Chapter Text
Blinding white light paints over his vision and he's forced to screw his eyes tightly shut to keep the oncoming headache at bay. He groans lowly, sliding a palm over his forehead. He's warm still, so dead? Probably not. Dying? Most definitely. You don't exactly survive being drowned by one of the strongest men you know after all. And that white light? Probably Heaven - or Hell, with how badly it hurts his brain, and how badly he's screwed up just about everything he's ever come across. He wonders briefly what it'll be like - the afterlife, anyway. Cold? Lonely? Will there be other people? People he's lost? Will Mbege be there waiting for him, and if he is, will Murphy be forced to turn away his childhood friend just because he's a "better person" now? There are a hundred and one questions he has and no answers to any of them, though he supposes that would change if he would just open his eyes and take a look around his new environment.
Squinting, but eyes open nonetheless, he turns his head to the side. He's met with the scenery of his old cell back on the Ark, of which he didn't need to be reminded. Maybe this is Hell, he thinks bitterly, not that he doesn't know he deserves it.
With a drawn-out sigh, he hoists himself off the prison bed and to his feet. Everything is the same as he remembers it being. The walls are bleak and the table and chair off to the corner look just as sad as they always did. He moseys around a few steps, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He's wearing a casual outfit from that day back on the Ark: the day they were sent to the ground because they were viewed as "expendable" by the Council. He still remembers Jaha's exact wording as they rocketed through Earth's atmosphere for the first time in a hundred years.
He's moments away from heading for the door - having seen all there is to see in his old cell with a mere sweep of his gaze - when the door decides to open for him. Except not for him, but for two guards, both of which he easily recognizes. Officer Langston, the older and more experienced guard of the pair, and Officer Avery, the bastard who just loved to get under Murphy's skin. He keeps his glare pinned on the latter. Even if neither of them are real, they certainly feel real, and Murphy wouldn't let them get away with entering his presence even if they were specks of dust.
"Hold out your arm, prisoner," Officer Langston requires, voice gruff as if he's been working all day long. With a skeptical sigh, Murphy obeys, extending his right forearm. He's more curious to see what happens anyway; wonders if he can feel pain in this weird dream state; wonders if they'll take him somewhere other than the dropship. Unfortunately, the answer to the former question is a harsh yes. As the clamp encloses around his wrist and the spikes stab into his flesh, he startles with a yelp of pain - only then notices he sounds much younger than he's used to, and his pain tolerance is surely several marks lower than it should be.
"What the fuck?!" He can't help himself from cursing and pulling his arm back protectively against his chest. Strange dream. Everything is so eerily similar as it was back then.
"Let's go, John. Don't make this difficult," Officer Langston demands harshly. With a begrudging and long-suffering sigh, Murphy opts to follow the orders; at least for now. If he really can feel pain in this strange alternate universe then he'd rather not test the limits by getting cattle prodded. He follows behind Officer Avery whilst sparing some serious side-eye in Officer Langston's direction, making sure he's received it loud and clear before facing forward again. By this point, they've made it into the cellblock hallway. From his vantage point on one of the several top floors, he can see just about all of the other 100 prisoners as they file toward a common goal point.
Teasingly, Officer Avery asks, "Not gonna question any of this, John? That's unlike you."
Murphy disregards the man's concerns with a flippant flick of his wrist - immediately regretting it when he jostles the new injuries. "No need to ask," he declares boredly, lowering his hand back down to his side. "I already know where we're off to."
"Oh yeah?" Officer Avery challenges as they continue down the hallway. "Then where are we going?"
With fake enthusiasm and a raised index finger, he answers "To the ground!" After a quick moment of thought and a hum beneath his breath, he redirects his pointing downward. "Or that-a-way."
Officer Avery whirls on his heel, casting his oddly startled glare over Murphy. A hand clamps on his shoulder from behind, dragging him roughly until he's pressed against the railing with hardly any room to move. With a defensive grunt, he shoves Officer Langston away, skin on the bridge of his nose wrinkling in distaste.
"Who told you that?!" Officer Langston demands viciously, towering over Murphy's younger form.
Murphy blinks several times, confusion glistening behind hooded eyes. "What?"
"Who told you that you were being sent to the ground?!"
In the case that this is some strange afterlife, Murphy's choice of response matters very little. However, there's a sliver of himself buried deep within the back of his mind that warns him otherwise. In the very, very, very unlikely case that this is a second chance granted to him by the universe, he decides to play dumb.
"What?!" He barks, pressing farther against the railing. "I was joking! We're being sent to the gr-"
Officer Avery's gloved hand covers his mouth before he can finish his remark, cutting him off just before revealing to the entire hallway of people who can hear his shouting voice that they're essentially being floated. (Floated in the eyes of everyone who hasn't done this before which, as far as Murphy is aware, only discludes himself.)
"Quiet, prisoner," Officer Langston hisses. "There's nothing you can do to prevent this. So go ahead and walk with us quietly." His hand hovers over his cattle prod. Murphy is more than aware that the threat is not an empty one.
Given that he's still against the idea of electricity jolting through his veins, Murphy settles with a hesitant "Fine..."
He's directed down a series of stairs, the mood noticeably more tense between the two guards, and around a corner into a long white hallway. Several other officers are posted there, which means Officer Langston and Avery can finally leave him be. Only they don't, which Murphy probably should've expected. Instead, they wait with him through the slow-moving line until it's his turn to climb the ladder, at which point they finally back the fuck off. He swears he hears Officer Avery's annoying voice wishing him good luck as he scales upwards. The top of the ladder is an entirely different story. When he peeks into what he's called both hell and home for the first time again, he's hit with a rushing wave of nostalgia that nearly freezes him to the spot. He's prompted into motion by a nameless guard's shout to 'hurry it up' from below. His feet touch the second floor of the dropship with a familiar clang of metal. He breathes it in once before pushing onward, scanning the floor for any familiar faces he may be lucky enough to sit by. Unfortunately, he's stuck with a bunch of nobodies. He has his hands back on the ladder, heading for the third floor when a familiar voice halts him in his tracks.
"Just where do you think you're going, prisoner?"
He turns, meeting Bellamy's gaze with unenthusiasm. "Fine then, Officer." He resists air quotes around the title, though his tone comes out sounding sarcastic nonetheless. "Where should I sit?"
Bellamy regards him with narrowed eyes for a few moments, then, with a flick of his wrist, heads for the nearest empty seat; it's nestled in between Harper and some extra. Worse company Murphy supposes, though he's sure this version of Harper wouldn't agree. When he's settled - Harper side-eyeing him the entire time - Bellamy locks him in and slips away to the bottom level.
Bored now, and still mildly curious as to what he can and can't reveal in this odd limbo, he turns to Harper. "You know where they're sending us, right?"
Harper sighs, annoyance evident. "No, Murphy. And, what, I suppose you do?"
Murphy nods. "Of course I do. They're sending us to the ground." He's met with a skeptical glare. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see." He rights himself in his seat, facing forward just as the sound of the dropship door closing echoes through the chamber. Surveying the rest of the crowd as the dropship begins its departure, he spots Miller a few rows away and Mbege, the latter trying desperately to meet his gaze. To satisfy his past friend, he offers an upwards nod of the head; Mbege returns the gesture with a grin. With no one else's faces popping out to him, he reserves himself to his own devices, listening to the loud hum of machinery that used to lull him to sleep on the Ark.
The TV buzzes to life and Jaha's idiot face broadcasts across the screens. (Even all these years later he detests the man; not just for imprisoning him, or sending a hoard of children to die in the first place, but for the fucking AI brain pill too.) The man explains plainly the situation, tone void of all empathy as he calls them "expendable". Deja vu hits him in all sorts of weird ways, watching everyone grow quiet in realization - half in utter horror.
"What...?" Harper whispers beneath the rising clamor. Anger flares and she whips towards him, her glare accusatory. "How did you know?!"
He immediately raises his hands in surrender, forcing his eyes to widen as he plays a familiar card. "I didn't, I swear! I was just playing around!"
Entering Earth's atmosphere is as rough of a ride as Murphy remembers it being, and although he knows for a fact that the ship will land safely enough that anyone buckled in will survive, trepidation trickles down his palms in the form of sweat and he clenches his straps tight. You'd think he'd be used to soaring through the sky by now. The background murmuring turns to screams as lights flicker and spray sparks across the spacecraft. The ship jerks a final violent time before making rough impact with the ground.
Murphy is the first to recover, unbuckling himself and flying towards the ladder. Before anyone else has the chance to, he clambers down to the bottom level. This, he knows, is where he'll find most of the people he'll recognize best. Few are out of their seats and they all track him as he strides confidently over to the lever. He has one hand wrapped around it when a panicked voice halts him from behind him: "Hold on!" He'd recognize that commanding voice from miles away. Turning towards Clarke also brings about the sighting of Wells, who is the second to last person he wants to see (beaten only by Finn, who also happens to be on this level - Murphy can see him worming his way to the front of the gathering crowd).
"If you open that door, we could die!" She continues in protest, and while Murphy understands her reasoning, it's hard to harbor any sympathy for these pathetic past versions of themselves: the ones who know nothing.
"And if we don't open the door," Bellamy voices, treading up beside Murphy, "we definitely die. I say we pull the lever." The crowd, albeit hesitantly, seems to agree. Without haste, Murphy wrenches the lever downwards. The motion reminds him for a split second of opening the dropship to release Jasper in turn for Bellamy himself. He promptly pushes that memory away.
The fresh air hits him in waves. It's as delightful as it was the first time, sweet and filling in his lungs. While he breathes it in, Bellamy turns towards him, wearing his signature smile.
"What's your name anyway?" He prompts.
Murphy offers a short grin back, though it quickly fades to be replaced with the confusion of this afterlife that still has yet to leave him. "Murphy," he says before he forgets.
"Murphy," Bellamy repeats. "How about you take the first step? For all of us."
It's not the first step, or anything even close to it, but they don't know that and wouldn't believe him if he argued otherwise.
"Gladly," he accepts after a thoughtful moment. He begins down the subtle ramp, pausing at the end for dramatic effect. Eventually, he allows his shoes to make contact with the peaty soil. It's not nearly as fantastical for him as he's sure it is for the others, and he lacks the enthusiasm to scream a line similar to "we're back, bitches," so he settles for the next best option.
"Well, I'm not dead." It's enough, drawing out the boldest of them first, followed by the rest of the hoard. He remembers the first time fondly, dashing out of their metal cage and feeling all of the freedom the world had to offer. Now, he stands idly, looking out upon the forest that they will help to destroy.
Bellamy, again, finds his side. He must notice Murphy's lack of spark. "What, too cool for the literal Earth?" He asks with a smirk.
Murphy shrugs. "We see it anytime we want to from our metal donut in the sky, right? Not as new as everyone seems to think it is."
"Ah," Bellamy hums as though he's come to a realization. "So you're a cynic."
Murphy snorts, not that it isn't true in some senses. "Call me what you want-"
From behind, "Bellamy?"
Both the aforementioned and Murphy turn, finding the form of Octavia.
"O!" Bellamy shouts in glee. They dash to meet one another, Bellamy hoisting Octavia into his arms.
"Bell- I don't get it. How are you here?"
Murphy leaves them to their lovey-dovey catch-up shit. He doesn't mind it, really, he just doesn't want to be a part of it either. He spots Finn, Wells, and Clarke hunched over a map at the base of the ramp. That's a whole boatload he doesn't want to deal with, so he steers clear of them - and everyone else. He finds himself wandering off across pathways he used to know well. It leads him to a view over a lakeside, where he settles in the lush grass. It's here that he really contemplates his current predicament. If he were watching his life flash before his eyes, he wouldn't've been able to alter any of what he's done. Since he can, that leaves him with two remaining options: this is an afterlife where nothing truly matters or this is the real past, where everything matters. He thinks things over, front to back, inside and out. In the rare chance that he has been transported back in time, he needs to play his cards carefully if he wishes to avoid the repetition of unfavorable events. The issue is that, while not only is he unable to recall every bad event that's happened, he's even less capable of remembering them in chronological order.
But he has to start somewhere.
He thinks of an event: Wells' death, because of course that comes to mind first. That wasn't until after the first wave of fog when Adam was killed, which was also when Charlotte got her terrible idea from Bellamy. That means Octavia hasn't been taken by Lincoln, and they haven't officially discovered the Grounders. But were there issues before the first fog cloud?
He rests his forehead in his palms, grumbling under his breath. At this rate, he needs to start journaling it all.
There was the lack of food and the party sent out to find some and - oh yeah - Jasper gets speared. That's the first issue. That's the first thing he has to stop. But what was after all of that? It's all too hard to recall.
He rises to his feet and heads back through the forest, once again blanketed by nostalgia that borders on being painful.
Arriving back at the campground, he beelines straight for Bellamy. While he could try his luck with Clarke, she already has a plan, and he isn't sure she'd appreciate John Murphy of all people trying to undermine her. And while past-Bellamy is quite a bit cockier than he is later on, he's also not the only cocky asshole here.
"Hey," Murphy grabs his attention as he approaches his side.
"Murphy," Bellamy returns in greeting. "I was starting to think you got lost."
"Aw, you care about me?" Murphy pouts, sarcasm dripping like venom. "No, I'm wondering if you've got any plans for getting food."
"Good question," Bellamy mutters, glancing thoughtfully around. His gaze lands on Clarke and Wells. "Seems like the princess and prince have some ideas."
Murphy can't help cracking a grin at the nickname. From now until forever, they still refer to her as the princess.
"Yeah, well. I'm kind of thinking her plan is bullshit."
Bellamy snorts with laughter. "Okay, blunt," he points out. "Why is it bullshit?"
"Her plan assumes there are no dangerous creatures out there. We don't know what kind of mutated beasts looking for tasty humans exist."
"True," Bellamy accepts. "So I assume you came to me because you have a plan?"
"What are you, magic?" Murphy quips with a smirk. "But yes, I have an idea."