I could not remember how long I had been laying here. I could not even give rough estimate.
Days? Hours?
Weeks?
That idea made me feel sick. There was nothing I could do or say. I had been laying there for too long.
I could feel my chest rising, stretching my muscles and cracking my ribs open. Something was so irregular about it, painful as if something was hiding inside of me, of my lungs, something damp, sticking the air to the flesh. But for some reasons my body carried on, forcing the air in and out uselessly, like a pump forcing on a pierced tyre.
I felt like chocking on each breath, but always unable to cough up the water. Every breath should have been the last but somehow my ribs kept on rising inexorably again and again.
My eyes would open from time to time, but it was not of much help for the questions running inside my head. Whatever was happening around me, there was always too much light or too much darkness.
It got me thinking; the air against my skin was fresh, salty and bright, not bitter, nor sandy, nor filled with smoke. Those little things kept on bothering me. The heat, the burning sensation under my skin, and a slightly panicked feeling right on the edge of my conscience.
Something alarming, something terribly wrong was bothering me.
There was something I needed to remember.
One thing, I should not forget. Some kind of echo reasoning in my bones.
My breathing quickened every time I got close, pain was tearing me apart.
A wet material was pressed on my forehead. I wanted to push it away but gravity was anchoring my limbs down. I did not need a bloody distractions, it was hard enough trying to focus on those voices.
There was this one thing, I had to remember.
Anger ran through my body and it was almost too familiar.
Familiar in an bittersweet way, a bit like the sight of the tents in the Glade, the smile of his friends runners leaving for the maze, Alby staring at sunrise, or hugging Minho and Thomas in the last city.
Not only that anger was familiar, but it felt dangerous. Something was different with that uncontrollable anger. It was wrong, coming from the same root from that panicky feeling.
I had to remember because whatever this was, it was awful, a nightmare.
It felt like seeing the gates of the maze stay open at the end of the day, it was watching Minho get dragged away by WCKD, or running up staircase through the fever knowing that if I give up now I will condemn my two best friends.
It was like holding a gun to my head before Thomas pushed it off my hands… Thomas…
It all suddenly felt so clear.
The changing, the cranks, the last city, the flare, Thomas.
I remembered the city, seeing Minho run off to get the cure but it was too late. They didn't want to listen, it was too late.
Thomas was in danger, because of me.
I had to stop, I had to leave Thomas alone.
I gasped for air so suddenly it was as if I tore my skin open again, sending pain from my shoulders to my stomach resonating deep in my bones. My hands moved up but something was holding them down.
I needed to stop. I was going to hurt Thomas. I was going to do it!
'Tommy, kill me,' I begged. My voice felt foreign, not because of the begging nor the conviction but the coaxing admission behind it. Thomas had to understand it was the only way he could survive. He had to understand that I accepted it, but I was not ready to accept Thomas risking his life for me, for what was left of me.
Thomas had to let me go now or all of this would have been worthless.
There was no way out. 'Just kill me.'
Why does Tommy never bloody listen?
He just had to let me die.
My eyes did not want to open. I fought to stay awake. I repeated it again and again, even when I started to lose my footing again and even when I wasn't really sure why I was saying those words, or what it meant. I just knew I had to remember.
Don't hurt him.
Don't hurt Tommy.
Don't-
Minho sat back down on the beach.
He needed a good news. He needed some about right now. Just one, just a little bit of hope. He really deserved it by now. Anything, he took his head in his hands breathing out as much as he could, hoping it would help his body relax.
"You look tired," muttered Brenda coming up just behind him. She smiled softly, "Long night?"
They all had long nights, thought Minho, but it did not matter how she built the question, the invitation was there, to pour his worries out.
It was something they took on doing since they arrived. It was relieving for both of them, just to say it all out loud with no fear, without expecting answers nor a solution.
When they first arrived to the Safe Haven, Minho had found himself utterly alone. Well, that was not exactly true, but his best friends, his family, weren't here. He couldn't look at the other Gladers without thinking about what he'd lost.
Others on the camp were nothing to him in those moment, he couldn't focus on the present. Gally was busy with construction and Frypan with the food. They all found a place but Minho had to recover, had to deal with what happened. Sure… Like Minho had time for that! Instead he spend his days running from Thomas to Newt's beds back to Brenda, trying to understand, trying to imagine living forever with the guilt of having caused the death of his best friends.
It was like Minho still had one feet in the last city, holding on unto that old hope most of them left behind. That dirty and bitter hope they had because there was no other way. To survive they had to believe they could make it out alive, that they could do anything.
But the other feet was here, anchored in reality. It was not the same world, this normal life. Everything was so bright, more real almost. Everything was harsh, the sun, the sand and the salt.
It was a crashing reality that everybody was learning to live with. Nobody was pulling stunts to save others, no more sudden adrenaline rush, no more uncalled laughter or jumping off skyscrapers.
Now, it was all too real. It was rigid and static.
There were no more miracles.
But fuck, Minho needed a last one. Just one.
He needed one last stunt.
"Come on," teased Brenda walking around him. "Let it out."
"He had another crisis," explained Minho, wishing he did not have to say it out loud, wishing it wasn't true. But Brenda was right, he couldn't keep on bottling up. "I don't think it's working."
Brenda came closer and sat down, diving her fingers in the sand. She did not look at his face but stare straight ahead at the sea, her leg brushing Minho's.
"You think Newt's changing again?" she asked softly.
"I don't know…" Minho gasped, clenching his hands in his hair. "He was trashing and talking, hallucinating again in his sleep. Maybe it's not working."
Brenda held on, not taking her eyes away from the waves slowly crashing in front of them, even when Minho's voice broke in anger and pain; "Maybe we should stop. Maybe we're just torturing him. Maybe we should let him go."
"We are not torturing him," Brenda said coldly. "There's no more trace of the illness on his skin. We need to give him time. We need to give Newt a chance to make it out."
Minho did not react his eyes locked on the sea, hating how Brenda just knew, how she just understood what Minho was experiencing.
"WCKD's gone. This is real. You need to remember that," she insisted. "They can't do to Newt what they did to you."
Silent settle Minho trying to gather his thoughts.
"We shouldn't have trusted the serum we found on Thomas," said Minho. Brenda did not answer.
"Teresa could have planted it," Minho laughed, it was bitter and dark, exactly how it had been in that city. That laugh was often used now to talk about then. It fit the uncertainty, the incoherence and chaos, but it was plainful here.
"We're so stupid. It could easily have been another trick from WCKD. It was reckless to give Newt that serum,"continued Minho in frenzy. His eyes focused on the rocks in his hands, crushing them into his skin."For all we know, she was the one who shot Thomas!"
"Minho," chided Brenda. She tried to hold Minho's hand but he flinched.
"We did the best we could," Brenda continued, remembering the panic once they got Thomas in the plane, just in time before the burning tower collapsed on itself.
It all happened so fast. Teresa fell and they had to leave. Brenda remembers Thomas's blood soaking her t-shirt. He was bleeding everywhere, his face white, losing consciousness again and again. And Minho was exhausted and hurt. Newt was moving again, trashing in the back of the plane, losing the little of blood he had left. The cure they gave him wasn't working as the changing was surely too advanced. It was only when finding the blue serum on Thomas as he mumbled something about Teresa that they suspected a possible solution for Newt.
The decision they made had been a quick and rushed one. They put one and one together and shot Newt with the blue liquid instead of a bullet that was coming soon as he started screaming and growling again.
"There was no other way. We had to try it," insisted Brenda. "And if it wasn't a cure, Newt would have been a Crank by now. We might not know what it was, but there's still a chance."
A chance. The need to believe in last minute scenario. The same kind of hope that carried them here, it was that desperate hope that he hated so much.
Minho threw the rocks, and clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to run, to do something.
He just wanted some good news, a sign, a little dose of sarcasm from Newt and some reckless moves from Thomas. He wanted his friends back, but he settled for a easy simple wish.
"I just want one of them to wake up already," he whispered softly enough for Brenda to understand she was not the one suppose to hear it. Those words were for someone else, maybe a God, or anything above or under. Maybe there were for himself.
Because maybe if one did awake up, maybe then, he could move on.
"At least one of them," repeated Minho like a mantra.
"I know," answered Brenda, fighting back the tears. She understood too well the frustration and fear that has made them all hold back their breath all week long.
His eyes flashed open. It was so bright it made him nauseous with salt sticking to his eyelashes.
He tried to make sense of the surroundings. But everything came crashing back down.
They were trying to get on the plane but something went wrong. Theresa, she did not make it?
The thought of her just made Thomas hope he was not actually here. Maybe he was dead, but the pain in his body was to real.
Everything went so wrong. They were almost safe but the building had to collapse and the last city had turned into ashes and fire.
The second name that came back took all that was left of his motivation to get up.
They had lost so many people, but Newt had been the worst.
He could have saved him. Exactly like Teresa it had been down to the seconds.
Thomas did not even want to think about it. He could not. Not now, not ever, even more so that he didn't even know where he was. If he started thinking about his friend, how he remembered each delayed answered and each approximative move Newt made while trying to fight the illness.
He could remember exactly how his heart stopped when Newt put the gun against his own head. The blond's hands iced cold and shaking from the fever against Thomas, confused and scared. He could still feel Newt's panic under his own skin.
'It's okay, Newt. It's okay,' Thomas had promised.
But it wasn't, God it wasn't but Thomas wanted it to be. Newt was dying and Thomas was failing at everything. They both knew it.
"It's okay."
He wanted Newt to calm down, him to feel as safe as possible, to stop tearing himself apart. Even if there was no way out of that one, Thomas was not going to let him feel so scared nor alone.
Thomas remembered holding his breathing when Newt's body fell down powerless understanding for the first that nothing was going to be okay again.
And all of it because of Thomas.
Minho had been barely a second away. If Thomas just had fucking held one more second, it would have been enough.
He failed when his best friend needed him the most. The only moment it really mattered, which was down to the last second.
Thomas could have fought harder. Maybe, he had given up too soon, maybe he had lost hope, maybe he had been scared and selfish.
"Tommy. Kill me," he said. Thamas decided that Newt's begging was the worst. He could not remember how to breath. He wanted to scream. Newt's voice resonated in his head again and again, on the same album but so much louder than Theresa's begging for them not to fight WKCD, or Chuck talking about his parents.
This could not be real. It was not happening.
Thomas won't let it.
He deserved to be punished, not Newt. Him, and Theresa, and WCKD, and so many people deserved it but not Newt, not Chuck, not Alby…
His breathing accelerated and there was nothing he could do. Thomas stood, ignoring the pain shooting in his side. It was just like getting out of the box again. He couldn't think, nor breath so Thomas started running.
He felt the beach before saw it. He felt the sand under his feet and the salt in his mouth. It seemed safe enough, calm even. Why was it so unfair?
Thomas kneeled down, legs weakened and head dizzy from the sudden rush of adrenaline. This stomach and side hurting, firing up pain under his skin making him want to puke.
"Thomas!"
He didn't have time to look up before he got tackled into a hug.
"You're wake!" shouted Minho. He let go of Thomas, his hands sliding to his shoulders. Noises started to stir around of them, people coming closer wondering about the shouting. "How are you feeling? When did you wake up?" urged Minho. "Are you okay? Why are you alone?"
Thomas even if he wanted to, could not have answered all of the questions. Tears started fall in anger, defeat and confusion. There was no stopping. Minho was here and the happiness of seeing him was as precious as it made all of the rest, of that nightmare, come to life.
They did it.
They won.
They got Minho out, and the others imunes, everything was clearing out now. Newt was dead. Teresa was gone. Chuck was never getting out of the Maze, he would never know they made it.
"We're okay," laughed Minho trying to get Thomas to stop crying. "We're at the Safe Haven!"
Gally came running toward them breathless and annoyed. He started to apologise but Minho didn't give him the chance.
"Where were you?" shouted Minho. "Thomas's running around alone! You had one job."
It took all the strength Gally could muster to not push Minho in the sand.
"He took off!" Gally growled exasperated. "He got up and sprinted straight to the beach!"
Minho glanced at Thomas in silence, but that did not slow down Gally's rant.
"He always have to run off! Bloody runners! Slintheads all of them!"
The name made everyone smile and Thomas look up, so Gally continued on with the cheap insult and easy bender.
It took some time for Thomas to move back inside needing help as people brought food and water.
Minho couldn't stop talking even, didn't even stop when Brenda walked in. Minho distractedly grabbed her hand tugging her closer to Thomas's bed where he was currently sitting.
"And the water!" he exclaimed. "The water's amazing! We even started swimming lessons because you should have seen us at the beginning. If you thought getting out of the maze was hard we should be thankful, we didn't have to swimming out of it," he laughed. "Brenda's the only one managing so far, and she's an amazing teacher!"
He continued on and on, it was like Minho thought that a second of silence would be too hard on them. He was not one to talk all night long, but this was a particular situation. There was so many taboo, questions better left unanswered for now.
Nobody wanted to talk about before, about the dead and the wounded. It was too soon and Minho was trying his best to drown the pain and sorrow with all those new exciting things Thomas missed on. Brenda chipped in a few times with a bright and peaceful smile.
It was nice, and Thomas finally started to relax. He tried to follow as much as possible but it was a lot to process and exhaustion was still rooted deeply inside his bones. It was only when Minho started talking about the garden and the different vegetables Frypan had been cooking and roasting, that sleep took over. All he heard was Brenda shushing Minho out of the tent.
It did not took long for Thomas to wake up again. It was night time now, and the camp managed to be even more quiet than during the day with only the waves filling the silence. Not able to deal with those memories alone, Thomas stood up slowly making his way outside.
The moon was big enough for him to see the sea far on his left and lights for each tent burning low all around him. He wandered for a bit, putting images on Minho's stories earlier today. He thought he was alone awake until he found Brenda next to the main fireplace counting stars.
"Thomas!" she called out with her usual warm and confident smile. "Need something?"
Thomas shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine, thanks."
Nevertheless he went to sit next to her, enjoying the silence for a while he finally decided to ask. "How are you?" He had answered that question again and again, but Thomas felt he ought to be the one asking by now.
"Long night," she confessed, words curving the side of her mouth as if they had another meaning Thomas was not privy to. "But I can't complain, you woke up today, so how bad can it be?"
Thomas returned her smiled, not the careless and sincere ones but the comforting, soft and fragile smiles that barely reaches your lips but settle in your eyes. Brenda was right, they had much worst days.
"Minho?" asked Thomas, trying to make conversation and maybe also hoping to get some gossips about their relationship.
"Another crisis," sighted Brenda tugging her hair behind her ear.
"Crisis?" frowned Thomas and the way Brenda's body tensed Thomas knew right away that something was wrong.
Were they not safe?
"He is with Newt," she blurred as it explained everything.
"With Newt?" shouted Thomas standing up. "He is here?"
Brenda stood up trying to grab Thomas, stopping him from running away. "We gave him the cure. He is unconscious," she elaborated but with no success in calming down Thomas.
"It's impossible," he whispered to myself. "It's WCKD. This is another trial. It was too good to be true. I knew It! I Knew it! We need to leave."
"Thomas!" Brenda called out. "Stop it!"
But nothing was getting to him. Thomas stepped back. "You don't understand, we need to leave now. This is not right! I saw him Brenda! He was dead!"
"Thomas," Repeated Brenda like a mother to her child. "We can explain."
"Explain what? He is dead! Newt is dead!" he shouted finally letting it out, tears crashing down. "I would know, okay, because I killed him!"
"We gave him the cure, he lost a lot of blood but he is alive," Brenda tried to explain. "He is still unconscious."
"No," Thomas shouted it with such certitude than Brenda stayed silent. "Newt is dead."
Minho finally hearing the argument, ran down into the square, "What's going on?"
And here he was. Back in that place, with only hope and crazy plans, but there was no more plans. Thomas sat down, knees weak from the shock. Newt was alive, well, he was still breathing for now. Unconscious, sure but breathing. Thomas could not believe it. He just could not.
"He is not going to wake up," said Thomas, eyes dragging across the blond hating each second of it.
Minho frowned, "You don't know that."
"How long has he been like that? Almost a week?" shouted Thomas, turning away to face Minho. They had to understand. "Brenda got better in a day. It's not working. It was too late, he was already gone," stammered Thomas. "He was already- He just- He died!"
"The veins disappeared!" insisted Minho, now trying to convince the rest of the room. He came up next to Newt, grabbing his arm to push the sleeve up. Thomas couldn't look at it. He did not like it, that stupid hope others were keeping here. Thomas was running out of it, he just could not play that game again.
"He shows no sign of the flares," elaborated Minho. "His mouth is not black anymore, his eyes are back to normal. It worked."
"No!" snapped Thomas, eyes filling up with tears. "It is not! He is fucking unconscious!"
"It's only been few days." Brenda chipped in, calmly, stepping closer to him. "He might just be out because of the blood lose-"
"Or brain damage!" Shouted Thomas. "I killed him! Don't you understand, Newt is dead!"
"Stop it," rasped a voice from behind them.
The sound of it turn on cold water on Thomas and the rest of the group. His eyes moved to the bed, Newt's eyes were still shut close, only frowning slightly. Brenda looked down, hurting from what was coming next, as Minho did not even move locking his eyes on Thomas.
Thomas grabbed the other boy's bed for support. "Newt?"
He got no other answers than Newt's arms tensing pushing against the ropes tying him down.
"Why is he tied up?" shouted Thomas.
Minho did not even tried to stop from Thomas grabbing the ropes twisted on their friends wrists. "Precaution," he said bitterly. "Most of the people here believe he could still turn."
"Why is he talking?" demanded Thomas, hands holding unto Newt, now he couldn't let go.
"We think he is dreaming," answered Brenda. "Or at least hallucinating because of the fever."
Thomas hand trailed on Newt arms. He was burning. "He has fever?" repeated Thomas, fingers pressing against the clammy skin.
"Might be from the stab wound," temporised Minho.
"It could be from the flare," continued Thomas but kept moving his fingertips on the inside of Newt's wrist.
"It could be," confessed Minho.
His legs finally had enough and Thomas sat down on the bed, hand closing on the teenager's fingers.
Thomas set up camp and stayed next to him for the next days, and encountered very little resistance from the others. Minho could finally take a break, and Gally put himself at use. It wasn't even as if Thomas could do much than sit around. It was mostly a question of keeping an eye on the blond in case of anything. Like making sure the veins did not return.
It was the worst part, waiting for a bad news. Not having a plan, just waiting for the catastrophe to happen.
Changing the bandages once a day was another hurdle and even that, Brenda would do it. The plan was to first show Thomas how to do it, but it became clear he was not going to be able too. His hands was shaking the moment Newt t-shirt came off and ugly burning red stain painted the bandages.
Thomas could feel the blade on his on chest, the need to breath as Newt tried strangle him, the panic.
What Thomas would prefer was the relief of feeling useful, changing the towel on Newt's forehead to keep temperatures down, talking to him about anything, the weather, the time.
As hours and days stated to pass, Newt kept on stirring and the mumbling and whispering added themselves to the long list of the worst sounds of Thomas's life. The boy was mostly repeating himself. Mostly negatives, don'ts and stop's. But the most painful was when Newt called out names. Tommy was the most frequent and every time without a miss, Thomas would remember the exhaustion from the fighting and running, the adrenaline from the jump from the tower and the explosion around them. All of it up to the moment, Newt begged him to let him die. Thomas hated it, how dirty and horrid he would feel when only a few weeks away out of the blond's mouth that name always sound playful or loving. It used to be comforting, having Newt calling him out, joking around, but now it was all gone.
It was early in the morning when Thomas heard another stir, grabbing a towel knowing it was going to be another hour of high temperatures and cries but Thomas stopped moving, frozen when he saw the two brown eyes shot open.
'Don't feel too exited if he wakes up,' Minho had warned. 'It happened few times, he just falls back into sleep.'
It did not help in any way.
"Newt?" Thomas called out, happiness spreading without control. "Are you okay?"
His pupils were exploded, drowning in black, and unfocused but there was no signs of the flare otherwise. Thomas's hands cupped Newt's face, calling out his name again, but they soon started to flutter back close, without a word.
That time Minho had to drag Thomas out, forcing him into showering, eating some food and watching the sea until sunset.
"I'm not going back to sleep," warned Minho sitting up in the bed.
"I know… I know…" whispered Brenda passing her hand on his back in circles as Minho bend forward his head in his hands. She knew there was nothing more she could do to calm Minho down from those nightmares.
Minho raged breathing continued for a while. It was the middle of the night but they both were starting to get used to that new rhythm of normal nights of sleep, healthy meals and lazy outside activity, which was nevertheless tripped at every steps, by the past continuously crawling back.
"I thought it would calm down," he whispered. "I thought it would be better with Thomas here, but it's like my memories just unlocked."
Brenda winced wishing not let herself give up too. They both knew, it was going to get worst before it gets better, but god, it had been worst for too long.
"I need to walk for a bit," excused Minho.
Brenda slowly nodded laying back down. "Wake me up if you need anything," she commanded letting sleep elude her again.
Minho walked out toward the sea, around the camp. Air was fresh and salty but memories of the sterile rooms and WCKD's labs blocked out that little piece of paradise from Minho's eyes. It enraged him, not being able to touch and feel that joy everyone was projecting around him.
It was just a matter of days before Newt's fate would be sealed. The medic hadn't been very optimistic, Newt had been unconscious for too long, his body was going to start shutting down. If they were going to lose him, because he went ahead and rescued him, the least Minho could do was making it count. He had to be okay and happy for him, for what his friends did for him. But how could Minho enjoy or do anything, when he could barely sleep? Why did it feel like everything had been for nothing?
Normally, no one was outside at that time of the night, so did not take long for Minho to notice a silhouette sitting next to the fireplace. As Minho got closer, Thomas must have heard something because the boy jumped and turned toward his friend also surprised to see someone here.
"Hey," called out Minho slowly coming to sit next to his friend.
Thomas didn't seem to mind, his eyes unfocused. He was fiddling with something in his hands, his legs bumping up and down.
"Are you okay?" asked Thomas as Minho sat down next to him.
"I should ask you that," said Minho. "You look terrible."
"Can't sleep," shrugged Thomas simply.
Minho nodded slowly, it came as no surprise. "Wanna talk about it?"
"You seems to have enough on your plate," grinned Thomas pushing Minho with his elbow.
"Change my mind, will you?" Minho encouraged.
Thomas hesitated passing, what Minho now noticed was, Newt's neckless back and forth in his hand. Minho had given it to him the night Thomas found out about Newt.
Minho had kept it while Thomas had been unconscious recognising it from Newt. He opened it by mistake and decided not to look at the letter. It was obliviously for Thomas and who was he for getting in between them?
Maybe Minho had been a bit sad about being kept out of it; Thomas hadn't say a word about it, he didn't even know if Thomas had read it yet. Minho wasn't jealous though definitely curious. Only an idiot wouldn't have notice something was different between those two, something stronger than reason; going to find Minho in the Last City was quite the gamble. Thomas hadn't talk about it yet, but Brenda had given him the main lines and Minho had decided his friends were insane. Thomas acting on a whim, sure, but endangering Newt and Brenda? Even Newt, being an optimist on his good days, was at the very core a realist, and that mission nothing short of a suicide pact, for all of them. What were they thinking? What were they doing? Not for the first time this week, Minho felt like he was missing a piece.
"I don't know what to do if he doesn't wake up," murmured Thomas. He hadn't talked with such hopelessness since the first night he found out about his friend surviving. Thomas hadn't say a word about the possibility of his friend dying nor waking up, after that night when he shouted that Newt was dead.
Minho stayed silent, he knew too well that lying feeling saying anything could be resolved if his friends awake.
"I don't know, I don't-" stammered Thomas slightly angry and short breathed, as if confessing it was making it worst. "I don't know, how to explain it. And there's so much to do but all I can think of is him and what happened, what I did, what I should have done…"
Minho nodded slowly, he had watch his best friends grow closer and closer from the Maze to the Right Arm's camp but this was something more. The constant pain, the angst, the worry and what ifs in Thomas's voice was something much more intense than what they all felt for each-others. The 6-months they spent apart had crafted them all so differently and had bring the two boys closer. It didn't mean Minho didn't recognised his friend, but because he knew them better than anyone, he could pick up on those details. The way Thomas hold Newt's hand, the way he looked at him as if every seconds Newt stayed between life and death was a excruciating torture that he couldn't wait for it to be over.
"You're together, right?" asked Minho quietly. That question stopped Thomas in his tracks, his hammering worries and looked up abruptly.
"What?"
"Like dating?"
"Dating?" Repeated Thomas livid. "No, we're not."
Minho chuckled patting Thomas on the shoulder. "It's fine you know, I don't mind," hurried Minho. "I mean it would be a lie to say I totally didn't see it coming because boys, you're awful at hiding it."
"No!" tried Thomas again, turning to his friend. "We never, I mean, there were you and Teresa… It's not like we thought about it."
"Sure… and WCKD is good," Minho chuckled, but Thomas just kept his eyes locked on his friend, silent. "Wait, you are actually serious."
Minho retracted his hand, confused. "So the long night talking together and couple fighting while I was away, which Brenda told me all," Thomas tried to argue that point but Minho didn't let him. "The dramatic 'I'm staying behind to help Newt' while he was changing? Then you going utterly crazy and of to a suicide mission to kill Ava Paige after Newt changed? All of it and you guys are just friends?"
"I would do the same for you," said ruefully Thomas. "We both would. We kinda did it by going back for you, I'm not sure what you mean…"
"Come on. Don't lie to yourself Thomas, this is different," chuckled Minho not believing how clueless was Thomas. "Since we're here, you've spend every awaking moments with Newt, torturing yourself. I miss him too, you know, but at least I can recognise there is something more going on with you two."
Thomas shrugged. "I told you, I don't know. I'm stuck here and all I think of is that I didn't do enough," said Thomas. Hands clenching on his jean. "I killed him. It's my fault."
"I know the feeling," Minho laughed. Thomas looked up suddenly thrown off. "It's guilt, and you didn't fail Newt, he isn't dead, not yet."
Thomas didn't know what to say, what to add.
Minho sighted loudly, upset to have come to such a heavy conversation and tried to lighten the mood. "Damn, Brenda and I had a bet."
"You had a bet?"
"About the two of you," spelled out Minho.
"Oh."
Thomas continued playing with the necklace.
"You know you can tell me like anything."
"Minho…" moaned Thomas rolling his eyes. "I told you, nothing happened."
"Okay, okay… I guess Brenda was right and I don't really know anything anymore." Minho complained, letting minutes roll by.
Thomas shrugged ignoring the taunt in his friend's voice.
"But I mean the necklace and the letter?" Minho insisted definitely a little bitter about his misunderstanding.
"The letter?" repeated Thomas acting innocent trying not to look down when he realised his hand was clenched on the neckless.
"Did you receive many letters?" snorted Minho. "Come on, you are keeping his necklace like your personal life line."
Thomas kept his eyes close.
"Nothing happened, but you wanted to?" tried Minho again, suddenly more concerned.
"I don't know," sighted Thomas looking back at the fire. "We were always running, trying to find you, trying to survive."
Minho nodded slowly, he had to give it to Thomas, relationships were not their biggest priority at the time and it was hard for Minho to imagine their time apart had been really restful for his friends neither.
"It's too late anyway," said Thomas. "He might not even wake up. What's the point."
Minho threw his hand on the boy's head ruffling his hair. "You're an idiot."
"Thanks," snapped Thomas but Minho knew Thomas's anger was not directed against him.
"It might sound repetitive but if Newt was here," said Minho. "He would tell you to pick you ass up and finish what you have started," that line didn't help with Thomas's tears who just kept playing with the necklace.
"I just want him to wake up," said Thomas those words resonating way to much. Minho was right, Newt would have killed him for spending his days crying about what he did or should have done.
'Trust me, it doesn't help with everything," laughed Minho. "Sort yourself out, mate. We don't know if he is going to wake up, but at least you can try to decided what is it you feel before it happens. And talk to Vince, there are tons of things you could do without tiring yourself out. We are here thanks to you, you can't give now. Otherwise what's the point?"
'You can't give up. I won't let you.' New had told him in the desert. It seemed years away and tasted bitter and unjust in Thomas's mouth when it was Newt who had given up. Let himself die, when they had the cure so close. Newt had kept his promise until now, getting Thomas through the Maze and the Scorch, getting Minho out, getting everyone back safely to the Safe Haven. Maybe Minho was right, maybe Thomas could not give up.
"I'll try," promised Thomas.
Huge brown eyes opened. Thomas reacted on the second, looking up from the necklace.
It was happening again. He was going to stand and call Minho, or Gally, or anyone really. He had new orders, if Newt opened his eyes he had to look for someone. It took a few hours for Thomas to calm down the last time, it happened. But this time, he barely had time to move that Newt's eyes flickered on him. They were focused and clearer than usual.
"Tommy?" The voice was much more clearer and louder than the whisperings Thomas was getting used to listening for the past days. It was a question with the intonation and the voice curling up at the end. Thomas couldn't believe it.
The blond blinked repeatedly trying to push away the haze in front of his eyes. His arms moving, tensing the ropes tying him down.
"Newt?" asked Thomas trying to make sure before getting his hopes high again. "It's okay, don't move." He stepped closer to the bed, reaching for the hands still pushing against the restrains.
Newt seemed awake and calm. Thomas undo the first hand.
"Water?" winced Newt not even trying to sit up yet.
"Sure," rushed Thomas grabbing one of the bottle he had been sipping on. The temperature had kept on rising and under the tent it was suffocating.
Thomas did not know how but still remembered to shout out for someone to get Minho.
"Are you okay? How to you feel?" asked Thomas getting the other rope off.
"Bloody amazing," complained the blond. Thomas could have cried from hearing that sarcastic answer. "What's going on? Where are we? Is Minho okay?" he asked before giving back the bottle.
Newt tried to push on his elbows to sit up hissing in pain. Lying to himself, Thomas decided let his hand spilt to the blond's hair, pushing them back still humid from the last fever and at the same time encouraging Newt to stay put.
"Minho is fine, Brenda and the others too. Everything is okay, we are on the island that Vince talked about. He was right. We made it!"
Newt stopped trying to move, relaxing under his hand. His eyes fixed on Thomas. "What?"
"Everything is okay," repeated Thomas and for the first time since he got here he believed it. "We're safe. Minho is safe."
Newt's stare finally left Thomas and turned to the room. That time Thomas helped him sit up.
"The island exists?" Newt chuckled amused and disbelieving.
Thomas wasn't sure what to said, just then realising that Newt never believed in their plan. He never believed in Vince and Gally crazy happy ending plan. Each steps of the way, Newt had supported them, encouraged them, found a way to make it work despite the odds, and he did not even believed it could end well? That the island existed? Newt never thought it could actually be over, be better. Why did he never voiced his concerns? Thomas wanted to shout at that idiot, that stupid martyr. If Newt did not look so fragile right there on the bed, he swears he would have done it.
A gasp made Thomas focus ran back to the boy in front of him, Newt were holding his hands against his chest feeling the bandages through his t-shirt. Before Thomas could explain that 'everything was fine' one more time in not so many words, Newt's hands moved from his to Thomas's chest.
Thomas tried to stand still letting his friend push his hand against Thomas's heart. It took way to long for Thomas to reconnect his brain and understand what Newt was looking for. Thomas was going to say something but Newt already got his answer, hands stilling suddenly.
Thomas could have pinpoint the exact moment Newt's found the bandages, his brown eyes widened and he felt the blond's sharp intake of air.
"It's okay," tried Thomas but it was too late. "I'm okay."
Newt's fingertips slightly pressed here and there, levitated over the strips of bandages hidden under Thomas's t-shirt. He was careful as if too scared of hurting Thomas, but it was unthinkable to stop, it was way worst not knowing the scale of the damages.
Thomas could see the blond's turmoil, eyes unfocused trying to remember. Newt was trying to relive again and again his last actions, his last moment of consciousness, trying to find an answer and understand if their was blood on his hands. Everything must be such a blur between the fever and the exhaustion.
"I did not stop," whispered Newt terribly certain.
Thomas could see the panic spreading through his friend. He never saw Newt so scared. Even when Minho was taken, or even few moment before jumping of the tower, Newt would always push through, give some unimpressed and sarcastic comments. Newt made things work in the Glade and would anywhere in the world, he was the glue keeping it all together. He had been desperate, worried but never scared like this.
His hands started to shake, then tears were filling his eyes and finally it was the relentless breathing in and out that truly panicked Thomas. Newt bent down, arms warped around himself, hissing in pain from overexerting his lungs.
"It's okay! Listen to me," Thomas cupped Newt's face as he lower his head to try to make eye contact with the blond. "You stopped! You didn't do it. You turned the knife, you didn't hurt me."
"I remember… I hurt you. I tried to kill you, to strangle you," insisted Newt, closing his eyes as tears kept on coming. Thomas tried to grab his arms, to make him lay back down, to make him relax and to stop hurting himself. Sitting up like that was surely not helping but his hands kept escaping Thomas's grip.
"I tried so hard!" he shouted. His tears continued crashing around them. "Why didn't you just listen to me?!"
"I know, I know…" pressed Thomas, ready to agree and confess to anything to just make Newt's pain stop.
"It's my fault, okay? Just calm down," begged Thomas hands going back to Newt's hair. "I should have listened but you didn't hurt me. Janson shot me. It wasn't you. You didn't do anything."
That did work to shut up Newt's hysteria but not as to reassure him. He looked up more distressed as tears continued to filled his eyes. Apparently nothing Thomas could say was going to stop them. His arms were wrapped around himself, holding his ribs as he hissed at every breath.
"Janson shot you?" repeated Newt. "I strangled you and Janson shot you?"
"I'm fine," said Thomas. He moved his hand from Newt's hair to behind his neck, giving a small squeeze. Thomas could feel Newt's relaxing under his hands. "Everything's fine now,' continued Thomas.
"It really wasn't that bad…" tired Thomas but it sounded way too fake. Newt had calmed down enough to throw an disbelieving look at him. "You're going to be fine."
"You're fine," tried to reason Newt on his own.
"Yeah" confirmed Thomas as the erratic breathing calmed down. Thomas's pained smile started coming back, as a quiet joy was bubbling inside of him.
He pushed his face against Thomas's neck his arms blocked between them as Newt kept putting pressure on his ribs. Thomas leaned in mostly trying to limit and support Newt's movements. But it was so unreal and yet natural, Thomas arms automatically found their way around the blond, holding him closer.
Thomas could finally feel pieces of three years of constant stress rocking his friends' body at every breath while they got every time longer and more stable than the last. There was no screaming or shouting, Newt stayed quiet against Thomas, breathing in against his neck for a while.
"I really thought I was going to it," murmured Newt between the tears that continued to flatly fall down. "I really thought I was going to kill you."
Thomas let his hands run down the other boy's back and back up inside his hair. Despite all considerations, he could stop himself from kissing Newt's temple and burying his nose in the blond's hair.
"It's okay," assured Thomas. "You did great. It was all my fault, I couldn't do it, but you stopped in time. You did it, you didn't hurt me."
If Newt was feeling uncomfortable from the kiss he did not show it, tears continuing to follow and threatening Thomas's eyes of the same treatment.
He didn't smell like Newt still, even if he had been clean from the moment they put him on the boat transporting them to the Safe Haven, but Thomas could swear it was different; still ashy from the explosions and fire in the Last City, still bitter from the blood and the flare. He hated it, he wanted those things gone and as far away fromNewt as possible.
Minutes started to pass as Thomas felt Newt's eyes fluttering close against his skin a few time, he really realised that, this was it.
They were okay. They made it.
"Newt?!"
The two boys looked up just in time, to see Minho jump on them eager to join in for the hug. Squeezing the two boys in his arms, he rapidly let go trying to fit that image in his mind. Both of his friends, alive, it was a miracle that shouldn't have happened.
Brenda and Gally slowly made their way inside the room, all eyes fixed on the three boys.
"You are not doing that again," almost shouted Minho messing up Newt's hair.
"And I am talking to the both of you," teased Minho squeezing Thomas's shoulder as Newt slowly lay back down against the pillow. There was fire in his eyes and everybody knew clearly what Minho was talking about. He was not losing his friends and his family again.
"What can I say, third time the charm?" smirked Newt, the idiot.
"I can't believe you just said that," growled Thomas, his hand holding on to the blond's. He was not ready to let, not now and not in at least a few days, or weeks, or years.
Or forever.
Forever was good.
"You're well above three tries, sweetheart," scoffed Brenda.
"I swear I'm going to kill him myself," threatened Gally before walking out the door. It was nice, and everyone answered it with a quiet smile.
A/N:
Hi! Hope you enjoyed the beginning!
It was supposed to be an quick one-shot to heal my broken heart over Newt's death, but... yeah, months later, I am still heart broken and the one-shot ended up being much longer!
Actually it is solely based on the movies so if there is any inaccuracy... Sorry, I guess? But please, don't hesitate pointing it out in the comments! Since we are on the subject, sorry for the awful grammar...
Also the chapter's title is based on Gabrielle Aplin's song from the same name, Waking up slow... I just thought it fit quite well.
Thanks for reading!
