Chapter Twelve
He stood very still, listening to the far off crunching of the other tributes, to the fading sounds of the BloodBath. It seemed most of them had abandoned the centre seeking shelter, or were out looking for those who had. His heart had finally calmed, keeping a steady pace in his chest, but now it raced again at the thought of confrontation.
And at the thought of finding Newt.
Thomas considered his options very carefully. It was entirely possible that there was another tribute, one who wasn't Newt, perched in the tree. It was also possible it was a bird or squirrel or something else. It also might be Newt. His heart lifted hopefully as he crept forwards, listening intently. He cocked the bow, stepping carefully in a wide arch as he squinted up at the tree.
He couldn't find a good angle to see what it was, not without going closer. It was agony to hope, feeling how crushed he'd be if it wasn't Newt. He weighed it up, knowing his heart would win out even before it did.
What were the chances that another tribute had made it to a bow and reached this far in before him?
Slim.
What about knives?
More likely.
And Newt?
Highly likely.
Or was that just wishful thinking?
With anxiety and worry for Newt gnawing at him and an irritating dryness in his throat, he swallowed his fear and stepped forwards, craning his neck to see without lowering his bow.
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Newt crouched on the branch silently, frozen in place. His heart was hammering but he had his breathing under control, shallow. He peered towards the ground, knowing he wouldn't see for sure unless whatever was making the quiet shuffling came right up to the trunk. He swallowed, cursing himself when he felt his legs tremble.
Now was really not the time to fall out of a tree. He bit his lip hard, hoping he could simply will himself under control.
The quiet rustling of the underbrush came again and Newt was pretty certain it was human. He wanted to call out, the silence and his own heartbeat screaming in his ears but he knew he'd be in serious trouble if it wasn't Thomas. He was weaponless. He closed his eyes.
There was a very long moment of absolute stillness before the crunch of footsteps reappeared.
"Oh thank fuck." came the sound that made falling out of his tree a true possibility.
Newt opened his eyes to see him; lowered bow in hand and a heart-melting grin on his face. Thomas looked up at him with huge brown eyes and the relief was so intense it made Newt want to laugh. So he did. Thomas sniggered at him, cocking his head far to the side in a way he used to when they were little.
"You have no idea how fucking good it is to see you."
Newt flushed at his words, settling back down on his branch, swinging his legs back and forth in an attempt to rid himself of the nervous tremble. His chest felt light and free with relief, and he was warm all over at the sight of his best friend.
"Right back at ya, Tommy."
Thomas's grin widened, if such a thing were possible, and he shouldered his bow. His expression turned thoughtful as he took a proper look at the tree.
"Give me a minute," Newt said, reaching out for the trunk and angling himself so that he could slip to the next branch down, and then the next. If there was something he was really good at, it was climbing trees. Climbing trees and reading Thomas. He knew the boy better than he knew himself, he was sure.
Thomas chuckled softly from the ground below, and the quiet sound floated sweetly through the air.
"As much i love watching your scrawny ass climb, maybe i should come up instead."
Newt rolled his eyes, the relief he was drowning in so strong that he felt reckless and happy despite their predicament. But he plonked himself down on the branch he was at, peering down at Thomas with a half-smile.
"Yes, sir." he quipped, and Thomas's eye-roll made it worth it.
Thomas grumbled half-heartedly under his breath as he climbed the tree. He and Newt had climbed trees a lot in the Glade, especially when they were younger, but he'd never gotten anywhere near as nimble at it at his friend and he was off-balance with everything he had on his back. Newt's eyes tracked over the various things Thomas was bringing with him as he watched the boy climb. It took a while but eventually he drew level with Newt, leaning back against the trunk as he finally got to rest.
Newt studied him, alarm and love warring inside of him. Thomas was ruffled, slicked with sweat and out of breath. He looked exhausted, and Newt just wanted to hug him, annoyed that sitting in a tree was not one of the places he could do so. But Thomas was also decorated with scattered rusty splodges, ones that Newt didn't want to think about but couldn't avoid.
"Did they hurt you?" he whispered.
The playful air of before was gone, and when Thomas opened his eyes Newt hated that he had to see his friend look so guilty and upset. It had been a good many years since Newt had seen Thomas look so distraught. The amber-gold of his eyes were filled with tears and he looked down at the branch beneath him. He was watching them fall.
"She- She had a knife and she tried to- I killed her, Newt. She- She was s-so small... her- her eyes were so blue and i- i killed her."
"You had to." Newt's heart was breaking and the words tasted foul in his mouth but he had to say them. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that what he was saying was true. "It was you or her, ya did what ya had to."
The waver in his voice made Thomas look up, and he scrubbed his tears away bitterly.
"I know. And it doesn't h-help."
Newt didn't have anything he could say to that so he only nodded, reaching out as far as he dared to touch his friend's cheek. Thomas closed his eyes as Newt's thumb chased away a tear. Newt let him cry, every escaping sob a needle in his heart. His hand was wet and the salt of drying tears was tacky on his skin but he didn't move.
"Tommy…"
Thomas flinched, but then he was drawing in a ragged breath and nodding. Newt didn't need to say anything else. Thomas lifted his gaze to meet Newt's worried eyes and sniffled. Newt tried to smile. It was a small, sad expression but Thomas returned it. Newt stroked his thumb over his blood-streaked cheek as Thomas closed his eyes.
Eventually his sobbing stopped. The tears slowed, and then they boys were quiet for a long moment, well after Newt drew back. They sat with their backs against the trunk and just savoured the moment because for now they were both safe. They had a moment to breathe and they took it gratefully, each relieved at having the other next to them.
The Arena had quietened considerably, fading sounds from all around as tributes explored. There was a piercing, screaming cry to signal another death, and although neither was really sure who had initiated it each of the two Gladers found their hand gripping that of the other. Thomas squeezed hard, the sick feeling returning. Newt had closed his eyes. He was grimacing when Thomas looked at him.
They sat for a long moment after the voice had stopped screaming. They didn't talk about it. It had made Thomas's mind up for him.
"We should get down, see what's in these packs and find food. We might need..."
He didn't finish, throwing Newt an uneasy look. Instead he began busying himself with moving, carefully turning to begin his descent. Newt knew what he had been about to say. The same thought had been worrying him. The only food source they knew of was in the centre. And the chances of them getting there and back without meeting any trouble were practically non-existent.
He followed Thomas quietly, the journey down longer than the way up, as always. When they reached the ground Thomas sat with his back to a tree, and Newt did the same across from him. At least they had most angles covered if someone were to sneak up on them.
Thomas tossed him the smaller of the two packs and unzipped his own, his bow lying innocently at his side.
