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They find him in the prison block, huddled in the corner. Bellamy gets it; it’s safe there, fortified, and just open enough that it doesn’t resemble a cage. The grounders know many things, but their “sky” technology is still foreign, safe.
He is curled up in the corner, breathing fast and hard, covered in a sheen of sweat. He is pale and quaking, gulping in breaths and sobbing. His hands tear at his face and hair, leaving trails of red skin where his nails pull.
Clarke falls to her knees, hands hovering anxiously over Murphy, but not touching. She is not quite a doctor, but she is a healer, and she knows what panic and trauma look like.
Some of Murphy wounds are still bleeding, all of them left scars. He rocks. His eyes are wild and he swallows hard when he notices them. He reaches out his hand to Clarke, vibrating in the air.
Bellamy sits himself down on Murphy’s other side, and glancing at Clarke for confirmation as she reaches out to grasp Murphy’s hand tight, he folds himself along Murphy’s other side. They surround him and he collapses between them, limp and pliant.
It’s not quite easy yet, but it’s not the first time, either.
“Don’t let them take me again.”
Clarke wraps her other arm around his neck, draws him close to her. “We won’t.” She glances at Bellamy over Murphy’s head. They had tried so hard to keep him away from the grounders outside their camp. Bellamy had thought they had succeeded this time.
He is still shaking, so Bellamy holds him tighter.
The first time the grounders had come, they had found Murphy in the same place, trembling and crying, and he had told them all about his three days in the grounder camp. How they hadn’t fed him, how they had kicked him until his ribs broke. How they had punched and whipped him bloody, and beat the soles of his feet so he could not run. How they had ripped out his hair and his fingernails, burnt him and bled him and degraded him. And how he hadn’t told them anything until the end of the third day. How he had somehow held out until then.
Their affection for him was born out of that guilt, but it is real, now. His hurting makes them hurt. Bellamy feels it especially, because his harsh words when they had both been prisoners were only weeks ago. He hadn’t known, but he should have guessed.
Clarke learns from her mistakes. She takes the person she had been and builds on her. She understands Murphy better now, how his harshness and barbs shield the part of him that is wounded, that has never been tended, and so she tries to heal it. He’s made some bad decisions, but so has she. So has Bellamy.
The three of them sit, curled together, until Murphy’s breathing slows to match their own.
“We should move a mattress in here,” Bellamy says, when it’s clear the worst is over.
Murphy chuckles and tucks his head onto Bellamy’s shoulder, arms crisscrossed on his chest so both can cling to Clarke. “I don’t plan on making this a habit.”
Today, he ran out of the mess hall to have a panic attack. Two days before, it was during rounds at night. The grounders are always around now; it has already become habit.
“What do you need?” Clarke asks, and it’s the commander in Clarke, the woman who could lead all of them over a cliff and they would follow without question.
“A few more minutes,” Murphy says, exhausted now the adrenaline has left.
“You sleep,” Bellamy suggests. “We’ll keep you safe.”
Murphy does, because he knows this time, they will.