Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.
If Newt had been attacked by something...where were the defensive wounds?
If he'd been savaged by a monster...where were the stabs, the claw marks, the bites?
Newt...what did you do?!
It was a long, troubling night.
Dawn found him sitting in precisely the same position, his face as hard and blank as a stone wall. After much difficult, ugly thinking, after wrestling for hours to try and accept the logical answer, he still wasn't ready to believe the conclusions he'd come to. He prayed he was mistaken. He'd happily accept being wrong, laugh off his error with good grace if there was any other explanation. Perhaps he didn't know all the variables, or was unaware of some circumstance or factor that would vastly change his current interpretation.
But he didn't think so.
Struggling not to get ahead of himself before he could verify his theory, trying to stop the instinctive grief and anger of it all, it took him several minutes to realize that someone was rapping hard at the office door.
Rising stiffly after so many hours of sitting in a tense position on a low stool, he unbarred the door and cracked it open, finding himself face-to-face with a haggard, hollow eyed Alby.
The boy clearly hadn't slept at all, and looked every bit as rundown and wrung out as Adrian felt.
"How is he?" The leader demanded in a whisper, his eyes cutting back and forth from the bed to Adrian's face. "Is he awake yet? Is he gonna be okay?"
The man grunted, rubbing at his tired, aching eyes.
"He's stable, or, as stable as we could make him. As long as we can keep him clear of infection, and IF there are no serious internal injuries...he should pull through."
"When do you think he'll be back on his feet?"
Adrian almost laughed at the naive question.
"His leg was shattered, Alby, the muscles torn. I set it and put it back together as best I could, but...at this point, I can already tell you it'll never be the same again. If he's able to walk after this, he'll probably have a heavy limp for the rest of his life. He has a long, painful recovery ahead of him."
"If he's able to walk? If?!"
"Yeah, if. I'm a researcher, for God's sake. I may have read or studied information on these techniques, but I'm not a goddamn surgeon. I can't just pull a medical degree out of my ass in a crisis and automatically know what to do! I've done everything, everything I can think of to try and help him. He's alive. As long as he stays that way, he'll heal. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes."
Cowed a little by the irritated outburst, Alby mentally conceded Adrian's point. The gladers had very quickly taken to looking to the man for answers just because he was older, expecting him to immediately know the right course of action for a wide variety of issues. He may be vastly more worldly than the rest of the boys; that didn't mean he was an expert in everything. Alby was mildly embarrassed to realize that he too had just assumed that Adrian would step in and fix this. Bearing the weight of that constant expectation must be a pretty heavy load to bear, Alby mused to himself. But then, who else do we have to ask?
"Did you figure out what the shuck happened out there yesterday?" Alby asked, changing the subject.
"I have a pretty good guess." Adrian replied darkly, turning his head and staring hard at the bed where his young friend lie. "But until he wakes up and is able to talk to us, I can't be sure. We'll have to be patient, see what he can tell us then."
Alby nodded absently, his troubled face reflecting his own doubts and fears. He gestured towards the man absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"You get any sleep last night?"
Adrian did laugh this time, rolling his eyes at the question. Alby actually winced at the stupidity of the words, looking very much like he wished he could stuff them back down his own throat. Adrian waved him off, unconcerned.
"Probably about as much as you did. I'll crash for a couple of hours when Jeff and Clint get in for the day."
It was well over an hour before the two boys made their way back to the medhut to report for duty, and fully mid morning before Adrian and the medjacks managed to chase Alby out of the office, all three of them ganging up and urging the leader to go back to his regular duties. The obstinate boy kept insisting that he should stick around, just in case they needed him, or that he should be present in the off chance that Newt woke up and was coherent enough to speak to them. It finally took Adrian's threats that Alby hanging around in the room was not only a distraction but also possible source of contamination, which with Newt's numerous open wounds could lead to infection setting in. Alby eventually left, grumbling all the way, assuring them that he would be back later that day to check in.
The leader gone at last, Adrian set Clint and Jeff to changing their patient's plethora of bandages and dressings before shuffling out of the office and in to the common area, firmly instructing them to come and get him immediately should there be any changes in Newt's current condition. Wanting to be easily available and unwilling to put any measurable distance between himself and the injured boy, he stretched out on one of the bunks in the far corner of the building.
Knowing he'd never be able to sleep without some kind of distraction, he pulled his faithful little music player out of his pocket and plugged himself in. It had been really fortunate that he'd planned on wearing it while working on his flora book the day before – had it really only been the day before? - otherwise it would still be in its usual place, carelessly tucked under his pillow.
The last sixteen hours had felt like a full and grueling week, bursting with stress and fear and worry. He closed his eyes, letting the music soothe away the tension headache that throbbed in the back of his skull. The song murmured in his ears, nipping at his conscience, tugging at his heart.
.
Step one, you say we need to talk
He walks, you say sit down, it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
.
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left, and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came
.
Where did I go wrong?
I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness and,
I would have stayed up with you all night
.
Had I known how to save a life
Adrian found himself being roughly shaken awake a couple of hours later. Clint hovered over him, calling his name urgently.
"Adrian...Adrian! Wake up!"
The man sat up so fast he almost knocked heads with the new medjack, pushing to his feet and following the unwavering boy into the office before his eyes were fully open.
"Talk to me. What's happening?"
"Newt's awake, but he's not really awake, yeah? He's moving around a lot, thrashing and muttering. His eyes keep opening, but he doesn't seem to see us, or to understand what we're telling him." Clint stated succinctly, while Jeff stayed diligently by the bed – and their distressed patient. Jeff was trying and failing to restrain the thrashing boy, barely managing to keep Newt from rolling off the bed and on to the floor. Adrian got close enough to get a better look, checking the skin of the delirious boy's face with the back of his hand.
He wasn't pleased with what he found.
Newt's normally pale cheeks were flushed red with the head of fever, his skin dewed with a fine layer of sweat. His eyes were open, but the deep brown color, usually sparking with intelligence and purpose, was muddied and glazed. He lashed out spasmodically, fighting against something only he could see, his limbs slapping loudly against the table as Jeff tried to keep him still. Adrian threw an arm across the boy's chest to steady him, barking out orders.
"Clint, stabilize that leg! Now! Stop it from flailing around, or he'll tear all the damn stitches out! Jeff, roll a blanket up, grab me a rope!"
With help from the two boys, Adrian lay the thick roll of fabric across Newt's hips, laying the rope over top to create a cushioned restraint that would keep the boy from tumbling off the platform. He cinched it as tight as he dared, effectively securing their patient to the table and giving them a little room to breathe and consider their next move.
Erring on the side of caution, they positioned the reconstructed leg on a thick wedge of padding and tied it down in the same way, fastening it at both the ankle and above the knee, just to be safe. They also carefully tied his wrists and bound him to the bed at the shoulders, restricting the majority of his movement from the neck down. They couldn't take any chances of Newt twisting and popping his shoulder back out, or jerking around and exacerbating any of his other already serious injuries, including his cracked and wrapped ribs. All three of them wiped sweat from their faces when they were through; it was a stressful, physical task that left them a little quivery and out of breath. They stood side by side in solidarity, watching the tortured young man strain against the bindings, his hands scrabbling uselessly at the table beneath him, his eyes wide and wild.
The man stared miserably at what was left of his young, broken friend, tortured by pitiful sight.
Adrian could feel a prickle on the back of his neck; the medjack's, stalwart and ready, looking to him for instructions, depending on him to tell them what to do. He couldn't give in to despair now.
"Get the fire going; we need something to break his fever, ease his pain and put him under.
With Jeff keeping a watchful eye on Newt, Adrian dug out a small bundle of a special kind of plants he'd painstakingly gathered and dried. He held them out to show the medjacks.
"This is datura – also called thorn apple or jimson weed." He explained as he chose and held up one of the thick, fibrous tubers. "While the leaves and seeds can be used as well, the roots tend to be the safest choice for medicines. Utilized properly, datura can be made into an incredibly powerful narcotic – both a painkiller and a sedative. Used carelessly, it can cause delirium, hallucinations – and death. Prolonged use can cause toxins to build up in the system, resulting in serious, often fatal complications."
He broke the smallest root in half, dropping it into a small metal bowl and using the handle of his knife to break it into tiny pieces. Adding a couple of cups of water, he set the container directly over the flame of the little stove. He also put a small pot of water on the fire; as soon as it boiled he transferred the steaming liquid to a jar and dropped in a handful of feverfew leaves, efficiently building a tea to bring down the injured runner's temperature. He talked as he worked, detailing the usage of the unusual herb.
"Boiling a small portion of the roots in water for ten or fifteen minutes releases the useful properties – and creates a solution that is only to be used in extreme circumstances, to treat severe, extensive damage. The strength of each root is variable, so making and using this medicine is never without a certain amount of risk."
"Why use it at all, then?" Jeff asked, wary of getting any closer to the apparently dangerous concoction. "Why not use one of the other medicines you've taught us how to make?"
"Because despite the risk, datura – which, when prepared like this, actually temporarily impair the pain receptors in the body and put the user in a state just this side of a coma – is the only resource I can currently access that can be guaranteed to give him the time he needs to heal. If we can keep him quiet, calm and under for another day or two...he'll heal cleaner, better, and faster."
Moving the two very different medicines away from the fire and setting them aside to cool, Adrian set Clint and Jeff to wiping down Newt's sweat soaked body with cool water while he ground a handful of raw oats and a small strip of dried meat into a coarse powder. He poured some excess hot water he'd saved over the mixture and stirred it into a thin gruel. It may not be fine dining but it was sustenance, and the man knew that it was vital to try and get some form of nourishment into the boy – healing requires energy, and fuel. And Newt didn't exactly have any excess padding to draw from. The three bowls were lined up, cool enough to ingest when Jeff asked the obvious question.
"How are we going to get him to drink all that?" He asked nervously, looking from the bowls to the horizontal figure on the bed. "We can't just ask nicely and expect him to cooperate."
"We'll try to feed the medicine to him in little sips; if that's unsuccessful...I'll give it to him mouth to mouth if I have to. Either way, I'll get it in him."
"Better you than me." Jeff muttered with feeling, but he picked up the jar of feverfew tea and stood by the edge of the bed with Clint, who held the gruel and watched everything intensely. Both of the medics stood by, ready to assist in any way they could. Adrian poured about two thirds of a cup worth of the datura solution into a jar and slid his hand under Newt's neck, gently tilting his head forward a little. The boy's eyes stared at him without comprehension as he tried to writhe under his restraints.
"Hey kid, you need to drink this for me now, okay?" Adrian said softly, lifting the rim of the jar to Newt's dry, cracked lips. He dribbled a little into the boy's mouth, and though Newt sputtered a little, he appeared to be swallowing the potent brew. Relieved, Adrian slowly and patiently fed him the whole dose of the narcotic, followed by the feverfew potion and finally the protein rich slurry. He watched the boy's pupils dilate as the drug began to take effect, and watched closely for any adverse effects.
Newt's breathing got deeper, and his struggles slowed before stopping entirely. Those glassy dark eyes began to dull and close; he was grateful to see the pain beginning to fade from them before heavy, exhaustion bruised eyelids slid down and completely hid them from sight. Newt's lips sluggishly formed a garbled word, the same syllables over and over, until Adrian leaned his ear close enough to hear the hoarse whisper.
Addy.
It ripped a fresh wound in his heart to hear his name, filling him with a churning mess of anger, self-loathing and regret. He reached down and took Newt's cold, clammy hand in his own, squeezing it gently. He felt responsible for the boy's pain in a way that he couldn't quite put in to words.
"I'm right here, kid." He promised. "I'm not going anywhere."
He felt the hand in his try to squeeze back, and then the last of the tension drained out of Newt's body as he succumbed to the powerful drug and dropped into a deep, healing sleep.
"What do we do next?" Clint asked, tactfully not commenting on the sensitive moment. Adrian turned to face the waiting boys, pivoting so that he could do so without letting go of Newt's hand.
"There's nothing more we can do right now. Someone should definitely be here with him until his fever breaks. And even afterwards, come to think of it. He should be monitored 'round the clock until he wakes up again. Just in case. But as for right now, it's the waiting game. Other than that? Business as normal." Adrian muttered, frustrated and feeling useless. "I'll stay with him; you two should get back to building up the pharmacy and studying the book. There's no point in all three of us sitting around with our thumbs up our asses."
Happy to comply and relieved to be given a nice stress-free task, Jeff headed off to get started. Clint had the foresight to drag the small stool over to the table for Adrian, briefly clapping a conciliatory hand on Adrian's shoulder before he followed after his partner, pulling the door mostly closed behind himself and leaving Newt in the man's capable hands. Sitting heavily and feeling the worry and fear drag at him, Adrian silently stared at Newt's slack face. It was close to an hour before the fever broke, and only once the boy was safely out of the danger zone was he able to bring himself to speak.
"You remind me so much of...another kid I know." He said softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Newt's hand in an attempt to soothe. "Bright, smart, clever...always asking questions, always wanting to know. Madison...Maddy. My little sister, Maddy."
With the cork out of the bottle Adrian's words began to pour out in a steady stream. While he was mindful of the fact that he could very well be under surveillance from 'the creators' and cautiously avoided anything they might be able to use, he told Newt everything else he could remember. Funny anecdotes, rivalries and irritations, silly stories.
How his older sister looked so much like their mother it sometimes hurt to look at her.
How his brother was bright and bold, with a reckless streak Adrian both hated and envied.
How Maddy, the baby, had an unstoppable sweet tooth, and was always trying to find new places to hide her stash of candy.
How his parents would argue passionately about some incomprehensible work topic, locking horns like mortal enemies as they tried to prove their points, and yet despite the debates they'd still dance with each other almost every night when they thought the kids were all in bed.
And how badly he missed them.
He talked and talked, sharing so many of the little things he'd taken for granted over the years. He wasn't exactly sure why he felt compelled to relate it all to Newt; being unconscious, it was really quite doubtful he'd absorb or remember any of what Adrian was saying to him now. Maybe the boy would recall just enough to realize there was a reason to keep going, or perhaps the sound of his voice would act a vague comfort and sense of company as he mentally wandered in the dark. Whichever it turned out to be, he found it made him feel lighter, more grounded, to put his memories into words.
Besides, what better audience could he have?
He talked for hours, mindless of the time passing, of morning moving into afternoon and eventually into evening.
"They're my everything; the reason behind my to insatiable hunger to learn, the source of my driving urge to help. Nothing means more to me than they do. And especially Maddy – she was so young when our parents died, so tiny. So delicate. We've looked after her almost all her life. I'd do anything for her..."
Adrian heard the whisper of the door swinging open behind him but didn't bother turning to look. He had a pretty good idea as to who would be coming to visit, but had been so involved he hadn't sensed the company until the creak of the wooden barrier being pushed aside alerted him.
"Alby. How long you been standing there?" He croaked, mildly self-conscious, his throat dry and scratchy after speaking for so long.
"A while." Alby answered easily, setting a tin plate of dinner and a large bottle of water on the table in front of the man, his face carefully composed and neutral.
Truth be told, he'd arrived at the medhut not long after lunch, intent on forcing his way in to see Newt and, this time, staying until he was damn well ready to leave. Instead as he approached the door, he'd heard the tales and ramblings coming from inside the office. Not wanting to interrupt but unwilling to leave, he'd waited patiently behind the cracked door, trying to ignore the dialogue until the one sided conversation came to a discernible end. Instead he'd found himself captivated by the stories, leaning up against the wall and listening eagerly as the man talked about his family. The love for them was naked in his voice, clear as day in every adventure related.
He'd heard the man's raw fear for their safety should they attempt to get to him, felt the anger as his own when Adrian spoke about how the men who'd captured him would try to use him to get to the rest of his family. Understanding had suddenly washed into him as he listened to the man explain the facts to the unresponsive boy; the only way he could protect those he loved was to make sure he didn't fall into 'the creator's' hands.
Any anger or resentment Alby still harbored over their previous argument melted away. What would I do, he asked himself, to spare the pain of those who loved me, if I had a family of my own?
He'd left just long enough to retrieve a meal for the man from the dining hall, walking into the office immediately on his return before he could get distracted and caught up in the monologue again.
"I'd appreciate some time to just sit with him, if that's okay with you." Alby requested, deferring to the man. "I'll keep him company for a while. You've been cooped up for almost two days; if there's anything you want to step out and do...I can always holler for Jeff or Clint, if he needs something before you get back."
Adrian stood and stretched, his back complaining from sitting in a hunched over position for so long.
"As a matter of fact, I think I'll take you up on that. Thanks."
"He's my friend too." Alby reminded, plopping down on the recently vacated seat. He lifted his eyes to meet Adrian's, his gaze knowing and sympathetic.
"He's the closest thing to family I've got."
Over the next two days Adrian and Alby worked out a rough schedule. Adrian would stay with Newt during the morning and afternoon while Alby would keep watch for a chunk of the evening, giving the man a little time to tend to stretch his legs and tend to personal matters. Alby even brought the man a spare sleeping bag, which made curling up on the floor of the office during the nights (a necessity in case Newt should wake up in need of immediate attention) a little more bearable. The bruises started to fade from the boy's pale skin, the scrapes and superficial wounds scabbed and were well on their way to being healed, and still he remained locked in an almost catatonic state. Adrian's worry continued to grow – he wouldn't eat, he started losing weight, his face was covered in an unkempt crop of stubble.
In the late afternoon a full four days after being dragged from the maze, Newt finally woke up.
Author's note ~
The song featured in this chapter is How to Save A Life by The Fray
See you next chapter!
~Ruby