It's just as awkward as you think it'd be, except worse, because I'm actually experiencing it. Fortunately, we get over it pretty quickly. Or at least, I do. Probably because it's not me that's being exposed. For whatever reason, it's me that Newt relies on the most. He refuses to let Clint or Jeff help him use the bathroom, or even consider going while they're in the room. The only time we'd had a huge argument was when it was time for him to go number two. That was quite the experience. I guess my speech about sticking to his side and not judging him for anything really hit its mark. But there was one issue we hadn't tackled yet…
"Newt, we gotta." I stand next to his bed, arms crossed and expression pleading.
"...I dunno." he mutters, bottom lip jutting out. He's pouting, of all things, looking reluctant and mullish.
"Newt. We need to get you washed up, alright?" It's been about five days by now, and he was due for a shower. Since that wasn't quite possible at the moment, we needed to compromise. That meant cleaning out one of the water troughs we used for the animals and dragging it in here. Which was done, I'd supervised the sterilizing of it myself, and even filled it with water - now I just had to convince Newt to let me help. "I'm gonna be honest here, you stink."
He flushes a shade of pink, pout intensifying and gaze darting off to the side. "...thanks."
"Hey," I say, raising my brows, "I'm just tellin' it like it is. Plus, you'll feel much better once you're clean. Your hands are perfectly healthy, so it's not like I'm gonna wash you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just here to help you get in and out of the tub! You're not allowed to walk anytime soon."
"I get it," Newt sighs, tilting his head back and exposing the pale column of his throat. "I just - I'll be naked."
"That is correct." I state, matter-of-fact. "You kinda need to be."
The blonde shifts, looking distinctly uncomfortable. I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
"Newt," I begin, drawing his gaze to me, "I'm not gonna...peek or anything. I swear. If you feel uncomfortable about the nudity thing - it's the same as when we're taking showers in the communal bathroom. Plus we're both boys, so what you got ain't anything I haven't seen before."
"I mean, I guess." he grumbles, grimacing. "It's just...different."
"But…?" I heckle, rocking back and forth on my heels. Newt sags back against the pillow, moody but finally relenting.
"Fine." He says, his desire to clean himself outweighing his embarrassment. "Let's get this over with."
Grinning, I make my way closer to remove the blanket from his reclining form. I fold it, placing it off to the side so I can bring it to the laundry room once Newt is settled in the tub. The blonde frowns, hands clenching next to his thighs. When I return to his side, I set my sights on the leg suspended in the sling. Carefully, I move the blanket supports from beneath the heavily bandaged limb. Newt doesn't grimace, but his lips twitch. I can't tell if he's in pain or not - he'd already taken a painkiller within the past hour.
"I swear to god, Newt," I say, trying my best to convey my seriousness. "I don't want you to shuckin' move this leg of yours even a little, you hear me?"
"Loud and clear." he sighs, still grumpy about being exposed in just his underwear.
I eye the ropes strung up to the ceiling, gripping them tightly with one hand as I loosen the knot with the other so I can lower the leg gradually. Newt hisses a little as the change in position after so long makes his leg tingle.
"Sorry, sorry!"
"Stop," Newt grunts, eyes sharp. "Stop bloody apologizing."
"S-" I break off the habitual apology, smiling at him sheepishly. "Bear with me a little longer, okay?"
I get a nod in response, Newt only half-listening now as he stares at his legs. They're side by side now, at the same level for the first time in five days. One leg (his left one) doesn't looks so bad, just a few scrapes and bruises. The other is vastly different, wrapped in bandages and locked in place by wooden splints, any skin poking out is purple-red and swollen. Newt swallows heavily, eyes hooded. The reality of the damage is more apparent when you consider the appearances of the two limbs.
"Okay…" I pull the little knife from my belt. There's no way to save Newt's underwear seeing as we can't get it over his leg. It has to be cut off. "Do you...wanna do this?"
"Yes." Newt answers immediately, taking the offered blade from me quickly. I snort a little at his eagerness, whether it be to rid himself of the cloth or to take control of this potentially mortifying situation. He slips his thumb under the waistband to tug it up. I whirl around, heart jumping to my throat. Weird.
"...done." the blonde mutters reluctantly.
I turn, pointedly keeping my gaze upwards and on his face. If I think about it, he's already been showing a lot of skin - everything aside from….down there - so I shouldn't be as nervous about this as I am. Not that I have any right to be nervous, it's not my body being exposed to another, after all.
"Ready?" I ask quietly, meeting his warm eyes. He's visibly uncomfortable but acting nonchalant about it. I take the knife from his hand when he offers it back, slipping it into my waistband where it belonged.
"Yeah." he replies, stilted. Maneuvering him off the bed is a slow and tedious process, but I make sure to shove the tub as close as possible so I don't have to help him very far. We manage to make it with minimal wincing from Newt, a feat that relieves me. He's not very happy about being picked up though, when it comes time to lower him into the tub. I'm pretty strong and Newt is relatively slim, but he's heavier than he looks and still about three inches taller than me. My arms quiver and I grit my teeth as I try my best to lower him as gently as possible without bumping his leg on anything. Newt twists a little in my hold to grip the edges of the tub with his hands and aid his descent. I make sure to prop up his bandaged leg on the rim of the tub to keep it out of the water. It's not good to get casts - or as close to a cast as we could make - wet. So with that in mind I'd only filled the tub with a few buckets of water, so when he sat with his leg up, it only touched the top his thigh, a good few inches before the bandages started.
"There we go!" I exclaim, happy that we'd finally gotten him in and settled. Newt scrunched his face cutely, eyebrows furrowing and lips twitching with a faint smile. I present his bathroom box to him, so he can use his own soap. "Here, just be careful not to touch your right leg at all, okay?"
"Got it," he grunts, accepting to bar of soap gratefully. "I'm surprised you're letting me wash myself, with all the bloody hovering you've been doing."
"Would you like me to?" I raise a single eyebrow, tone dry. "Maybe it is too soon for you to be moving so much…"
"No, no," he backpedals quickly, perhaps sensing that I'd actually do it if pushed. He knows me too well. "This is fine. I swear!"
"At least let me wash your hair, alright?" My fingers itch with the need to turn that greasy mop back into its usual fluffy mess. "I'll let you wash your body, but I really don't want you stretching yourself too much."
"...fine." he agrees, shrugging his shoulders. I notice they look a little paler than usual, I guess being out of the sun for almost a week will do that. He begins to splash water on himself and suds his hands up with the soap to scrub at his skin. I grab one of the buckets beside the tub and drop to my knees next to it, putting my elbows on the rim as I lean forward and push the bucket under a little to collect some water. Newt only pauses for a moment and I briefly see the muscles in his abdomen tensing before I flick my gaze away so I don't get an eyeful of more skin than he's comfortable with.
Once I have water in the bucket, I shuffle on my knees closer to end of the tub with Newt's upper half.
"Lean your head forward a bit," I murmur, lifting the bucket to tilt the water over his head after he does just that. It splashes against his skull in a gentle wave, flowing down his neck and leaving trails of droplets behind. A few drops collect in the dip of his collarbone. Which I'm not paying attention to. At all. I run my hands through his hair, grimacing at the feel of oil against my fingertips. His hair is sufficiently damp, but I still slip the bucket into the space between his hip and the tub to collect a little more water and repeat my actions.
The water is cloudier now, slightly milky with soap suds and grime. We don't have shampoo, so I continue to comb my fingers through his hair before asking for the soap. Newt hands it to me without a word and I soap my hands up until I'm satisfied, then hand it right back so he can finish washing himself. With my sudsy hands, I scoot over a little more until I'm directly behind Newt, facing the back of his head. My fingers slide through his wet locks, scrubbing softly at his scalp. I can literally feel the oil being washed out of his hair, which is both gross and relieving.
"Close your eyes a sec," After refilling the bucket of water, I gently pour it over his soapy head with one hand, using the other to shake through the soaked locks to dislodge all the suds. "Mmkay, all done."
Newt rubs the water from his eyes. "Thanks."
"No problem." I reply, averting my eyes and standing with the bucket in hand. Making my way over to my desk, I drop the bucket onto the surface. From behind me I hear faint splashing as Newt moves his arms. I hesitate, staring down at the pockmarked wood. Newt doesn't need me to hover over him as he washes himself, no matter how anxious it makes me to let him out of my sight.
Instead of going back to the side of the tub, I start picking up a few of the blankets he'd been sleeping with. Might as well wash them while we could. I did initially plan on taking the dirty sheets away to begin with.
"I'm gonna run these to the laundry room, are you gonna be alright?" The scrap of what used to be Newt's underwear lays innocently on the ground next to his bed. Seeing as it's no longer wearable, I'm wondering if it's better off just to burn it or actually wash it and use it as scrap fabric. Something tells me no one would be very happy to use underwear as scrap fabric, no matter how washed it was.
Fire it is.
"Yeah." Newt responds, "I think I can handle a few minutes alone, Eddie."
I glance back at him to see that he's watching me, smirking with a raised eyebrow. Punk. I roll my eyes but smile anyway. "Just making sure. Remember, don't-"
"-get the cast wet, I know." he drones, running a hand through his wet hair. "Relax."
"Ok…" I murmur, casting one last glance at him before I leave the medhut and make my way to the laundry room. Anxiety hits me the second he's out of view, but like a cooling balm a feeling of i got this soothes me. My mystery person. I still don't know if they exist or if I'm actually crazy, but it does help settle my nerves. That doesn't mean I don't book it to the laundry room as quickly as I can though…
I can't help it. I'm becoming like a hover parent. Not that I'm relating myself to Newt's parent. That would just be - ew. Ew. My own vehemence startles me a little. Whatever.
Rob is there when I step in, already sorting through some of the laundry. He must be on duty today. We really should add in a new job - something for cleaning. It was almost too much to do our normal jobs as well as clean the bathrooms and kitchen and do laundry. Rob doesn't speak much, something I can appreciate. I'm not really in the mood for conversation so I'm glad it was him that I ran into. With a nod I drop off the dirty sheets in the designated 'soiled' pile. He offers a small smile in return before turning back to work. After grabbing the biggest pair of clean underwear I could find and a random blue shirt I bolt back outside, feet moving over the now familiar dirt path to the Medhut.
"Hey, Eddie!"
I stop abruptly, one hand on the entrance to the hut and the other clutching the clothing. I can see Newt inside, head tilted back and eyes closed. He's probably done washing himself and waiting for me to get in. Looking over my shoulder, I see Henry approaching. That's the last thing I need right now. Resigned, I turn to face him anyway. Hopefully he's just here to talk about something medical related….yeah right.
"Eddie?" Henry repeats, stopping just short of me. I slide back an inch, the frame of the entranceway presses into my back.
I risk a glance into the hut. Newt's eyes are open now, dark and piercing and looking right at me. There's some unidentifiable emotion on his face, jaw set. I wonder if he's worried about being seen while he's naked and vulnerable. By anyone but me. That's an embarrassing thought. Rewind. Forget that. Moving on.
"Uh, yeah?" I reply belatedly, turning my gaze back to Henry's suave and earnest expression.
"Just wondering how you're doin'." he says, shrugging his shoulders smoothly. Everything he does is smooth. When he smiles I feel like I'm blinded by the whiteness of his teeth. I suppose I could be envious of his pretty face and unfairly coordinated movements, but really I'm just annoyed that he's talking to me when all I want to do is run back inside and get Newt dried off and dressed before he gets a cold or something.
"Fine." One word answers are usually signs of wanting to end conversation. He should get that much, right?
"That's good. You've been really busy lately." Henry continues. Is it my imagination or is he getting closer? "Haven't seen you around in the Homestead at all."
"Yeah, well," I tap my foot, fidgeting under the strain of discomfort. "Like you said. I've been busy."
"But you're not the only Medjack here." he states, an undercurrent of something in his tone. I immediately bristle, wondering exactly what he's suggesting here. "Maybe you could take a break once in a while, yeah? Let Clint or Jeff take over. You've been lookin' a little tense."
"What?" I blink. Is he serious?
"You should have some fun every once in a while, Eddie! Why don't you hang out with me sometime?" Henry leans forward a little, smile like silk. "I'm sure we could find some way to get you to relax a little."
"Listen." I speak up, my fingers tingling. The last thing I ever do is confront. Confrontation is my enemy. Social anxiety is my master. But when it comes to this? "Henry. I have a job to do - and more than that, Newt is my friend. I'm not gonna 'take a break' from watching over him, because there's nowhere else I'd rather be than right next to him, making sure he's okay."
"Right," he says, and I see him try to backpedal before my eyes. "I just mean-"
"I know what you mean, Henry." I sigh, feeling my face burn involuntarily. "And I'm sorry but I'm not interested."
"Right." Henry repeats. "Like, ever?"
"Certainly not right now," I say dryly, amazed that he's still trying. "I have Newt-"
"Newt. Right." His face scrunches a little. It's unlikely that Henry knows much about the blonde ex-runner at all, seeing as he's the Greenie and was only here for five days before Newt jumped. "Are you and him…"
Ah. Oh. I'm not oblivious enough for that implication to go over my head. "We're too young for stuff like that, man."
Henry eyes me, hazel eyes piercing. I feel like I'm under a microscope. "So you're uncomfortable now," he begins, "But maybe not later? Because that wasn't a no about you and the lizard dude. You can tell me if you're interested in him!"
He suddenly looks far too excited about my response than I expected someone who's expressed interest in me to be.
Trait detected. I think, a little stunned. Gossip. Henry's a gossip.
He'd probably get along with Minho, if the Runner would stop glaring at the Greenie for whatever reason. Now that I think about it, a lot of people don't really like the Greenie. It couldn't all be to protect my virtue or whatever Clint had said. It couldn't be. That'd be ridiculous.
"I haven't thought about it." My tongue feels numb. I'm not lying though, I haven't really thought about being in a relationship with someone. Thinking that Newt was pretty was one thing - but dating him? Or whatever could constitute as dating in a place like this? It hadn't even crossed my mind.
"Really?" Henry prods, looking incredulous. He's taking my words with a grain of salt.
"Really." I swallow, wringing my hands. "I don't think I could focus on a relationship right now. And I - I'm really not comfortable thinking about it. I just...I'm what? Maybe fourteen? Fifteen at the oldest? Maybe in a few years I'll be more interested but…" I shrug helplessly, very much eager to get this conversation over with.
"Okay, okay," Henry steps back in surrender, mischief in his smirk. "Guess I'll have to wait then, huh?"
"No, Henry-" I begin, pinching the bridge of my nose, but he's already jogging away back to the fields. "Dammit."
With an exasperated sigh I finally step back into the Medhut. Newt looks up as I enter, looking strangely pleased and contemplative.
"Ready to get out?"
"Yeah," he says, grinning. "I'm startin' to prune."
Dmitri comes up about two weeks later. He's got shaggy black hair and blue eyes and he can't do anything. No, that's not right. A bit rude, actually. He can do some things, but not what we need. Not well. Nick thought we needed to lighten our spirits a bit (likely because of Newt), so he proposed we throw parties for the Greenies. In all honesty, it's more a party for us than the Greenie, because Dmitri was still reeling from the whole situation to really appreciate it.
But it did lighten the mood a bit.
Until Dmitri started his trial week.
He was clumsy, weak-willed, and weak-stomached. Winston kicked him out of the Blood House after he vomited. Twice. Even Zart, who was one of the most laid back guys I knew, got frustrated with the poor kid when he managed to somehow uproot an entire row of newly growing plants instead of weeds. He started a fire in the kitchen and Frypan had to bring the kid to Clint, Jeff, and I after he burned his hands. Clint and I let Jeff handle the wailing Greenie, since the boy was put on his roster.
Dmitri lasted about two seconds with Gally before the Keeper almost killed him, enraged yells had been heard from across the Glade. We were lucky we didn't need to put either of them in the slammer - Dmitri just cowered while Gally fumed, so it didn't get physical.
Billy and Jackson immediately vetoed Dmitri as a Bagger after he took one look at the graves and threw up. He does a lot of vomiting. I'd be concerned - if I didn't just think he was extremely squeamish. With that in mind, I knew there was no way he'd make a Medjack.
"How do you feel about blood?" Clint deadpans, hands clasped before him on his desk like he's some evil CEO.
Dmitri turns green at just the thought, letting us know quite frankly that he'd never last working with us. I didn't trust him within ten feet of Newt - the kid was like a newborn foal, tripping over everything and everyone. With his luck, he'd trip and fall right on Newt's leg and make it worse.
The clumsiness also rules him out as a Runner. I've never seen Minho look so completely bewildered by how bad someone ran, it was hilarious. But this leaves us all with a problem. If Dmitri can't be trusted to do any of the jobs we have, then what could we do with him?
"Permanent laundry duty?" I suggest to Minho at dinner one night, Dmitri's seven days of trial almost up. "It's a real pain for us to rotate that job while balancing our own."
Minho purses his lips, considering. "You know, that could actually work."
"Clean-up duty is just as important as any of our other jobs," I press, thinking of the bathrooms and how unfair it is for the cooks to both make our food and then clean up after us. "It could also give Fry and them a break if someone else did the dishes."
"Y'know, Frypan brought that up last meeting." Minho says, acknowledging the truth of my statement. "I'll say something tomorrow, when we make the final decision. If no one takes him in then…"
"No one's gonna take him," I deadpan. I'm not usually so bluntly cruel but it's obvious that Dmitri just can't do any of the jobs. Or at least, he'd made such bad first impressions during the trial week that no one wanted to be responsible for him.
Minho grimaces. "Ahh, I know. You're right…" He shakes his head, staring down at his plate.
"Hey," I grip the edges of my own plate. "Come eat in the Medhut with me."
"What?" he looks up in confusion, but he's also already following my movements and standing as well.
"Let's eat with Newt." The blonde could use some company. He should still be eating, too. Jeff had just brought his dinner a few minutes ago. "He's going stir crazy and you're a good distraction."
Minho laughs, "Oh man, that must suck! How much longer is he holed up for then?"
"Oh, he's not going anywhere for another three or four months, and then it's careful movements and crutches for another two. I'm not letting him put any weight on that leg of his for the next six months if I can help it." I didn't know too much about how long it took bones to heal, but it seemed like waiting that long was better than moving too quickly and re-injuring the leg.
Minho makes a noise a sympathy. "Shuck, he's gonna go crazy sittin' there for that long."
"Yeah, well." I sniff, holding my head up as we approach the Medhut. "He's gonna listen and heal even if I have to strap him to the bed."
"Strap who to the bed?" Newt asks as we enter, hearing the tail end of our conversation. His fork is halfway to his mouth and he's watching us with curious amusement.
"You, if you don't listen to your doctor and take it easy."
Newt holds a hand to his chest like he's offended and his tone matches, "What, you think I don't listen to you?"
"I think he hears every word you say, Bambi." Minho snorts, tugging Jeff's empty stool over so he can sit next to Newt's bed. I follow suit, pulling my own stool over.
"You think that'll last in the coming months?" I ask, scoffing.
Newt swallows a mouthful of food and smacks his lips together. "...months?"
"Oh yes," Minho says, gleeful in the face of Newt's impending doom. "Months."
"Bugger."
The next Greenie to come up is Aiden and he ends up being a Builder. He's a quiet kid with dark skin and a wild mane of hair and Gally actually likes him well enough. We all do. It's a bit of a relief after getting Dmitri - not that the previous Greenie isn't settling in well in his new job as a Slopper. Cleaning is about all he's good for, unfortunately. I'd feel bad, except that during his physical he somehow managed to trip over his own feet into my desk and break his newly received bottles of lube all over my workspace. Now at least three Gladers had medical journals with suspicious, crinkly stains on some of the pages.
Turns out I can get mad. Even though it's the soft, chilly kind rather than a loud, wrathful explosion.
"You're bloody terrifying when you're mad, love." Newt said about five minutes after I'd booted Dmitri out of the Medhut, not even trusting him to clean up the mess without making a bigger one. "And you don't even raise your voice. That's the worst."
He sounds more awed and amused than anything, so I huff out a laugh. "Why be loud when being quiet is just as effective?"
"Anyone who crosses you has to be completely mad." he shakes his head. "Not that anyone wants to, mind you."
"Drama doesn't interest me." I say, mopping up the greasy gel across my desk with a towel. "Getting into arguments seems really tiring. I don't know how Gally does it."
"Lots of practice." Newt shrugs, "And those eyebrows give him power."
But that was weeks ago. Aiden's been here for a while and a new Greenie is expected soon. We're nearing the two month mark since Newt's...accident. Suicide attempt. Just thinking about it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I've held true to my promise of sticking by Newt's side. I haven't slept in my hammock the entire time he's been laid up in the Medhut, instead I've been sleeping in the medbed beside Newt's. Most nights I push them together so I can be as close to Newt as possible. He doesn't say anything about it, and I don't think he minds.
It's comforting, sleeping beside another person. That hollow part inside me aches when I close my eyes and listen to Newt's soft breathing. At times I can imagine myself away from here, in a dark room. I can't see anything, but I feel a presence pressed my side and hear breathing that matches my own. I feel a heart that beats in sync with my own. It's not Newt who I imagine beside me when I shut my eyes and give myself over to my senses. But having him there isn't bad by any stretch of the imagination.
By the time month three rolls around (the newest Greenie is Peter and the next one comes tomorrow), I don't know how I ever got a good night's rest without someone sleeping beside me.
"Newt," I whisper, the world is shadow and orange candlelight. Newt's hair looks like fire, like molten, spun gold.
"What?" he whispers back. Our beds are pressed together again and I can feel the heat of him just inches away. The nights, while not frigid by any means, are significantly cooler than the stifling warmth of the day.
"I don't think I can sleep alone anymore." The very idea seemed daunting.
"What do you mean?" he asks, and I hear more than see him shift his shoulders and head to look at me. "You do know that the hammocks are close enough-"
"No, I know." I interrupt. He's right, the hammocks outside are all pretty tight knit, enough that you can hear Doug snoring from a few rows over. But being in separate hammocks means you don't hear quiet breath in your ear, or feel the warmth of a body against your own. "It's just different when you're right beside someone. Feels nicer. Safe."
Newt is quiet for a moment. I can't make out the expression on his face in the darkness.
"Ok." he says. "Sleep with me."
"Really?" Though I was hoping that would be the case, I didn't want to expect anything from him. "You'd let me?"
"Eddie," he chuckles, "I've gotten used to you too. When I get out of here - when I can sleep in a hammock again - sleep with me."
"What if I'm clingy?" I muse, poking his side gently. "What if I'm super heavy and I suffocate you in your sleep?"
"First of all, you're not heavy." Newt laughs, smacking my hand away blindly. "I know I'm a tad boney, but you couldn't squish me if you tried! As for the clingy part...I don't mind it so much when it's you, love."
For a very long minute all I can hear is the symphony of crickets and my own pulse. A steady wave of heat encompasses my face and I know without doubt that I'm blushing to the roots of my hair. I've never been so glad for the darkness.
"Okay," I hear myself say, voice low. "I'll sleep with you."
"Good that." Newt whispers, like it's no big deal. Like I'm not the color of a ripe tomato. There's a shift, a rustle of movement, then I feel slender fingers brush my arm. Newt's fingertips trace down the length of my forearm, running over my pulse in a slow glide. He slips his hand into my own, intertwining our fingers.
I stare at the side of his face in the dim light, unable to make out features but finding comfort in the slope of his cheek and jaw. I wonder what kind of expression he's making right now.
"Goodnight, Newt." I whisper.
"Goodnight, love."
In the Glade, we're all incredibly close to one another. It's an enclosed space and we do everything together, so it's no surprise that everyone knows everyone, especially since at this point there's only thirty-two of us. More than there's ever been before, but still a small population.
But spending 24/7 with someone? Watching them cry and struggle; helping them bathe, dress, and use the bathroom? When you're exposed to a person's vulnerabilities, you become much closer than you can imagine. That's how it was with Newt and I. I saw him at his worst and he relied on me to care for him, I provided him with whatever I could while he was cooped up in bed for months. That forges a bond beyond simple friendship.
It was month five. One more month until I'd let him wander around normally. Probably. For the past month and a half we've been doing a lot of physical therapy. Newt says he's fine, but I don't want to take any chances. His leg had been broken in three different places, his ankle twisted, and god knows how badly his muscles and ligaments had been strained. Six months seemed like a crazy amount of time but I felt like it was safer than just letting Newt walk right away. With crutches he was allowed to walk back and forth across the Medhut and we did a lot of careful stretches together.
It wouldn't be perfect. It would never be perfect. Like I'd expected, there was weakness in his ankle and knee now. He had a limp. By five months, the bones were most certainly set and Newt was no longer in pain. Of any kind. All his injuries had healed and all that remained was the limp and a gnarly scar from his ankle to halfway up his shin.
"I don't know…" I bit my lip, worrying it between my teeth.
"It's fine, I swear." Newt argues, sitting on the edge of the medbed with his feet on the ground. All the splints are off, they have been for three weeks now. I still haven't let him wear long pants, just underwear and shorts so I have constant access to his leg. "I'll tell you right away if I feel somethin' off. Swear it."
"...you better." I mutter, but huff and shrug my shoulders. Newt grins at me, quick and happy. He squares his shoulders and pushes to his feet. I watch his face carefully for any signs of distress. There's none.
Tentatively he takes a few steps forward, his first without crutches. I hover anxiously by his side, probably biting a hole in my lip. His gait is lopsided, showing off a heavy limp, but he's walking and not in pain. Newt takes a couple more steps forward, then a few steps to the left. He stands on his good leg and rolls out the ankle of his right.
"Alright?" I ask, moving closer to his side. Newt glances down at me. He's grown again while laid up in bed.
"Yeah. Just stretchin' it out. I promise it doesn't hurt." he almost looks exasperated at my hovering, but in all the time we've spent together he's never snapped at me for my mother-henning, only watched me with a soft, careful expression.
"I should measure you." I blurt out, noting with no small amount of amusement that I actually have to tilt my chin upwards to meet his eyes. "You've missed like, four height updates."
Newt looks at me, smug. "Yeah, I noticed you shrunk."
"Did not," I grumble, leaving his side to hunt for the measuring tape. "You grow like a weed."
"How tall are you now, love?" he asks, voice deceptively curious.
"...5'7"." I locate the measuring tape and head back over, crouching beside him to fit the end of it under his foot.
Newt obediently stands still. "Right...and how tall am I?"
I stand, tugging the tape taut and holding it up until I can read the number that the top of his head brushes. "5'10"."
The blonde is gangly, all long legs and toned arms. Being laid up has softened some of his muscle, but his thighs are still rock hard from all the running. Not that I look at his thighs. Or any of his muscles for that matter - I only notice them when necessary.
"Three inches," he hums. I'll never understand why he like being taller - but that's probably because I'm not tall.
"More importantly," I say, folding up the tape. "Zart said he'd be fine if you felt like helping out with the Track-hoes. You still want to do that, right?"
"Yeah," Newt nods, accepting the topic change easily enough despite the lingering smile. "When am I free to work, Doc?"
I sigh, looking at how at ease he is on his feet. I still want to wait another month, but I can tell Newt is antsy, even if he doesn't want me to see it.
"Two weeks." I compromise. "And then you gotta be careful, okay? Slow going. Build up the work schedule over time, like we talked about."
"Oh thank god," he exhales, rolling his head back. "I can do that. Two weeks."
"Two weeks." I affirm.
"Eddie," Newt looks at me, expression serious. His eyebrows aren't pinched though, so it isn't the stressed kind of serious he usually is. "I want to thank you, really. I've told you a few times over these past few months but I mean it."
I shift, nervous under his intense stare. It's nothing, I want to say, but these past few months were clearly not nothing. Newt smiles at me softly as I struggle to find words, waiting patiently for a response. He knows me so well now, I'm surprised he isn't sick of seeing my face.
"Of course, Newt." I return his smile with one of my own, shaky but genuine. "You know I'd do anything for you."
Newt's grin widens for a split second, before he's knocking my shoulder with his own and laughing. It's a beautiful thing, to see him so happy and open. That laughter and those smiles - they'd been so rare before. Now he seemed...accepting. Settled. There were still times at night when he broke down, times when he didn't want to talk or move or do anything but lay in bed. But those episodes were becoming fewer and farther between.
"You tell a guy that," Newt shakes his head, golden locks falling across brow. "He might get ideas."
"Ideas." A voice mimics, mocking. The two of us turn to see Minho standing in the doorway, he rolls his eyes when Newt glares. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting your poor attempt at flirting?"
"Sod off, Minho." Newt groans, shifting towards the other boy.
"I can't believe this, I come here to visit my dear friend and this is what I get?" Minho sniffs with exaggerated sadness, "Fine. I didn't like you anyway. I'm actually here for Eddie. Because he's nice. We're bros. Those who shower together die together."
"Shower together?" Newt asks, voice two notches too loud and cracking. He glances from Minho to me with wide, startled eyes.
"Someone had to take care of him while you were snoozin' away in here." the tanned boy grins, all mischief and taunt.
"You mean our sob-fest in our underwear?" I ask, deadpan. This doesn't really seem like an appropriate topic.
"Underwear?" Newt repeats, like a broken record. Both his eyebrows raise and he tilts his head, expression clearly stating you better talk.
Minho raises his hands. "Don't look at me like that. Nothing happened. Get your mind outta the gutter. Christ, sitting in here surrounded by people...you must be tense. No wonder you're so aggressive."
"Oh," I blink, gaze darting between the two of them. Newt hadn't really gotten any alone time these past few months. I hadn't even thought of that. "Newt, are you-"
"Minho, I'm gonna bloody strangle you." he interrupts, smile promising pain.
The Runner grins, wide and energetic, before he strides forward and claps Newt's shoulder. "Glad you're up and moving again, shank."
I feel a little lost. "Uh…"
"Don't worry about it," Newt grunts, his frame losing all tension. A smile that matches Minho's stretches across his lips. I wonder if I'll ever understand them. Newt is one thing, but the two of them together? Whenever they talk I feel like I'm missing a piece of a puzzle.
"If you say so…" I shrug.
"Oh!" Minho exclaims, "By the way, I'm making Justin a Runner."
"Really?" I ask, thinking of the tall boy. He looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over.
"I know he doesn't look like much, but you should see him run. He's got some stamina." Minho explains, shifting his gaze from me to Newt, who has gone quiet.
Newt licks his lips and breathes in. I know, just by the way he's twisting his mouth and furrowing his brow, that he feels guilty. There aren't enough Runners now, not without him and there's no way he'll ever be a Runner again. If we include Justin, we'll need two more Runners to keep Nick and Alby in the Glade and eight Runners in the Maze.
"Good that." he finally says. "It's about time you found someone else."
"Yeah." Minho replies, slowly. He's never been one to sugarcoat. "But aside from that, Stephen's gonna do that thing today."
"Ugh," I groan, "Is he crazy? Don't answer that. He's crazy."
Newt and Minho look at me with twin expressions of amusement.
"Can't do much to stop him. He's determined since it was his idea, and Nick and Alby aren't doing anything to turn him off it." Minho shrugs. He himself isn't particularly for or against the idea. Partially, he'd confessed, because he was certain the only exit was through the Maze.
"So he really wants to do this?" Newt questions, mildly disbelieving. If it was him he wouldn't dare.
"Oh yeah. Hundred percent." Minho nods.
"Gonna get himself killed…" I mutter, legitimately stressed about this. This being Stephen's attempt at going down the box hole. It didn't go back down when you waited in the box, no matter how long you did so. So he had the bright idea of going down after the box left. As in, down a sheer elevator shaft into the darkness, of which we didn't know the depth or what lay below. He'd been contemplating it for almost two months now, but we hadn't had the supplies to spare to make a rope of substantial length for him to rappel down with.
So it's taken some time. But now, apparently, he was ready to try.
"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of this either." Newt chips in, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. Minho glances between the two of us, exasperated. "But like Minho said, we can't stop him. Just be ready for anything, love."
Minho shakes his head, "You two are a real joys to have around, you know that?"
"Hey, I'm bein' realistic here." There's too many unknowns for me to feel comfortable with this plan. I hate not knowing. Makes me anxious. Newt knocks my hand with his own, catching my eye. I breathe out a sigh, relaxing my shoulders.
"Pessimistic, more like." the Runner grumbles, but drops it. "So, you gonna come out and watch or what? I'm sure everyone would like to see you walk around for once. The past few Greenies barely know who you are."
"I hear I've missed a few parties," the corner of Newt's mouth quirks up. "Literally. I heard them."
"Sorry man," Minho shrugs. "Don't worry, there'll be another soon enough."
"Ugh," I grimace. "They aren't that great."
I'd only stopped by for a few minutes each time to introduce myself to the Greenie, choosing to spend time with Newt instead of surrounded by raucous boys. A party person I was not.
"You're just boring." Minho sticks his tongue out at me before directing his attention to Newt. "You gotta swear you'll check it out when the next Greenie comes up - and try some of Gally's brew."
"No!" I complain, making a sound of disgust with an expression to match.
Newt looks curious. "What'd Gally do now?"
"Only made the best drink ever."
"Debatable," I counter, muttering. No one but Gally knew the content of the drink, but I definitely knew alcohol was in it. How we even got access to alcohol I'll never know. Who in their right mind gives a bunch of teenagers booze? Probably the same people who thought it was okay to lock us in a cage.
"Don't listen to him, he's a stick in the mud." Minho puts a hand on Newt's shoulder. "I'll admit, Gally's brew tastes like klunk but man, does it make you feel awesome."
"I fail to see how something that tastes like klunk could possibly make you feel good." Newt says, skeptical.
"Trust me." Minho urges. "You're gonna love it."
The blonde glances at my grimacing expression curiously. "Is it really that bad?"
"Only had a sip," I admit. "Spit it right out. It's not my taste."
Newt frowns. I see Minho roll his eyes.
"But," I drawl, it wouldn't be right to deny Newt the option of trying it. I didn't have any control over him, even if he did seem to hold my opinion in high regard. "There's nothing wrong with it. Just be careful. Give it a try if you really wanna."
"C'mon, you got permission from the missus, now you gotta." Minho teases, shaking Newt gently by his shoulder, mindful of the blonde's balance and weak leg.
"Slim it," I scold without any real heat.
"Alright, alright," Newt concedes, grinning. Minho's excitement is infectious. "I'll try it."
"Good that. Now come on, let's watch Stephen enter the Box hole." Minho claps both of us on the shoulder and skips out of the Medhut.
Newt and I exchange looks, soft smiles playing on our lips. He nudges me with his elbow and I nudge him right back, matching him step for step as he moves. His hand brushes against my own as he walks, arms swaying with the momentum of his limp. I'm tempted to take it, merely for the comfort it brings, but I don't know if Newt would be comfortable with that. I'm too anxious to ask. Anxiety. That's actually why I want to hold his hand, because this whole situation makes me anxious.
I'm getting a bad feeling.
I hate it when that happens. I can never tell if it's my own instinct or the other half. Over the past few months I've tried on multiple occasions to...speak to the person on the other end. There had to be someone, because there was a voice that called to me when Newt…
Well, as long as I wasn't actually crazy, that is. But nothing. I hadn't heard a peep from the weird mind voice. The feelings persisted, duller but still present. The other day I had a shock of pain in my foot, reminiscent of stubbing your toe harshly. It wasn't my pain, as I'd been sitting. It had to be from them. Or the Creators. Or maybe it was random body pain. Who knew? I sure didn't. I liked to speculate though. Silly daydreams about impossible situations and reasons for it all. No matter what it is, I hope I don't have to live feeling hollow like this for the rest of my life.
"Newt!"
Alby called out as we approached the Box. Most of the boys were already gathered around, eager to see the results. Stephen stood before the opened Box doors, peering down into the dark shaft. I swallowed tightly.
"Alby," Newt greeted, clasping the other boy's hand when offered.
"It's good to see you up, been too long." Alby gestures to Stephen, "Here to watch?"
"Yeah," Newt eyes Stephen as the boy slips into a handmade harness, rope tied securely around him. "We sure that's safe?"
Nick is the one who answers, coming up beside Alby. "Not really, but what else is new."
We step a little closer, joining the bulk of the group. A few boys greet Newt happily, glad to see him back up on his feet. A cluster of them hold tight to the other end of the rope attached to Stephen. They're going to lower him down the shaft. The whole concept makes me squeamish. One mishap and he could fall to his death. It's been a little over a year now but I still remember what it was like coming up in that metal death trap. It had not been a quick trip, and the Box hadn't been moving slowly. That could only mean that the shaft went down far.
Stephen puts a leg over the edge, straddling the door. I wish someone would stop this. But no one will. We want to get out of here too badly, and if it's possible to leave this way…
It suddenly doesn't matter that we're surrounded by all the Gladers. They're not paying attention to us anyway. So I reach an inch to the side and grip Newt's hand. I keep my eyes on Stephen's form as he's lowered into the Box hole, but I see Newt's head turn to glance at me out of the corner of my eyes. He doesn't say anything or pull away, instead he twists his hand to interlace our fingers together tightly.
"Anythin'?" Nick calls, leaning over the Box edge carefully.
"I'm four feet in, ya shank." Stephen calls back, garnering a few laughs from the crowd. "Gimme a moment, will ya?"
"Slinthead," Nick mutters affectionately.
Stephen is lowered even further, the line of boys with the rope keeping a careful grip as it passes through their hands. He couldn't be that heavy, Stephen was a bit on the smaller side, an inch shorter than me with reddish hair and freckles, his frame thin and lean.
"What about now?" Nick calls down again, after a minute has passed.
"Nothin'," Stephen's voice echoes up the shaft, distorted. "It looks like there's still a long way to go, can barely see anythin' even with these shuckin' lights."
"Alright." Sighing, Nick glances at the remaining rope length. There is every bit the possibility that it's simply not long enough. "You wanna keep going?"
"Yeah!" Stephen's call is a little fainter, more echoing. "I think there's-"
He stops.
"Stephen?" Nick yells down the Box hole. The crowd stirs, nervous. For a moment there is nothing, and then-
"I think - I think somethin' is happening!" Stephen shouts. I can't tell if he's panicked or curious.
"Pull him up." Nick snaps, turning to the boys with the rope. "Do it!"
There's a whirring noise from deep within the hole. Nick grips the edge tightly and peers over, squinting into the dark, Alby stoops by his side, brows drawn low. The line of boys start pulling.
"What the-!" We hear Stephen yelp, followed by a louder whirring.
"Stephen?" Alby yells down. There's no response.
Nick whirls around. "Hurry up and pull him!" he screams, yanking on the rope himself and heaving.
I breathe out heavily, gripping Newt's hand tightly. He squeezes back and then wiggles his hand to signal release. I let it go instantly, but instead of stepping away like I'd expected he slips his arm around my shoulders and draws me in against his side. Instinctively, I wrap my own arm around his waist, pressing the side of my face against his shoulder in a pseudo hug.
"C'mon, c'mon!" Nick cries out.
"I think I see him!" Alby peers over the edge of the Box hole, expression shifting from relief to horror. "Oh my god-"
He backs up, tripping over his feet and falling on his rear. The rope pulls taut and Stephen comes over the edge of the box.
Pale-faced and open-mouthed, blue eyes glassy and unseeing. Blood pools around him where he lays on the ground by the Box hole. Where half of him lays. Cleanly, he's been cut in half at the waist. Organs and tissue hang from his skin, spilling from him like an overturned basket of fruit. Someone screams. I hear gagging and the sound of liquid hitting the ground.
"Oh my god." I breathe, unable to take my eyes off his severed form. He didn't even scream. Had he died instantly? "Oh my god."
"Bloody hell," Newt gasps, his grip on my shoulder tightening. With surprising force, he twists my body until I'm pressed against his chest, my face buried against his collarbone. "Don't look, don't look."
It's too late, I've already seen him. But I appreciate the gesture. (Even if I'll never unsee that. Never.) I shake. I wrap my arms around Newt's waist and press against him tightly. To his credit, he doesn't even stumble when I put some of my weight on him, even with his leg. He stands tall and strong, one hand between my shoulder blades and the other pressed to the back of my head, stroking through my dark, messy hair.
There's a weak moaning sound echoing in my ears. When Newt squeezes me to him a bit firmer and mutters something soothing I realize it's coming from me.
Stephen is dead. There is no need for a Medjack, even though I hear Clint and Jeff talking as they approach the body. They're braver than I am to get up close, but even they know there isn't anything to be done. No...this is a job for Billy and Jackson. The Baggers.
He was mine to take care of. I have his notebook in the Medhut cabinet, I'm the one who fills it out. I'm the one who saw him every month to check up on his health. He was nice. Exuberant. Lively. And now all I can see are his intestines spilling from his sheared corpse, slicking the grass with crimson.
"C'mon, love." Newt murmurs in my ear, shifting his weight. "Let's get back to the hut, alright?"
I take a shuddering breath, gripping his shirt tightly. I'm unable to release him, I don't want to risk turning around. I shake my head against his neck. "Can't, can't….Newt."
Newt coos gently, hand rubbing up and down my spine. "Ok, ok, just - walk with me. Slowly now. Slowly, love."
He takes a step to the side and I move with him, attached like a limpet. Slow and steady we make our way from the explosion of shrieks and cries the crowd has turned into. I can't bear to hear the sounds of gagging and screaming, not with that image in my head. It makes my own stomach churn.
"Almost there," Newt whispers, breath tickling my hair.
There is agony in my gut. Overwhelming and amplified twofold. I don't understand. Why is this happening to us? Why does this keep happening? How could these creators put us in here to die? How cruel were they? I didn't want to grow used to death. I didn't want to fear who it would take next.
We step into the shade of the Medhut. The familiar walls help me breathe a little easier. I suspect it's different for Newt, who's been confined here to recover for so long. At least I had been able to leave when I wished.
"What do you need, Eddie? Tell me what you need." Newt all but begs, trying to get any kind of response from me. I'm not sure how long he's been trying to goad me into speaking. Probably for a few minutes, if the desperation in his tone means anything.
"I don't know," I heave and gasp, chest shivering. My words are drawn out moans. "I don't know. I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Alright," Newt moves, tugging us towards his designated bed. He collapses onto it, grunting a little as he tugs me down with him. "We've got that bucket right there, so if you feel like you need to puke don't hold back."
Lying back, he pulls me with him so I'm resting against his chest. He rearranges me against his body like I'm a doll. Like I weigh nothing at all. I press my face into his neck, my mouth against his pulse and my limbs rising as his chest does. He is alive. He is alive.
Please, no more. I think, breathing in the scent of soap and wood. We don't deserve this.
A/N: how do you guys feel about a side fic with one-shots of Newt's POV?