Hold on, please.
Heavy lids flutter open once more at the soft words and hazy blue eyes roll over his brother's face, unable to focus on the foggy features above him. "Tryin'… 's alright, Newt." His tongue is heavy as lead in his mouth, his eyes nearly too heavy to keep open. He can feel himself ebbing too quickly – even with whatever magic his brother has worked into his wounds. It's not enough. Neither of them are healers.
Vision is rapidly dimming at the edges, his brother's face blurred and hazy. He's half aware that he's resting in Newt's arms, and the realization inexplicably makes him want to laugh, though he sobers at the thought of the blood that must be getting all over Newt, part of him suddenly wondering if his little brother will be able to wash the crimson stains out of his beloved coat once this is over.
Theseus draws a trembling breath, lungs burning. It's become so difficult to focus and his tongue is so heavy, speaking requiring a tremendous effort, but he labors on because he has to. There are so many things he wants to say and so little time, so little energy to expend on it.
"Newt, I want you to know, 'm…" His words are slurring together and it manages to frustrate him. His tongue won't cooperate, his eyes keep fighting to close. His body is failing him too soon. " 'm proud of you." He knows he hasn't told him that enough – certainly not enough to last a lifetime. Has he been a good enough brother? Was he a good fiance to Leta?
Leta. He'll get to see her again soon, and that's the solace he finds in this. It's been a long time since Newt needed him – and now he has his girl, his American Auror. She'll make sure Newt will be fine and he – he'll finally be with Leta and happy again. At least that's what he hopes.
When he tries to open his eyes again, everything is hazy. Colors are leeching themselves from the world one by one, and he can't make his brother out anymore, though he can hear him speaking as if from underwater, feel his hand at his shoulder. Some words are clearer than others, but his brain tries and fails to register them.
"I'm sorry," is the last bit he manages, because he knows how much this must be hurting Newt, and for that he truly is. "Sorry, little brother." Eyes slowly droop shut again, darkness pulling at him. There's something else, something shaking him, but it doesn't matter anymore – he's already drifting away and then everything is utterly silent.