John Murphy x Reader
While I’m Gone
The camp was too quiet when John Murphy was gone. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, but his absence sat heavy over everything like smoke after a fire. Some people were relieved. Others pretended not to care. You weren’t one of them.
You stood near the dropship entrance, arms crossed tightly over your chest as Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake returned from the woods. The second you saw only the two of them, your stomach dropped.
“Where is he?” you demanded.
Bellamy avoided your eyes.
Clarke looked exhausted. “Y/N…”
“No.” You stepped closer. “Where’s Murphy?”
Silence. That was answer enough.
“You left him out there?” Your voice cracked. “Alone?”
“He tried to kill Bellamy,” Clarke argued softly. “The camp would’ve torn itself apart if he stayed.”
“And now he’ll die out there instead?”
Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “He made his choices.”
You glared at him. “So did all of us.”
For a moment nobody spoke.
Around camp, people avoided looking your way. Some guilty. Some cold. Murphy had done terrible things. You knew that better than anyone. You’d screamed at him more times than you could count. Threatened to punch him at least twice a week. But you also knew the version of him nobody else bothered to see. The scared one. The lonely one. The boy who cracked jokes because silence made him think too much.
You shook your head and turned away.
“Y/N—” Clarke called after you.
“I’m bringing him back.”
Bellamy scoffed. “You won’t find him.”
You grabbed your knife from the table beside the dropship. “Watch me.”
—
The forest was colder at night. Every snapped twig made your heart jump. You pushed through branches, calling Murphy’s name under your breath even though you knew yelling would get you killed.
Hours passed. No Murphy. Just darkness and distant animal cries.
You stopped near a creek to catch your breath, frustration burning in your chest.
“Murphy,” you muttered bitterly. “You better be alive after all this.”
A branch cracked behind you.
You spun around—
Pain exploded across the back of your skull. The world tilted violently before darkness swallowed everything whole.
—
When you woke up, every inch of your body hurt. Your head throbbed. Your wrists burned. It took several blurry seconds to realize your hands were tied above you.
Stone walls.
Torchlight.
A cage.
Panic surged through you until a rough voice spoke beside you.
“Well, this is awkward.”
You turned sharply.
There he was. John Murphy sat chained against the wall beside you, bruised and bloody, one eye swollen nearly shut. Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.
“Oh my God,” you breathed.
Murphy stared at you in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came after you.”
His expression shifted instantly from shock to anger. “Are you insane?”
“Probably.”
“They followed you?”
“I got jumped before I could even find you.”
Murphy groaned, letting his head thunk back against the wall. “Great. Fantastic. Now they’ve got two idiots.”
Despite everything, you laughed weakly.
His eyes flicked toward you. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
Before he could answer, footsteps echoed outside the cell.
Grounders.
Murphy’s entire posture stiffened instantly. The door creaked open. Two Grounders entered carrying blades and ropes. Your pulse spiked. One grabbed Murphy by the arm, yanking him forward. He hissed through clenched teeth.
“Hey!” you shouted instinctively.
The Grounder backhanded you so hard your vision blurred.
Murphy snapped.
“Don’t touch her!”
The Grounders ignored him.
You watched helplessly as they dragged him toward the center of the room. Murphy fought hard despite the obvious exhaustion weighing him down. It didn’t matter. They forced him to his knees. One Grounder spoke in their language while another heated a metal blade in the fire nearby. Fear crawled icy fingers down your spine. Murphy looked at you then. Really looked at you. And suddenly his expression changed.
Less anger. More regret.
“You should’ve stayed at camp,” he muttered quietly.
“Not happening.”
The Grounder pressed the hot metal against Murphy’s shoulder. His scream ripped through the room. You jerked violently against your restraints, tears springing to your eyes.
“Stop it!” you screamed.
Murphy’s breathing turned ragged as smoke curled from burned skin.
The Grounders moved toward you next.
Murphy immediately struggled harder. “No. No, leave her alone!”
You had never heard fear in his voice before. Not real fear. One of the Grounders grabbed your chin roughly while the other heated the blade again. You tried not to panic. Tried not to let Murphy see it. But your hands shook violently.
Murphy caught it immediately.
“Hey,” he said quickly, voice strained. “Hey, look at me.”
You did.
His face was bruised and bloodied, hair falling messily into his eyes. But he was looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him standing.
“Don’t let them see you scared,” he whispered.
The blade touched your arm. Pain exploded through you. A cry tore from your throat despite your efforts. Murphy swore viciously, throwing himself against the chains hard enough to bloody his wrists.
“That’s enough!” he shouted.
The Grounders only laughed. Hours blurred together after that.
Pain.
Cold.
Fear.
Eventually the Grounders left, locking the cell behind them. Silence settled heavily between you and Murphy except for your uneven breathing. You slid weakly against the wall, trying not to cry. Murphy looked worse. Much worse. Blood stained his shirt, and burns covered parts of his arms and chest.
Still, the first thing he asked was, “You okay?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “You look like death and you’re asking me that?”
“Didn’t answer the question.”
“I’ve been better.”
He nodded slightly, relieved anyway. For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then quietly, Murphy said, “Why do you care so much?”
You looked at him.
“At camp… everyone hates me,” he continued bitterly. “Bellamy barely tolerated me before. Clarke thinks I’m a psychopath. Half the camp wanted me dead.”
“You’re not a psychopath.”
Murphy scoffed. “Debatable.”
“You’re angry,” you corrected softly. “And scared. And messed up. But not evil.”
He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with the words.
“No one’s ever crossed the woods for me before,” he admitted.
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Well,” you whispered, “get used to it.”
For the first time since you woke up in that horrible place, Murphy smiled.
Small.
Broken.
Real.
Then he shifted painfully closer until his shoulder brushed yours. And in the darkness of the Grounder cell, chained together and exhausted, the two of you sat side by side waiting for morning.
