Newt had been drifting in and out of consciousness, blurred visions and muffled voices weaving in and out of dreams and reality. But this time when he woke up, he was more alert than he had been since he died…
Wait.
Was he dead? His brain was so muddled, but he remembered the knife entering his chest. Cause he put it there. He was sure he died. So had he gone to hell? Cause if WCKD was heaven…
Then shuck.
Newt tried to lift his head, but it felt like someone put a 20lb weight in his brain, and the strain was too much on his neck. He tried to move his hand to rub his blazing eyes, but he was met with a resistance around his wrists. He yanked his hands upwards, but they were strapped down to his gurney. He tried kicking his legs, but was met with the same leather resistance. The British boy started jerking his body, but he was completely immobile.
"You mustn't resist so much." Newt startled at the sudden voice, but he couldn't see who it was coming from.
"Where the bloody hell am I? Am I dead? Cause this shuck place definitely isn't heaven."
"No, you're not dead. Now, please stop moving, or you'll ruin all the hard work it took to get you into that thing."
Not dead?
"How is that possible?"
"Too many questions. Now go to sleep."
"How can I go to sleep now?"
"Tsk, tsk. I'll help you, but you really need to go to sleep by yourself one of these times." The man approached Newt, and he bucked and thrashed, but no matter how much he struggled, he could feel the sharp jab of an injection in his arm before everything went black.
The sun had risen brightly, and the Safe Haven was cast in a warm light. Most were up, except for a few stragglers that had moaned and groaned when someone tried to wake them, and nobody had bothered anymore. Thomas gathered his breakfast and sat down at his usual spot beside Minho.
"Mornin'."
"Morning."
They ate in silence for a while, until Minho inspected his breakfast on his spoon. "This tastes like slop, by the way."
Thomas huffed a small laugh. "I guess none of the immunes are great cooks."
"At least not for oatmeal." Minho pushed his bowl away. "That's all I can eat."
"Give it to the seagulls, they love it."
They both sat quietly, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
"Are you thinking about Newt?" Minho asked, looking concerned over at his friend.
"He's kind of hard to get out of my mind." Thomas replied, focusing intently on his oatmeal.
"Me too. But I wasn't there when he…" Minho was unable to finish his sentence, but they both knew what he was referring to.
"I miss him."
"I know."
A pregnant pause consumed them.
"But if he were here." Minho piped in again. "He'd tell us to get our bloody heads up and live our lives. We gotta live for him too, you know. He wouldn't want us to live our whole shucking lives in misery.'
"Are you saying that we gotta forget him?" Thomas looked horrified at the thought.
"No. I'm saying that we gotta accept that he's gone, and we have to remember him fondly. He's not coming back, Thomas. Sooner we accept that, better chance we have of not being so shucking depressed all the time."
Thomas sighed. "Okay."
"Okay." Minho clapped his friend on the shoulder, and stood up to take his bowl to the kitchen. Thomas stirred his breakfast around in his bowl. Just accept it? Minho wasn't there when Newt stabbed himself to protect him. To keep Newt from ripping Thomas to pieces, he took his own life.
But then again…
Maybe Newt was in a better place. He was with Alby, and Chuck, and the parents he never knew, and didn't have to worry about the Scorch, or the Flare, or the Cranks. Maybe it was better to accept that Newt was at peace.
With a final look at the sea, Thomas took his bowl in and followed Minho.
Wait… Newt isn't dead? WCKD has him? But if everybody at the Safe Haven thinks he's dead, then… how will they ever save him? Stay tuned, y'all!