Mommy's All Right
Authors Note: So I've had this idea for awhile now, but recently my tumblr dash blew up with Nalby Glade parent stuff, and it inspired me to finally write this. Let me know what you think!
"Hey, Newt!"
Newt's head snapped up as he looked in the direction of the noise, although he already knew it belonged to his best friend, the second-in-command of the Glade. Newt wiped the sweat from his brow before looking toward the keeper of the garden. Zart gave him a light smile, his way of telling Newt to go talk to Alby.
Newt gave Zart a quick wave before walking over to the edge of the garden, hoe still in hand, to meet Alby.
"What do you need, shank?" Newt asked as he leaned against his hoe, lifting some of the weight off of his bad leg.
"Here," Alby said as he lifted a jar of water toward Newt.
"Don't suppose you brought enough for everyone?" Newt questioned only after he'd taken a decent sized swallow.
"Don't start," Alby said, a small smile on his face.
Newt couldn't help smiling in return even as he tried to settle the feeling in his stomach. The feeling he always got when Alby smiled at him that way, or when Alby did something nice just for him.
"So what was all that bloody noise about earlier?" Newt asked Alby.
Earlier there had been some yelling coming from the barn where the slicers worked and soon after Newt had seen the med-jacks run in, before they had assisted Leo, a two month long member of the Glade, back to the homestead.
Alby rolled his eyes. "Shank cut clear down his hand. Don't even know how he managed it."
"He alright?" Newt asked, mildly concerned despite Alby's calm tone.
"Ain't like Jeff had to cut it off," Alby replied easily.
"You sure that kid's a slicer?" Newt asked, not feeling convinced. The kid had only been at his job for a little over a month and he'd already managed to get himself hurt.
"As much as anyone is. Ain't no one here who likes killin' the animals, 'cept maybe Winston," Alby answered with a shrug.
"Mate, I was more thinking of his bloody lack of coordination. It's only been a month and he's managed to cut 'imself," Newt explained.
"Was just an accident. He'll be fine at it," Alby said dismissively.
"And if he's not?" Newt questioned.
Alby leaned in closer to Newt before answering, "Guess next time Jeff will just have to amputate."
"Alby!" Newt hissed, although they were both laughing.
God, Newt loved those rare moments when they could laugh. Loved them even more when they were like this, out in the bright midday sun of the Glade, and not in the darkness of night inside the homestead. Because more than anything he loved the rare occurrence of seeing Alby laugh. Loved how beautiful Alby looked when he let go. When his eyes crinkled, and his hand covered his stomach, and the way the low sound carried. Newt didn't think there was anything, even outside the walls, that could compare to him.
But of course it only lasted a moment, and then someone was jogging up to the two boys.
Alby's face was immediately serious as Frypan came toward them, looking mildly concerned.
"What now?" Alby barked to the hairy boy.
"The greenie is locked in my pantry," he answered before turning his attention toward Newt. "Can you come get him out? I tried, but he just… I don't know. He sounds pretty upset."
Newt knew that was probably Frypan's way of saying that the greenie was crying. It wasn't surprising. Since Max had arrived he hadn't been adjusting well. Nick and Alby hadn't even discussed taking him around to find a job yet.
"Yeah," Newt agreed with a nod. "I'll be there in a minute."
Frypan nodded in thanks before heading back to the kitchen, probably to try and finish making dinner.
"Guess I'd better go take care of that," Newt said as he handed Alby back the half full jar of water he'd been holding.
Alby barked out a laugh as he took it, and Newt scrunched up his eyebrows in question.
"What are you bloody laughing at?" Newt asked. It wasn't like Alby to laugh at the greenbeans. He typically related too much to their confusion to find it funny.
"You know you have a nickname, right?" Alby asked.
Newt raised a brow. If he had a nickname he hadn't heard it.
"They're calling you the Glade mom," Alby explained, an amused look on his face.
"No one's bloody calling me that," Newt said doubtfully.
"Everyone is calling you that," Alby corrected, still looking amused.
"Who'd you here that load of klunk from?" Newt asked, both hands gripping the top of his hoe.
"Minho," Alby said before shrugging. "You've got to admit it's fitting."
"How is that bloody fitting, ya slinthead?" Newt asked, genuinely curious as to how such a nickname could come about.
"Ain't you the one about to go coddle the greenbean out of the pantry?" Alby asked.
"It's part of my job, remember?" Newt reminded the shorter boy.
Since his jump one of Newt's many jobs around the Glade had become helping the greenies adjust. That usually meant hooking them up with someone he thought might make a good friend, or talking to them after Nick or Alby's words had come across too harsh. Helping the Greenies had become one of the few things in the Glade that really made Newt feel like he had a purpose again.
"All I'm sayin' is Nick didn't give you that job on a hunch," Alby said as he took hold of the hoe, grabbing it just under Newt's hand, their fingers pushed up against each other's. "You attract greenies because you treat 'em like your shucking babies."
Newt rolled his eyes, shoving the hoe towards Alby's body.
"Whatever, ya bloody shank," Newt responded, turning to go get the greenie out of the pantry and ignoring Alby's snort.
Newt only made it a few steps before turning back to the other boy.
"You realize that if I'm the Glade mum then that makes you the Glade dad, right?" Newt asked, a smug look on his face.
One of Alby's hands immediately went to run through his hair as a slightly embarrassed look crossed his face. It was only then that Newt realized what Alby thought he was referring to. Newt's face reddened as she shook his head.
"You know, because you're dad-like? You scare them, and they're constantly trying to win your approval? And the reality is that they probably won't know that you bloody care about them until they're thirty and you finally give them a nice stern handshake and tell them that you were always proud," Newt rambled. He wasn't even sure where his definition of a father came from, if it was a stereotype of a father that he'd seen on T.V. once, or if it was what his own father had been like. Either way Alby seemed to follow.
"That ain't true," Alby argued, a glare coming across his face.
"Whatever you say," Newt responded, a smirk making its way onto his face.
"They ain't scared of me, and they know I shucking care," Alby argued, his tone sounding sure.
"Right, right, of course. I must have mistakenly got the impression that everyone who came up after us was bloody intimidated by you," Newt said with a shrug, his tone teasing.
Among the original gladers, the ones who had come up in the box all in the same day, not many were intimidated by Alby. Sure they respected him as their second-in-command, but they didn't do it out of fear. The original gladers had all seen one another at their weakest, crying and screaming and confused, and having seen that created a bond that didn't leave room for fearing one another.
However, the same couldn't necessarily be said for those who came up after. To the greenies, Alby wasn't someone who had ever broken down or been scared like them, even if he assured them that he had been in their shoes once. He was a leader, one who yelled a lot and really didn't like answering questions until the end of the tour.
And the truth was that even once the greenies got more adjusted to the Glade, few of them tried to make friends with Alby. It was like they didn't know that was a thing they could do, and Alby's weak social skills probably didn't help matters. Even when Alby ended up liking a greenie he didn't express it well. Most of the time Alby's version of affection was not glaring at someone when he called them a slinthead.
"I'll prove it to you," Alby declared, and Newt couldn't stop his face from breaking out into a grin.
"Oh, please do, Glade Father."
Alby glared at Newt for a moment before taking a look around the Glade. A few seconds later Alby nodded to a boy named Stephen, a Glade resident for a few months now, who was carrying manure toward the other end of the garden. Newt nodded in response, telling Alby to get on with it.
"Hey, Stephen!" Alby called.
The other boy immediately stopped in his tracks before looking over to Alby, a look of fear in his eyes like he'd been caught with his hand down his pants.
The look seemed to take Alby aback, but the dark skinned boy shook it off before continuing, ignoring the look on Newt's face that said the taller boy was going to start laughing any second.
"You're doing some nice work," Alby tried.
The remark somehow made the other boy look even more frightened, like he thought Alby was being sarcastic and at any moment was going to snap at him.
Newt was cackling, which probably didn't help the situation.
"That's it," Alby called out, his face getting a barely noticeable red tint, as he waved the boy on. Stephen didn't hesitate to get moving.
Alby groaned as he turned to face Newt again.
"You certainly proved your point," Newt said, still snickering.
"That was rough," Alby admitted as he ran a hand through his short hair.
"Oh, don't take it so hard. Like I said, one day you'll shake his hand and—"
"Oh, just shut up. Go mother our kids or something," Alby demanded as he motioned Newt toward the kitchen where a boy was probably still crying in a pantry.
"Fine," Newt said with a smile on his face before coming as close to Alby as he could without garnering attention. "But keep talking to me like that and I know a certain father who'll be sleeping by his lonesome tonight."
This time Newt meant the implication toward their relationship, and the way Alby lightly blushed said that he got it loud and clear.
It wasn't often that they talked about what they had, especially not in the middle of the Glade while everyone was working. Their relationship was something no one knew about, and it was better that it stayed that way.
Newt, satisfied that he'd embarrassed Alby enough, turned away, finally ready to get the greenie out of the pantry when he heard Alby's voice, low but clear, "I think momma would be missing out if that happened."
Newt's face went red and when he turned to look at Alby he saw the dark boy smirk.
It was probably the most suggestive thing Alby had ever said to him, even counting things said within the darkness of the homestead at night.
They'd never done more than kiss. They'd never pushed things too far, and they'd always been careful to keep it that way. Most nights they didn't do anything. Just lie close enough to feel each other's body heat and hear each other breathing, and on certain nights they dared to lie close enough to have their shoulders touching in the dark.
But that was enough. Enough for Newt to love Alby completely and know that Alby felt the same. Enough to know that if they ever got out of the shucking maze Alby would still want to be beside him.
"Momma wouldn't want that," Newt finally replied before making a quick retreat for the pantry before Alby could say anything else to distract him.
Sometimes life in the Glade made Newt miserable, more often than not it did. But some days he managed to find happiness. Managed to love the other boys in the Glade like they were his brothers, or even his own children. And on days like that he'd do whatever was asked of him.
Especially when he knew he'd be rewarded at the end of the day by getting to fall asleep, his shoulder pressed against Alby's.
Newt's body shook as he dragged his himself further into the building, fear completely consuming him.
Everything was chaos. The storm rang in his ears.
People were dead. So many of them were dead.
He finally stopped, his limbs shaking too much to drag himself another inch.
He managed to roll himself onto his back and then he lie there, breathing heavily, unable to hear anything other than the storm.
He was exhausted, and his leg felt like he'd injured it all over again. But sleeping didn't even cross his mind.
As the fear subsided and his body settled all he could do was wonder why he'd done it.
Why he'd saved himself.
Why he had even bloody bothered.
The Scorch was nothing like the Glade. It was worse. It was so much worse.
As he lay there he thought about the lightning, wondered what it felt like to get hit. Wondered if it was quick.
He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't keep going. He couldn't keep pushing when it felt so hopeless.
And more than that he didn't want to keep going. He was done. Had been done for so long. Everything he remembered was pain. Every moment of his life one that had had to be suffered through. More than anything he just wanted it to end.
And that was what propelled him up. What forced him back to his hands and knees. He was going to go back out. And he was going to die.
No one would know he did it. It was too dark and things were too chaotic. He'd just be gone.
He crawled, making his way to the door slowly, but surely. As he did so many thoughts crossed his mind. He remembered running in the maze, his feet endlessly hitting pavement and dead ends. He remembered seeing dead bodies hanging from the ceiling, and heat the likes of which he'd never felt before.
And then all of a sudden he thought of Alby and he pushed himself to crawl faster as he forced away the thoughts of his best friend. He couldn't think of Alby. Not now.
Couldn't think of promises he'd made to a dead boy who'd ran to his death without looking back.
As he crawled he heard a noise, barely piercing the sound of the storm. He could tell it was one of the other boys, could tell said boy was sobbing and was only a few inches away.
Immediately he felt a pull to the boy, not caring who it was, but he didn't stop. He kept crawling.
Once again he heard the sound of the boy's sobs pierce his ears, and he once again tried to ignore it. But then he was struck by a memory of Alby so strong that it stopped him.
Go Mother our kids or something.
Guilt came over Newt in waves. All of a sudden he wasn't thinking of the painful moments of his life anymore.
He was thinking about the boys who had been there beside him. About his brothers and his children. The ones who weren't all alive anymore. The ones whom Alby had died trying to save.
He hated himself. Couldn't believe he'd been about to walk out on them. Couldn't believe he'd do that to them.
He immediately switched directions, moving to crawl so that he was next to the crying Glader.
The boy jumped at his touch, but Newt pulled the boy into himself. Moved so that he was lying beside the other boy, the kid's head pulled tight against his chest.
"Shh, I've got ya. I promise I've got ya," Newt said against the boy's wet hair.
Newt didn't know if the boy could even hear him over the sound of the storm, but his body seemed to sink against Newt's as he cried into his shirt.
Newt's hand rubbed the boy's back, tears coming to his own eyes as he tried to soothe the unknown Glader in his arms.
The boys that were left, however many there were, were his. His responsibility whether he was their leader or not. He'd made that promise to them a long time ago, by words and by actions.
He'd get them as far as he could. Do whatever he had to do. Because they were his, and they were Alby's, and that hadn't changed.
Newt allowed himself to think back once more to the happy memory, the one where Alby had called the Gladers their kids for the first time, and he tried to smile through the tears.
Whatever it took he'd try to get them somewhere safe. And after that he didn't know.
He just hoped that when his life did end, when he'd given the kids all he had to give, that Alby would be there.
And if Newt could just lie beside him shoulders touching one more time, it'd more than enough reward.