Rage on against the dying light.
Newt tries to kill himself. Alby saves him, in every sense of the word.
The title is from the song "Somebody to die for" by Hurts. The song doesn't have much to do with the fic (the song "Blood, Tears and Gold" even less, but I kept listening to it while writing this) but well it makes sense in a way because shipping Nalby actually HURTS hahahaha… help me.
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The idea blossomed slowly but surely in his mind.
Days after days, they would go into the Maze, come back, look at the maps, go to bed, go back into the Maze. Sometimes, a runner wouldn't make it before the sunset and they would find his body the day after. Sometimes they would just find parts of it. Other Gladers would die banished or in a new plan to escape. They would die and newbies would come to replace them, join them to wait for their death trapped by those giant walls. It was hard not to feel like a trapped animal. No memory, no knowledge of who they were, what their life used to be. They were doomed, only thinking about following the rules, solve the maze, surviving until the next day.
Sometimes Newt wished he would never make it back to the Glade. Running was keeping the thoughts away, keeping him from reality, in a weird way. But he would come back anyway, and occasionally, Alby would be waiting for him at the door.
"You're late, shuck-face." He would say randomly, making Newt smile and forget how shitty everything was for a time.
Nevertheless, the idea would stay in the back of his head, grow stronger with every passing day, creeping when loneliness came greed him night, when sleeping outside was not enough to make the suffocating feeling go away, when the questions were kept unanswered, when he wanted to be home so bad it's stupid because he didn't even remember it. And so he buried everything and kept going on.
Until one day, he couldn't take it anymore.
Nothing made him snap, really. Nothing happened. But maybe that's the whole point; nothing happened, and somehow he let himself think that nothing ever would.
And so when he should have headed back to the Glade after his break, he didn't. Instead, he climbed the wall until his arms hurt, and then let go.
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Alby was calling his name, his voice a light to focus on in the darkness. Newt wondered if he was in heaven. It would be nice to have Alby there. He actually wanted him there. He was the only person he could ever remember being that close to. If he had given it second thought when he had decided to jump, maybe he would have been overwhelmed with doubt, guilt of leaving his friends behind.
"You absolute slinthead," he heard Alby cursing at his ear, and then whisper desperately, "Don't make me dig your grave, Newt. Don't make me."
As he dimly regained consciousness, he blinked and saw flashes of green and orange, vaguely aware that he was moving – or rather being dragged. Finally gaining complete consciousness, the pain overwhelmed him and he let out a cry; it felt like his foot was being chewed by a Griever.
"Newt?" Alby spoke again, obvious relief echoing in his voice.
Newt tried to speak, but before he could put the pieces of the puzzle together, Alby had brought him back to the Glade and was yelling for help, the doors closing just behind them.
As Jeff, Clint, Minho and other Gladers rushed to him, Newt realized with a sick feeling what had happened. He wasn't sure which made him sicker: what he had done, or the fact that he had failed at it.
/
Lying in a bed in Homestad, Newt closed his eyes to shut the pain out. The two Med-jacks had left the room after nursing his wounds –which happened to be a bump on the head, a few bruises and a shucking broken ankle. It was so ridiculous he would have laughed if he wasn't feeling like a piece of klunk.
Alby was sitting in a chair beside the end of his bed, putting bandages on his foot, but the blonde couldn't bring himself to look at him. He knew. Newt could just tell by the way his friend stayed silent. He didn't quite understand how, but he was sure of it, Alby knew what he had tried to do. The realization made him want to burst into tears and he put his arm on his eyes, hiding his face. He was absolutely pathetic.
"Newt," Alby's voice echoed in the silent room, like he had felt the tumult in Newt's soul.
He heard the Leader call his name again, grumbling, and then suddenly tightening his grip on the Glader's ankle. Newt jerked forward, groaning in pain. "What the bloody-"
"I'm talking to you, shuck-face."
Newt grimaced and roughly ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual. "Don't you have more important things to do?"
Alby reached out and grabbed his forearm.
"No. This is the most important thing right now."
Taken aback by the straightforward answer, Newt finally looked up at the boy, not sure how to interpret what he had just said. And because Alby was quick-witted, he took advantage of the blonde's attention being on him to give him an intense look, his grip merely tightening, and then slowly turning into a light touch. His throat dry, Newt felt himself unable to break eye contact, suddenly very aware of Alby's fingers on his skin.
"Newt," his friend called again, and there was softness in his voice, something that made his stubbornness sound different. "Talk to me."
He had known Alby for almost two years now, and everyone referenced him as the Fearless Leader of the Glade. It amused Newt, how Greenies were dead scared of him - before the fear melted into some kind of nervous respect, and the moments when Minho and him joked around about it were part of the few things that made Newt's life less miserable. There were a few of the Original Gladers left, who knew Alby from the very start, when he was less confident and had yet to build that draconian façade of his, but still, Newt and Minho were the only ones so casual with him, the Original Gladers or even the ones there for over a year were satisfied with Alby just being this gruff and associable version of a President.
But Alby was so much more than that, and it was so clear and undeniable in meaningful moments like this. Even if he indubitably had a thousand more important matters with the Gladers' problems constantly on his shoulders and he should probably be scolding him and being absolutely disgusted by his stupidity and cowardice, there he was, being concerned.
Newt opened his mouth, trying to say something that wasn't just pure emotion, something not tainted by anger and hurt and frustration and guilt, but he just couldn't. Everything was boiling inside him, mixed and messy. Still, he knew he needed to get it out, that all those feelings he had tried so hard to bury since the very first day were eating him alive like a starving Griever.
"I just…" Newt breathed hardly and closed his eyes. "I just wanted to go home."
His voice broke on the last word and his whole being with it. He felt the tears he had been holding back since he had been brought back into the Glade break free from his eyes and run wild on his cheeks, burning. He started to blurt out incoherent sounds, choking on his own tears.
Alby's arms were around him in a beat. Shaking and unable to stop talking even if most of his words were barely understandable, Newt hold onto Alby like he was the only thing keeping him from drowning – and right now, he was.
"Hey, it's okay," He murmured to his ear, stroking his hair. "It's okay. Get it out."
And so he did.
/
Newt woke up to the sun's rays peaking their way through the window. Blinking sleepily, he noticed a blurry figure in the chair next to his bed and stared until his eyes adjusted and let him know that it belonged to none other than Alby. Bathed in the sunlight, his skin was shimmering in a lighter tone of brown, and with his relaxed features it was giving a smooth aura to the strong boy. Newt felt a smile creep on his lips as he gazed at the sleeping Glader, feeling like everything was good for precious seconds. But then, pain stung him and he was slammed back into the cruel reality, a moan escaping his lips without asking permission.
Alby shifted beside him, his eyes fluttering open. Newt cursed under his breath, more angry at himself for breaking the moment than in pain because of his injury.
"Newt," the dark-skinned boy mumbled, voice rough from sleeping. He looked at the blonde for a few seconds before asking, "Meds?"
Grimacing, Newt nodded and his gaze followed his friend as he went to the old wood cupboard that served as a medicine cabinet and came back with pills. He grabbed a jar on the bedside table and poured water on the glass next to it before handing it to Newt, who swallowed everything without asking questions.
Alby yawned and Newt suddenly wondered if he had stayed all night there. The thought brought complex feelings to him. Alby had already spent an awful night, thanks to him, so finishing it in a back-breaking chair made him feel guilty; but at the same time, it felt incredibly comforting to know that hewould, just to stay by his side.
He remembered last night in a blur. Everything was messy –himself particularly. He couldn't recall exactly what he had said, or how long he had cried in the boy's arms, but he was sure of one thing: Alby never let go of him. He held him and listened until the injured boy fell asleep from exhaustion.
He should probably feel ashamed but all he could concentrate on was the fact that he was actually feeling light. Oh, he still felt miserable, but it wasn't crushing him anymore.
He looked at Alby and met the other boy's eyes, already studying him. A thin smile crept on Newt's lips, holding the gaze. He didn't have to say anything, but he did nonetheless.
"Thank you."
Something shifted in Alby's eyes and tenderness flooded his voice. "I'm always here when you need me, Newt."
A warmth rose in his chest and this time, he embraced the new feelings growing in his. A knock on the door interrupted them and Alby slightly frowned, seemingly annoyed, before he stood up and opened the door to reveal a well-awake Minho.
"Hey lovebirds," he smiled as he entered the room, his gaze quickly dropping on Newt.
He studied him a few seconds and a flash or worry crossed his face, but because Minho was Minho, it was soon hidden behind a joke. "Good to see you're alive, shank. Did Alby mention that you look like klunk?"
Newt rolled his eyes and the asian boy gave him a bright smile before turning to Alby. "I didn't want to interrupt your little love-fest but we need you downstairs, Alby."
"I'm coming; now slim it or you'll feed the Grievers tonight."
"So cold," Minho put a hand on his chest, faking a hurt expression, but still made his way to the door. "Hey Newt," he called again, standing on the doorstep. Newt tilted his head, silently asking him what he wanted. "I'm really glad you're fine."
Sincerity was apparent in his voice and the blonde returned him a genuine smile. "Thanks."
The Runner left and Alby waved him off, before he turned to look at his friend, sighing. "I have to go."
He stared at the injured Glader. Then, without warning, Alby was by his side, leaning to brush his lips against Newt's forehead.
"We're gonna get out of here, Newt." He whispered. "And you want to be there when I punch the Creators in their shuck-faces and drop a klunk at their door."
A soft laugh escaped Newt's lips and just like that, he knew that even if everything pretty much sucked, there was still hope, and he would hold on to it.
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Okay so there it is: my very first Nalby and TMR piece of writing! Hope you enjoyed (even painfully so) !
MAYBE I'll write a version of this in Alby's POV, I don't know yet.
Please let me know if you spot grammar errors, being a non-native speaker, I assume I may have made some mistakes. ;_;