CHAPTER ELEVEN

It'd been two months.

Two months since the Sheriff had received the phone call that almost destroyed him. Two months since his son, Stiles, had gone missing.

It had been two very long and tiring months, filled with despair and increasing hopelessness and the only reason the Sheriff had pulled through was due to his stubborn nature and utter determination to bring his son home.

Officers from the Beacon Hills' police station and also from the neighbouring towns, on hearing about the kidnapping, had volunteered to help in the search of the missing teen. Not because they were obligated to, but because the Sheriff was respected and loved and his son even more so since an officer had caught him threatening another for talking shit about his dad.

But no matter how much manpower was employed, they hadn't found anything.

It had been a month since the pack, excluding Derek Hale, had come to him.

It had been a month since he wasn't drowning in silence everytime he was house (it's not home without Stiles oh son where are you just hold on please). A month since any member of the pack kept dropping in to check up on him every day.

Lydia and Allison made sure that the house was always stocked with food. Scott had thrown away all the liquor bottles after that one night he had come to the Stilinski residence and found a drunk father, filled with fear that he was going to lose his only son, just like he lost his wife.

Allison had dropped by one day, while the rest of the pack were also present, with her father right behind her.

"I'll pass the message around the hunters to keep an eye out for your son," Chris Argent had said, reassuringly. "We'll find him, Sheriff."

The werewolves had gone to the crime scene, trying to see if they could catch Stiles' scent. They had. But when they followed it, it appeared to have dropped off in the middle of the road. Also, they couldn't identify any individual scents as a lot of people had been in that motel room and any trace of the kidnapper's scent was long gone.

"We could ask other werewolf packs, right?" Erica asked, her eyes tired and reflecting her worry.

It seemed like every day that passes by without any news about Stiles only added to the weight on every one of their shoulders and darkened the circles under their eyes.

"We can't," Scott said, ruefully. "That was one of the things Derek told us first."

Isaac nodded.

"One werewolf pack cannot approach another without the knowledge and the consent of the Alpha. Any talks between the two packs will require both the Alphas. And though I don't like it, Derek's the only Alpha we got right now."

The others grimaced. None of them were happy with Derek. He was still their Alpha with the exception of Isaac. Isaac's wolf had utterly rejected the pack bond between them. But he wasn't an omega either since, he could feel the pack bonds to the others, a new one blossoming between him and Papa Stilinski, and a strong yet tenuous bond to Stiles, his real Alpha. That was how he knew that Stiles was still alive, still fighting.

And that was the only thing that gave them hope to soldier on despite the odds stacked against them.

"But, maybe we-" Isaac cut off, chest rumbling with an uncharacteristic growl.

"What is it?" The Sheriff sat up, focussing intently on his facial expression.

The other wolves tilted their heads, listening to something only they could hear. Allison and Lydia exchanged glances.

Boyd broke the silence.

"It's... It's Derek. He's asking to talk to us. And you in particular, Mr. Stilinski."

Scott hissed, his eyes flashing.

Everyone broke into speech, listing out the various reasons why Derek shouldn't, couldn't, be trusted. Seeing how he was actually considering it, even more vehement opposition was made.

Finally, the Sheriff said, very quietly, "Enough."

The pack fell silent. They looked resigned, knowing what his decision would be.

"I'll talk with him." Looking at their dejected faces, he smiled a little. "You can be there with me," he conceded.

No sooner he said that, there was a knock on the door and in walked Derek Hale, looking like a wreck.

Morning dawned like it did every day in the Glade.

As the Gladers slowly woke up, one by one, the events of the previous day filtered in. Chuck, Gally and Frypan rushed over to where Newt was.

On reaching Newt, they fell all over themselves to keep quiet because it was apparent, looking at the worn out, sleeping boy, that he had only passed out when he no longer could keep himself awake.

Frypan decided to start preparing breakfast so that Newt would have something to eat when he woke up. Gally frowned with concern at the tear tracks visible upon the pale skin of the devastated boy and instructed Chuck to remain with him, and left to warn the other boys to leave Newt alone.

Chuck sat by where Newt was lying near the hammocks, wondering why he had to suffer so. He knew he wasn't close to Alby and Minho as much as Newt was to them, but he did consider Thomas as his best friend. Thinking of Thomas sent a wave of pain over him, filling his eyes with tears. Gazing at Newt, who was moving restlessly while murmuring, "No, no... Tommy, Minho... please, Alby, no...", Chuck had to grit his teeth to keep from sobbing.

It was unfair, oh so unfair, that it had happened just when Newt was finally happy. Chuck had never seen Newt smile as brightly, as freely, without putting on a facade, as he had done when he was around Thomas. He vowed to be there for Newt as Newt had been to every Glader when they had woken up in the Maze, alone and scared.

It was the least he could do.

The Maze was open.

It had opened at the same time as it did every day. There was nothing to show that the Maze had been responsible for the end of three lives just the previous day.

When the sound of the Maze opening had been heard throughout the Glade, everyone had rushed to the opening, their hearts filling with hope against their better judgement.

There was no one. No Minho running through the opening, tossing a cheeky wink. No Alby, with his reassuring presence and a calm smile to anyone who needed it. And, no Thomas, with his mischievous smirk and sparkling eyes.

Newt felt as though the ground had dropped away from under his legs. He knew, logically, he knew, that he wasn't getting his friends back.

No one survived a night in the Maze.

He knew it and yet, like an idiot, he had let himself hope. And now, it felt like his whole world was crashing down around him and he's standing there powerless to stop it.

He staggered away from the Gladers who were reaching for him, murmurs of sympathy filling the air.

He couldn't breathe. Dark spots littered his vision. There was someone calling out his name. He fell to his knees, dry heaving to the side. Soothing hands smoothed over his hair and back.

"Breathe Newt, come on, breathe. Yeah, that's it. Just breathe," murmured Frypan, kneeling next to Newt.

Newt took in a shuddering breath, without any conscious thought, his mind filled with resounding denial.

He clambered to his feet, with difficulty, and swayed where he stood. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to let loose the howl of misery that was battering at his soul in front of these people.

Shouts penetrated the fog covering his mind.

"Look! Look! It's them!"

Newt swirled around, eyes widening with disbelief and traitorous hope. He pushed past the others, moving to the front, and stopped short.

There they were. His boys.

Thomas and Minho were carrying an unconscious Alby between them. They appeared to be unharmed except for a few bruises and torn clothes.

Despite his best efforts, a sob escaped him.

They were okay. They were fine. They were alive. Oh gods they were alive.

The Med-jacks rushed Alby to a medical room. Minho and Thomas knelt on the ground, catching their breath.

Newt felt dizzy from the amount of relief that washed over him. He was busy raking his eyes over both the boys, checking for injuries, when Minho announced that Thomas had killed a Griever.

Newt could see that the knowledge that the Grievers weren't as invincible as they had previously thought cheered up the Gladers immensely. Thomas accepted that he had broken the rules and would be judged by the Keepers.

Thomas maintained a smile on his face as everyone clapped him on his back and shoulders, congratulating him on his deed, but Newt noticed the barely concealed panic in his eyes. Minho told him to rest and went up to Newt, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. That weight reassured him that, what was happening was real, Minho was alive and well and it was going to be okay. Newt nodded at Minho, blinking back tears. Minho gave a warm smile and jogged towards a hammock, probably to pass out.

Turning, he saw Thomas walking quickly towards a small clearing, at a corner of the Glade. Newt frowned, remembering the panic stricken expression Thomas had. As he followed him, he dimly wondered how it was that no one else had noticed it except him.

Reaching the clearing, he saw Thomas pacing. Newt stepped into the open just as Thomas' head snapped towards him.

"Newt," Thomas breathed out, as though he was his benediction.

Newt walked closer. He couldn't not. Not when Thomas was looking like that, as though Newt was everything he had ever wanted.

"Tommy," Newt whispered.

They were close now, leaning towards each other, caught in the other's orbit. So close that, Newt could feel Thomas' breath on his cheek. A shiver wracked through him.

Just then, everything that had happened since the other day- the worry when Ben had attacked Thomas, grief that another Glader was lost, worry for Alby and Minho when they ran into the Maze, self-loathing that he couldn't follow them to watch their backs, despair that they wouldn't return in time, disbelief and agony as the Maze closed with Thomas, Alby and Minho within, and the heart-stopping relief at seeing his boys again- crashed into him.

And, before he knew it, Thomas had him wrapped up in his arms, holding on to Newt as though Newt was his whole world, rocking them slightly as Newt broke down.

"I thought you were dead, Tommy, I thought you were fucking dead," gasped out Newt, between heaving breaths.

Thomas clutched him even tighter, placing kisses on his hair, all the while murmuring in a wrecked voice, "I'm sorry, Newt. Gods, I'm so very sorry. I thought I'll never see you again."

When all the tears had been shed, both of them feeling raw like never before, Newt had his head on Thomas' shoulder, and Thomas was still giving him absentminded kisses.

Newt straightened, not that he wanted to. Thomas loosened his hold to let him sit up, but didn't let go. He couldn't.

Looking him in the eye, Newt said fiercely, "If you ever do that again, I swear, Thomas-"

Thomas rested his forehead upon Newt's, and whispered, "I am sorry, Newt. I understand. And I'll try my best not to worry you like that ever again."

Newt swallowed hard and nodded slightly. "Thank you. For bringing them back."

There was no need to specify who 'them' was. Thomas kissed his forehead in acknowledgment.

Newt closed his eyes, tears threatening again at the tenderness of the moment.

He could have lost this. He almost did.

"Can I... Can I kiss you, Tommy?" The words were a whisper.

Thomas let out a strangled sound of acknowledgment. Normally, Newt would have teased him mercilessly for that. But that wasn't exactly a normal time, was it?

As their lips met, all Newt could think was, finally.

After dancing around each other all these times, the kiss had been a long time coming. It was chaste, just a press of lips against each other. And yet, when they separated, their pupils were blown wide and the sound of harsh breathing filled the air.

"Newt," Thomas murmured softly, unwilling to break the spell that surrounded them.

It wasn't clear who reached for whom but, the next thing they knew, Thomas' hands were in Newt's hair, Newt was holding Thomas' face in his hands, both panting into the other's mouths.

Newt whimpered as Thomas bit and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Thomas devoured Newt, tugging at his hair and licking into his mouth, until all Newt could feel, taste and breathe was Thomas.

Newt gave as good as he got and for every whimper that Newt let out, he was repaid with a moan. Thomas dragged his mouth over his cheek, sucking in precious air, and continued down Newt's oh so pale throat, biting along every inch of the new territory that he was mapping, marking him with a possessiveness that made Newt groan. Newt dragged Thomas up to capture his lips with his own, unable to let him go. Thomas was definitely not complaining.

It was a long time till they could calm down a bit and the heat between them tapered down from a raging inferno to a warm fire, still burning bright.

"The things you make me do, Tommy," Newt chuckled.

"Things I make you do?" Thomas said, sounding outraged. "What about the things you make me do?"

Thomas grinned at him. He looked beautiful, like a star fallen to earth, with sparkling eyes that was lit up with his happiness, the dimples on his cheeks and mussed up hair that fell over his warm, brown eyes.

Newt smiled back.

I think I love you.

A/N: NEWTMAS! F*CKING FINALLY!

This chapter was supposed to be about 1.5k words, yeah? But the bloody thing just wouldn't end! And kiss? What kiss? I most definitely didn't plan that one!

Nor did I plan Derek! But they happened all the same. Yikes.

Okay, now. About the fic. You guys might have noticed it, but I thought of pointing it out anyway.

The story is happening at two different times- both the events of what happened in BH when Stiles went missing and what was happening with Thomas in the Maze, are happening simultaneously in the fic. I have mentioned before, in a previous chapter, that Stiles/Thomas will be found only after he was missing for SIX months. Some more of the time line was mentioned in that previous chapter, containing two OCs: Eugene (creep), and Rebecca Green. So read that again if you want.

Also, my exams are going on so,... well, you know what'll happen.

Reviews and comments are much appreciated. Let me know what you think and also if you find any mistakes. And please, for the love of the universe, tell me how was the Newtmas scene coz I've never written anything like that before.