"This is gospel, for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber, assembling their philosophies, from pieces of broken memories…This is the beat of my heart, this is the beat of my heart. The gnashing teeth and criminal tongues conspire against the odds, but they haven't seen the best of us yet.
'Cause these words are knives that often leave scars, the fear of falling apart and truth be told I never was yours, the fear, the fear of falling apart, this is the beat of my heart.
This is gospel for the vagabonds, ne'er-do-wells and insufferable bastards, confessing their apostasies, led away by imperfect impostors." – 'This is Gospel' – Pan!c at the Disco
It all trickled down.
Through the following days, through every awkward, but welcome conversation he had, through every positive thought or appreciated gesture… the pain ebbed throughout. It was a stream of emotion that bled through his attempts to disregard the memories – no matter how hard he tried to move past them, they kept on making their way through. Newt knew that everyone who visited him was aware of the strain he was under, of the visions and his unintentionally violent reactions to any sudden contact. He knew that in order to be able to move past the… difficulties he was experiencing, he would have to talk to his friends about what had happened.
They all tried to coax it out of him in various ways already – soft voices, leading questions, knowing glances and in the case of Theseus – direct requests to just 'get it off his chest', but he didn't want to vocalise the horrors. It felt like if he said them out loud, it would somehow make it more real – that he wouldn't be able to just move on without those around him being constantly reminded of what had been done to him.
He didn't want to be an eternal source of suffering, sympathy, awkwardness and disgust for those close to him. And that was what he would become if he told them – about the torture, about the degrading words, about the blood-bond, about what Newt had done. How he had failed to protect himself or anyone he cared about, how he had just made everything worse… how he had managed to apparently attract the infatuation of the darkest wizard alive. How that had led to Grindelwald killing his father – how could he ever tell Theseus about that? How could he look him in the eye and tell him what Grindelwald had done in the name of garnering Newt's favour. What Newt had unwittingly done… it made him sick to his stomach.
Not even to think of what you're doing to poor Percival now, eh Newt? The man had been so astoundingly caring and patient with him for the entire week since Newt had awoken in 'Caligari-Klinik' and he knew that if he told him of the real reason why he reacted so… badly to Percival, then he would most likely distance himself from him. And Newt didn't want that. It certainly wasn't Percival's fault that Grindelwald had used his face to torment Newt and the young magizoologist didn't want Percival to go because of something that wasn't his fault.
Even with the difficulties that Newt's lingering doubts and fears presented for their interactions, he had found Percival's presence so nearby to be an indescribable comfort. He was always so patient with him, he wouldn't try to force any physical contact on him, he would always wait until Newt allowed him near when he awoke from the frequent nightmares and flashbacks that plagued him.
Any number of things seemed to be able to trigger the hallucinations – the wrong choice of words that sounded just a little too familiar, sudden physical contact, any magic performed or even the wrong smell. There had been an incident just the day before when Newt had been disturbed from his sleep by one of the nurses checking the wards around him, but unfortunately, she had happened to be wearing a perfume that smelt like Sandalwood and Juniper berries. He had panicked for an embarrassingly long time, managing to shatter several water pitchers and glasses on his bedside table with a wandless act of magic before Percival had managed to calm him down.
He had come over to where Newt had been hunched on the bed and softly, firmly consoled him, waiting until Newt's eyes were fixed upon him before reaching over to grasp Newt's bandaged hand, running a thumb across the edge of his own in a repetitive, soothing movement that had helped to ground him. He wasn't sure what it was about Percival that kept him so calm – even as the man's face sometimes triggered unpleasant memories that sent him into fits of shudders and left his mind reeling – there was still just something that made Newt feel better without fail.
There was a part of him that assumed it was because the constant reminder of his pain was something that likely wouldn't be present in a constructed fantasy. The careful, doting way that everyone else was treating him could have had him convinced that this was all just some delusion bred to make him feel better, but the jarring sensation of being both terrified and reassured by Percival's presence just seemed so ridiculous that it had to be real. Why on earth would his shattered mind cook up comfort that was tainted with such incongruity? The mess of emotions was just too perfectly confusing to not be his real life. The contradiction of comfort and confusion may be unsettling but at least it was something that felt real – something that could at least partially convince him that his nightmares were just that – nightmares instead of memories.
But that still led Newt back to his current conundrum. He remembered Albus' thoughts on the matter and knew that he had been right to advise him to talk about it – he had known it even before the older man had mentioned it. It was only a matter of who he had to drag into the darkness with him first. It wasn't fair that the suffering Grindelwald had inflicted upon should have to involve those he cared about - he didn't want them to suffer because of him, but Newt also knew that they were likely being affected by his silence and their own uncertainty. Leaving things up to the imagination was not always a wise tactic.
Theseus had made a few more brief appearances but his position at the Ministry kept calling him back to work on an irregular basis. He had flitted in and out as much as he was able but never seemed to stay long enough for him to satisfy his apparent need to wither Percival away with his glare alone. Newt had wondered on several occasions exactly what Theseus' problem with Percival was, but never seemed to be able to vocalise his frustration.
During one of the last visits, Theseus had finally brought Newt's case with him into the ward with strict instructions for Newt to not attempt to overexert himself by trying to go about his usual care routines. However, one look at Newt's rebellious face had convinced his elder brother to promptly change his mind and leave once again with the case in hand. Newt had subsequently spent the next few hours in sullen silence, only occasionally breaking it by muttering about 'pompous, overprotective prats' under his breath.
Tina had only visited once in the time he had been awake, though apparently, she had visited on one other occasion earlier on in his treatment, in the time when he had mostly been sleeping. She had seemed as tired as the rest of his friends but had fussed over him excessively in the short time she had been there – attempting to straighten his pillows and repeatedly asking whether he needed her to call a nurse.
During her visit she had busied herself explaining that she was now organising the Auror department in Percival's absence under Madam President Picquery's orders. Newt was glad that Tina was getting the recognition she deserved within MACUSA – especially after he temporary demotion – and congratulated her on her probationary promotion to 'Senior Secretary of Magical Law Enforcement'. For her part in securing Grindelwald she had received commendations and whilst still being exhausted and overwhelmed by her new role, Tina had seemed to have risen to the role magnificently.
She had passed on apologies from Queenie, who she claimed was feeling too 'under the weather' to visit herself and Newt had conveyed his understanding and wishes for her to feel better soon. He had the feeling however, that the real reason behind the Legilimens' absence was likely to do with the lingering shame he had sensed from her the last time they had seen each other. He got the feeling that Queenie must have told Tina of her actions regarding Abernathy and Grindelwald, as Tina's voice was perceptibly tense as she spoke of her.
Newt held no grudge against her of course – it was notoriously easy to be taken in by Grindelwald's silver tongue, he knew that better than anyone – except maybe Albus – and did not condemn her for being tempted by his promises to help her be with Jacob. Wanting to be with someone you cared about very much but being unable to do so because of societal opinions…. it was something that was beginning to be increasingly relatable to him.
Though the idea of liking men was becoming slowly easier to think to himself, it still made an uncomfortable sensation rise in his stomach when he thought of how the burgeoning acceptance had come to light. Grindelwald's taunting, disgustingly accurate words that he had spoken before haunted Newt's thoughts every time he started to consider Percival in the way he really wanted to. He had accepted that he found the older man undeniably attractive and felt more comfortable around him than he had with anyone else in as long as he could remember. And whilst he couldn't deny the fact that Percival's behaviour around him was affectionate, he wasn't sure if the man liked him in the same way.
Newt may be more perceptive than most – except Gellert - gave him credit for, but he was still incredibly inept when it came to discerning human behaviour in his own personal life. He wasn't sure if Percival cared for him in any way more than friendship; he didn't want to risk upsetting or angering the Auror by confessing his affections only to be rejected. They had never brought up the subject of relationships or interests such as that in their correspondence, as it felt like such an inappropriate thing to discuss through the post, as well as not having known each other well enough at first to broach such topics.
He didn't even know if Percival liked men in that way – it didn't seem particularly likely for such a high ranking official as he to hold such preferences, but it was honestly difficult to tell. Besides, it wasn't like he could bring it up in casual conversation – the very idea of trying to voice his newfound feelings to Percival was terrifying. Just imagining trying to look into those bottomlessly warm brown eyes and telling him something so shameful and potentially disastrous… he couldn't, he just couldn't. Not yet certainly.
It was funny how almost all trains of thought seemed to lead him back to Percival as of late. Any time he tried to consider something that was too disturbing, for too long or in too much detail, his mind seemed to automatically steer itself back to the visions of Percival's deep brown eyes, the feel of his rough, work-worn hands on his cheeks and hands, his deep, smooth and calming voice… it just seemed to work every time. Percival had become his coping mechanism whilst at the same time being one of his triggers. Merlin's beard, it was all very perplexing.
They currently sat in a companionable silence, Percival reading on top of the covers on the bed beside him and Newt playing with Pickett. The nurses had been clearly unhappy about the presence of the Bowtruckle, but whatever Theseus had said to the stern nurse before seemed to have done the trick and none of them challenged him on it. Pickett was running along Newt's blanketed legs, weaving in and out of the miniature mountains his body made in the material and challenging Newt to catch him.
As easy a task as it may sound, his limited range of motion and the speed and agility of the little creature made for a surprisingly engaging exercise. Percival occasionally glanced up to watch in apparent amusement from his book – brought by one of the clinic staff – and huffed out short breaths of laughter at his companions' antics. Newt was just on the verge of catching finally Pick when he suddenly decided to leap up to hide himself in his hair, burrowing down between his coppery curls and chirping victoriously.
"That's cheating you know!" Newt sighed in begrudging amusement as a little green head poked down to blow a raspberry directly in front of his face, hanging upside-down before clambering back into his new perch.
"I think that's six to one now." Newt turned his amused gaze back over to Percival who had set down his book in his lap, still open, but clearly more occupied by their games to really focus on it. He resisted the urge to stick out his own tongue at the Auror and instead sent him a shrug and a goofy smile.
"It's not exactly fair to count when he keeps on cheating." Percival raised an eyebrow and a bemused smirk flitted across his lips.
"Now I could be wrong, but I don't recall any rules being set in place, but then again, I don't really speak Bowtruckle."
Newt huffed out a good humouredly exasperated chuckle. "I think it goes without saying that taking advantage of someone's invalided state counts as unsportsmanlike conduct." He illustrated his point by raising his bandaged arms as far as they could go – barely up to shoulder height before the ache in his chest, arms and upper body caused him to hiss slightly and lower them once more with a wince. He felt a stab of regret as Percival's rare and spine-melting smile flickered from his lips and Newt inwardly cursed himself for ruining the moment with a poor attempt at humour.
In an effort to regain the light, distractingly easy conversation he gestured to Percival's book and asked. "What are you reading?"
To his surprise, Percival's cheeks took on a very slightly pink hue, accenting his sharp cheekbones and jawline in an unfairly flattering way. As distracting as the effect was, Newt forced himself to focus upon Percival's answer instead of the uncharacteristically soft sight of MACUSA's Director of Magical security blushing. "Uh… it's a book on… um Austrian philosophies on magic."
"Oh, is it any good?" Newt asked, confused when Percival shifted slightly, closing the book in his lap and going slightly pinker.
"Yes, very interesting." He said a little too quickly and Newt raised a questioning brow at him.
"Would you mind if I took a look? I don't think Pickett wants to play at the moment and I'm a bit tired of counting the freckles on my arm." Percival looked hesitant until Newt offered him a soft smile – he wanted to have something else to talk about with him and the book might also provide some distraction from his ever-dogging thoughts. Something odd flashed across Percival's face and he almost reluctantly handed over the book.
Newt nodded his thanks and opened the book at the title page. He stared down at it for several seconds before speaking in a forcedly even tone, looking across at Percival with a very purposefully straight face. "I didn't know you could read German."
Percival flushed beet-red and took several long moments before he replied uncharacteristically sheepishly "I can't…"
"Then why were you-" Newt cut himself off as he realised that the man had been pretending to read the book for the better part of the morning, but every time he had looked over to the other man, he had caught him glancing away back to the book. Newt felt his own cheeks flush bright red as he comprehended that Percival had been using the book as a cover for watching him. He wasn't sure why the Auror would do such a thing but felt embarrassment colour his cheeks and prompt him to fix his gaze upon the book in his lap. It surprisingly enough didn't make him feel uncomfortable, in fact, the idea that Percival had been watching over him so attentively made that recently christened flame in his chest glow warmly again.
"I'm sorry, Newt, I didn't mean-" Percival's attempted apology was cut off with a snort of laughter from both Newt and Tina, who stood hovering in the doorway. How long she had been there, Newt could only guess, but looking at the expression of extreme amusement and almost Queenie-like mischievousness on her face, he guessed that she must have been there at least long enough to understand why Percival was apologising.
Her laugh was infectious and though it caused the lash mark scars on his sides to ache abysmally at the stretch on his skin and muscles, Newt allowed full-bodied laughs to leave him. He felt a bit bad at the slightly sour expression on Percival's face, but it soon softened as he watched Newt and soon seemed to relax, chuckling a bit himself, ruefully, though he did catch the mild glare he sent in Tina's direction. When the amusement died down, Newt found himself feeling lighter than he had in quite some time – it felt good to laugh again, even if he could still feel the ever-present tensions and horrors lying just beneath the surface, he found that they were easier to ignore when with his friends. You can't outrun them forever, Newt, you know you can't. Bottling it up will only make it that much worse.
"Sorry it's been a while." Tina said as she came over to sit in the chair beside Newt's bed, clunking down a large paper bag with distinctly foodish smells wafting from it, onto the bedside table. "Department's been in a constant state of near panic what with all the Grindelwald supporters who are still raising as much bedlam as they possibly can in his absence – nothing we can't handle but it's getting pretty damn crazy out there."
Percival was nodding sternly, his professional side clearly taking over as he addressed Tina who was taking off her coat and gloves. "Has Crowlins been reporting in on the Massachusetts front? He's a cagey bastard when it comes to any difficulties they're having over there – doesn't want to admit the strain he's under from the fundamentalist No-Maj groups that have cropped up over the past few years."
Tina offered a half-grimace "There's been an increase in wizard-on-No-Maj violence across the states and Crowlins isn't helping anything by trying to pretend that it just isn't happening. I've demanded proper reports on casualty statistics from an incident that occurred two days ago in which No-Majs were… tortured and killed by Grindelwald followers." She shot an uncomfortable look over at Newt at this but continued in a forcibly grave, even tone. "But he isn't very forthcoming with details. Any ideas, sir?"
"Crowlins is an old-fashioned sort, not likely to take a woman giving orders seriously – stubborn idiot that he is – but if you give send him something stamped with Picquery's seal he'll be more likely to pay attention." Percival spoke with his usual gruff, helpful bluntness and Tina frowned slightly but nodded in response. "Not even he's stupid enough to ignore our dear Madam President."
Both shared a knowing huff of bitter laughter that left Newt slightly amused in turn. Even his brief experience of meeting MACUSA's president had left him wary and he could certainly imagine why the members of the American Ministry would respect the formidable witch. The professional conversation between the two American Aurors continued for some time while Newt preoccupied himself with flicking absently through the book – reading the odd brief words and phrases that he could translate but more just tracing the outlines of the typed font with his tired eyes.
He must have drifted off into a light doze because he felt the book slowly slip from his lax, bandaged fingers and his eyes had slipped closed. His breathing deepened slowly as drowsiness overtook him – he had found that the wards present in the room kept him feeling sleepy a lot of the time – likely so that he could heal better with rest.
But he did not find peace in those slumbering moments. As following the forming pattern of the past week, Newt found himself back in Nurmengard castle. It wasn't the room in which he had been kept, the main hall or the dining room – instead it was a cold, bare, cell-like room that seemed to be buried deep within the bowels of the castle. The walls were the same familiar grey stone, but dampness had seeped into the rock down here and the mountain chill had intensified so that the breaths of the room's sole occupant puffed out in white clouds. Not that it seemed to bother him much.
Gellert Grindelwald was encased in a shimmering, almost invisible, likely impenetrable casement of spells, wards and curses that clung to the man like a second skin. He was thoughtfully wrapped warmly in thick layers of dark clothing underneath the spells - likely so he didn't freeze to death. Newt had noticed this the last few times that he had forced into this reality, but it still left a slightly odd feeling stir in his stomach at the sight of the contradictory care that Albus had put into ensuring the dark wizard's well-being and imprisonment.
Newt knew why he was here – the blood-bond had drawn him in several times already during his sleep and he had grown begrudgingly used to the presence of Grindelwald in his sleep. It didn't happen every time mind you, but the change the cell gave him from the horrendous flashbacks was decidedly welcome. At least this Grindelwald was incapable of hurting him physically. The spells still left him with the ability to move about the cell, but any attempts to use magic, touch the walls or dismantle the wards were apparently met with highly debilitating consequences.
At least that was what Albus had reassured him when Newt had brought it up during his last visit. His mentor had apparently sensed it when Grindelwald began projecting the image of his current state into Newt's mind as he had received it himself. He had reassured Newt that there was nothing Grindelwald could do other than send him the ongoing image and, while it had still thoroughly unnerved Newt that the man could still do this even in his heavily bound state, he resigned himself to the idea that it would not stop simply because he worried about it.
Like the bond itself, Newt came to begrudgingly accept that it was out of his control; that there was no point worrying himself over the repetitive invasion of his sleep as it wasn't hurting him.
Grindelwald neither spoke nor moved much, apart from his eyes which followed Newt as he moved about the cell. The young magizoologist never went near Grindelwald - even though Albus had assured him that Newt's presence in the cell was purely intangible as it was a result of the mental bond, Newt still didn't relish the idea of being any closer to Grindelwald than he could help. Most of the time he spent there, he huddled in the furthest corner away from the dark wizard that he could, conserving what heat he could by occasionally pacing around before settling again. How he could still feel cold in a non-corporeal state newt would never know.
Grindelwald would watch him the entire time. Mismatched eyes tracking his every movement with apparent indifference but still with that familiar, unnerving intensity that only he seemed to be capable of.
It was another part of why Newt awoke feeling unrested and often very susceptible to being startled or confused by another's presence. Between the extremely active nightmares that were the fevered memories of what Grindelwald had already done and the sedentary intensity of what Grindelwald's eyes promised for his future - Newt had found very little rest to ease his strained mind. It was another reason why he found Percival's presence in the same room as him reassuring - such inescapable strength as what lay within Percival left him feeling bolstered as well as the warm compassion the other man treated him with.
He woke much easier than he had any of the previous times. There had been no thrashing, panic or hovering friends to cause him to be unsettled. He lay there for a few minutes, just listening to the continually steady stream of conversation going on nearby. Tina's and Percival's voices had been joined by another familiar tone and Newt let out a huff as he opened his eyes to address the newcomer.
"Hello, Theseus." The conversation stopped and the three Aurors turned in their seats to regard him with surprise. Percival was exactly where Newt had expected him to be, but Tina and Theseus had taken up seats beside one another on apparently conjured chairs that were faced away from him. The thing that struck Newt as odd was that he could have sworn that the sudden, jerky movement he had just witnessed had been the two of them moving their hands out of one another's grips. Okay, what now?
"Newt! You're awake." Theseus's voice was suspiciously bright as he turned his chair purposefully around to face his younger brother and Newt raised an eyebrow, eyes skating awkwardly around the room before fixing back upon his sibling's forehead.
"Top marks for pointing out the obvious there, Scamander." Percival's smooth, amused tone cut through the awkward silence and the glare that Theseus turned upon him was blistering even by his standards. Newt was once again unsure of what was going on but did not feel awake enough yet to try to pick apart just what was going on between the three Aurors.
"Oh Newt, Queenie made you something!" Tina's voice was almost as suspiciously cheery as Theseus' had been and she promptly dropped the paper bag from before into his lap. He winced slightly as the oddly warm package landed a little too hard on his still-healing legs. Newt opened it gingerly and withdrew a crockpot which, when he opened it, containing some sort of hearty-looking stew. There were chunks of vegetable and meat floating in a rich gravy that under old circumstances would have been a welcome change from the bland soup and bread that the clinic had been serving. But seeing the food now, only caused nausea to curl violently in his stomach, he swallowed thickly, trying his very best to smile at Tina who was suddenly looking at him with concern.
Newt opened his mouth to thank her, but the words caught in his suddenly bitter tasting throat and he closed his mouth again, face paling drastically as he shoved the lid back onto the container. He barely heard the worried words that were aimed his way as he shoved the covers off himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and not even managing to stand before his nausea overtook him. He threw up violently over the edge of the bed, sick splattering onto the cool tiled floor and heaving up bitter tasting bile. The thought of the chunks of meat brought back memories of the 'meal' he had consumed under duress in Nurmengard. Not developed a taste for fresh meat yet, Newt? Don't you fancy another taste of that scrumptious carnality? You didn't seem to mind it until Gellert put a face to it.
He shuddered violently and hurled again, clutching his shaking shoulders tightly and scrunching his eyes shut as tight as he could. All he could see behind his tightly shut eyelids was the flickering images of the meat being slowly fed to him forkful by forkful and the horrifying memories conflicting up against it of his father.
The striking familial resemblance to himself and Theseus haunting him – even though his father's features had been dulled and distorted by drink and age. Familiar sharp cheekbones, blue-green eyes and imposing height. His hair had been a dirty blonde that had been what blurred his mother's copper tones into what now lay upon Newt's own head, but the familial link to himself and Theseus was still appallingly undeniable. The memories – both unhappy and contented swirled behind his eyes alongside the knowledge that he had eaten the man. He may have been selfish, drunk and abusive but it still revolted and horrified Newt to think of what had happened to him – both before and after his death.
Newt heaved again, nothing else coming up this time, but he couldn't seem to stop. Anytime he tried to divert his thoughts away from the disturbing images and realisations the lingering smell of cooked meat in the room would push him right back. He could feel firm hands on his shoulders, shaking him and he could hear muffled voices saying things that he couldn't understand through the roaring in his ears. The young magizoologist didn't want to open his eyes and see the familiar features that he knew would be facing him, even without understanding the words, he could still recognise Thee's voice.
It felt as though a dam had finally broken within him. All the feelings, thoughts and memories that he had been repressing in any way he could over the past week or so came roaring through him. The nausea kept him shuddering violently and bile still burned the back of his throat like fire. His chest and throat felt painfully constricted and he could feel his muscles beginning to jerk sporadically as some sort of seizure overtook him. The voices got louder around him, and he could feel himself being moved, his back hitting something soft but firm and his jolting limbs suddenly being held down. His panic mounted and he fought against both the spasms and whatever was restraining him with all he had.
He could feel a hand, a familiar, warm, rough hand gently stroking his hair away from his sweaty forehead. He focussed upon the feeling, trying to slow his breathing as best he could in order to match the regular pace of the pulse, he could feel thrumming in a wrist pressed against the side of his face. It was difficult, but Newt could slowly feel his body responding to his attempts, not focussing upon anything but the feel of that hand and the steady rhythm of the pulse just below it. There was still movement and noise going on all around him, he could still hear voices and footsteps but whatever had been holding him down had now left, the spasms that ran through his muscles and limbs having gradually subsided.
Newt wasn't sure long he lay there before the hand left his face but when it did, he whimpered slightly at the loss of his anchor. At the involuntary sound he felt the touch return though now it was placed around his scarred hand instead, those warm, ticklishly hairy fingers twining between his own slack ones. He hesitated for a moment before squeezing them in a slightly tighter grip. The hand tensed for a moment before he felt a thumb run swiftly over his own. The familiarity of the gesture soothed Newt but also sent a jolt of surprise through him.
He opened his heavy feeling eyelids to blink blearily up at three very concerned looking faces that were peering down at him from either side. He blinked a few more times, brain feeling as though it was swimming through thick mud and voice not sounding much better when it garbled out of his mouth. "W-wha- h-appnd'?"
Even in his bleary state he recognised Theseus' signature look of barely repressed frustration and worry that he had seen so many times before. "You just had a heart attack, Newt."
"Oh… n-not 'nother one." His lips moved without his brain really registering the words they were speaking, he did feel a thrill of confusion shoot through the haziness however as Theseus' eyebrows creased in concern and he heard a feminine gasp from one side and a slightly muffled curse from the other. He wasn't entirely sure what everyone was so worried about, but he felt the need to reassure them anyway and offered a hazy, unfocussed smile. "S'okay now though..."
"No, Newt! It bloody well isn't!" Theseus' voice was cutting, and Newt frowned fuzzily in confusion at the sudden severity. What was he so upset about? What had Newt done wrong? He heard a female voice admonish someone in hissed undertones and he glanced to his other side to see Tina glaring rather fiercely at his brother. What had Theseus done wrong? This was all very confusing. The becoming grasp of sleep suddenly seemed very welcoming and Newt went to close his eyes.
He heard voices fade slowly out of his attention as he sunk under. He fell through the mattress, through the floor below, through the ground and suddenly found himself back in the cell in Nurmengard. Even in here, in his sleeping state, Newt still felt indescribably hazy and he could only assume that it was because the feeling was in his mind rather than just his body. The dam was broken, and the monsters had been released. These were not quite the lovable kind, however. No, these were the sorts that insidiously wormed their way into the hairline fractures in his sanity and just kept pushing. It seemed ridiculous in an odd, distant way, that such a small thing had set off the avalanche that was now pinning him down but, in all honesty, he was surprised that it hadn't happened sooner.
His dream-self stood in the middle of the cell as he always did when he first entered, breath coming out in dragon's breath puffs that made him miss Elina and Argon more than he had in some time. They wouldn't have understood his reactions to something as trivial as seeing ad smelling cooked meat. Though the Ironbellies preferred their meals raw and significantly more alive, they certainly wouldn't have turned their snouts up at such a thoughtful gesture as the one Queenie and Tina had made. He felt bad for causing his friends further discomfort – it seemed that all he could do in life was be a constant irritation to those around him. It was probably for the best that the only person he was capable of annoying in his dream-state was Gellert Grindelwald.
Speaking of his involuntary cellmate, Newt suddenly realised that the dark wizard was not in his usual place by the wall and was instead standing about a foot in front of him. The silent, curse-bound man was regarding him oddly. If Newt had to out a word to describe the expression, he would have called it concern – had it been from anyone else – as it was, he decided that for now he would label it as appraisal. He felt as though the mismatched silver and dark blue gaze was dissecting him – trying to pull him apart further by drawing the truth from him. Even without the man being able to speak, he could sense – in the same way he had with Albus before – that Grindelwald was asking him what had happened.
There was a more sensible, lucid part of Newt that told him very firmly to ignore the man and withdraw to his corner for as long as he was kept here. But that part seemed to be drowned and crushed out by the odd hazy feeling that had consumed him and he replied in a stilted, slightly slurring voice. "C-couldn't d-do it… j-just snapped… didn't m-mean to upset-t 'em like that…"
Grindelwald did not speak but he nodded, almost patiently and Newt got the feeling that although his broken, vague words hadn't really explained anything, that the elder man had still comprehended his meaning. The bond had likely made sure of that.
And, as horrified as he was distantly, consciously was that he was talking to Gellert Grindelwald about his agony before his friends and family… there was a part of him that relaxed into the ease of this kind of emotional release. Grindelwald already knew everything that plagued Newt's damaged mind, heart, body and soul – had been the one to inflict most of it – but at the same time, it was an indescribable relief to be able to not have to speak the horrors aloud to have someone understand them. Grindelwald was incapable of touching him or speaking and in a way, that was the biggest comfort of all – the mere presence and sense of understanding that exuded from the man.
They stood before one another. One man battered, scarred, puffy eyed and frail both inside and out. The other bound inescapably yet still standing proud, handsome and straight faced.
Two men bound by different circumstances but still connected by a bond of suffering. As horrific and unhealthy as it was… Newt could feel the pressure on the cracks in his mind easing. If only a little. And, for the first time in over a week, Newt found rest in the confines of his sleeping mind.
A/N Hey, hope this first chapter of the sequel was okay? Just as a warning folks - this one may be lighter on terms of general mood, humour and the torture/violence side, but the insanity, PTSD and other mental health issues will be considerably worse! As well as some really screwed up stuff coming in later chapters. I apologise in advance. But there will be lashings of happy, fluffy stuff in between the bullshit too.