you have here?”
Murphy’s quiet for quite some time, but then, “This was your bar.”
“Yeah, I know–”
“No,” Murphy says, and then he twists upright so that he’s right in front of Bellamy, staring into his eyes. “This was your bar.”
“Oh.”
Murphy smiles that easy smile of his, and then leans in for a kiss so gentle and soft that Bellamy didn’t think Murphy was capable of. He returns it, cupping his hand on Murphy’s cheek, feeling security and safety in the amount of warmth he feels. As far as he’s concerned, they’ve never been so alive.
The lights in the bar go out, and the door locks behind the living. “Come on,” Murphy whispers, “it’s showtime.”
Bellamy’s back is against the bar, but this time around, he’s smiling.
He dives out from the side, shooting at where the pirates are hiding. Raven blocks the bullet with her sword, easily, and then swipes at him, but he dodges. She winks as he does so, returning to the safety of Emori and he slides back behind the bar.
Murphy comes crashing in, hooting and hollering. “Oh, isn’t this the life!” he cheers. His eyes fall on Bellamy and the smile reaches his eyes in full sincerity. “You good?”
“Never better,” Bellamy says, and gives his partner a quick kiss before seeing him off again to continue his fight with the mermen.
If this is what is meant by eternity, Bellamy thinks that they’ll be just fine.