Shaking Fingers
He never wanted to be in this position, never dreamt anyone would ever be in his position. Back in the Glade, if he had ever heard anyone use the words 'kill' and 'Newt' in the same sentence, he would've probably blown up. The irony almost made him laugh, almost. He had never laughed after he had heard the list of non-immunes.
It was a mistake, of course it was. System error, a slip of the finger. Newt's name was never supposed to be on that list.
But he took one last glance of the boy he loved, blond hair slick with dirt and grime, sunken eyes with a hint of madness in them, and maybe, just maybe, he thinks, it wasn't a system error, no one's fingers slipped. Newt's name was supposed to be on that list after all.
How much he would have given to have his name on that list instead.
They had wrestled each other to the ground, Newt holding Minho's body down with his weight, Minho too weak and shocked to fight back. And how could he? He looks at Newt's blond hair and he sees the same blond hair that he ran his fingers through so many times. He looks at Newt's eyes and he sees the eyes that calmed him down in the Maze, the eyes that kept him going.
Newt forcefully puts the gun in Minho's hand and brings it to his forehead. 'Do it, Minho,' he says, his British accent laced with the slight hint of madness. Minho, as shocked and horrified as he was with himself, shook his head. He hears Newt chuckle, the kind of chuckle he missed, the kind of chuckle he hadn't heard since the Glade.
He focuses on Newt's eyes. Tired, like they always were. But something was missing, it was like a familiar painting with one color gone. And then he realizes what, Newt's love, Newt's passion for him, nearly all of it was gone.
And when he does, he feels his heart contract. He searches Newt's eyes desperately, maybe his Newt was still in there. His Newt had to be in there.
The past few days were a blur to Newt. Newt couldn't remember much of what he did. He would wake up somewhere, maybe even hugging a Launcher, and he wouldn't know how he got there. But he knew two things, one he was still in the Crank place. Two, he was counting on Minho to read that bloody note.
If you've ever loved me, Minho, kill me.
Something in his crank brain told him that he could trust Minho with this task. One last dying wish, literally. When he was his usual self, he would try to keep himself sane, try to remind himself that Minho would come for him. There was still a sense of doubt whenever he thought about it long enough. Would Minho really be able to kill him?
This is what I want, he would remind himself. Minho would do anything for him, anything he wanted. Even this? He would question. It hurt his already hurting head to think too much about this.
But Minho was here now. The gun was in his hands. He stares straight into Minho's brown eyes, and for a moment, he head clears. He sees a boy with shaking fingers curled around a gun trigger, the same shaking fingers that curled around a water bottle after a day in the Maze. He sees a boy with scared eyes, not just scared, but tired and hopeless. He sees a boy that he loves so much and it makes his heart break.
And Newt can't help himself, using all the strength he could muster, he puts his hand on Minho's shaking ones, steadying both of them with a firm grip. His eyes don't leave Minho's, he tries to take in all he can, the dark brown irises, the faint ring of gold.
He leans forward, straining to keep his head sane. He feels his cracked lips slowly meeting Minho's, moving against Minho's lips like they always did, gently yet passionately. Minho's own lips react naturally, like they were made for Newt. Minho feels the relief flow through his veins, his Newt was still in there. And a small part of Minho thinks 'I can still save him.'
Newt's the one who pulls away in the end, but Minho is the first to speak. 'Come back with me,' he says, his voice cracking, tears on the verge of flowing.
Newt only shakes his head, the hand holding Minho's hands and the gun still in place. 'I love you,' he tells Minho. 'Do it, Minho, please.'
A thousand thoughts run past Minho's mind. The possibility of curing Newt, a part of him has not given up yet and will never give up. A part of him still believes he can save the poor blond seventeen-year-old boy that he loves so much.
But then a bigger part of him knows otherwise. And Newt says one last thing that convinces him to pull the trigger. 'This is what I want, Minho.'
With shaking fingers, Minho pulls the trigger. He hears the bang of the gun, but just barely. He knows he should close his eyes but he can't, he keeps them wide open. He sees the light leave Newt's eyes. 'I love you, Newt,' he chokes out.
They say you die twice. Once, when you stop breathing. The second is when somebody says your name for the last time. And hearing Minho say his name, it killed him all over again. But the pain only lasted for a second, the pain in his chest, the pain in his head. And then all was gone, all was black.
Newt's body collapses onto Minho's, blood pouring out from his head. It takes all of Minho's strength to push him off and walk out of the crank place, back to Thomas and Brenda and Jorge waiting for him.
He doesn't say anything when Thomas asks him about the blood on him, doesn't say anything when they go back on the Berg. Doesn't say anything when Brenda offers him a glass of water.
He doesn't say anything until Thomas asks him about Newt.
He shakes his head frantically at first, barely able to say anything. He shows Thomas the note, letting the tears flow freely. He doesn't say anything until Thomas gives him back the note with shaking fingers.
'He's dead, Thomas. Newt's gone, and I couldn't save him.'
I couldn't save him. The words weigh on him like a ton of bricks. Newt, the boy who calmed so many Greenies, the boy who kept the Gladers together, the boy whom he had loved, and still did. The boy who had loved him back. The boy who steadied his shaking fingers, even in his last moments. And Minho couldn't save him.
I'm so sorry, Newt.