(A/N): I want to apologise for the way you've had to suffer through the last few Chapters.
It was painful to write and harder to proof-read and i want to say how grateful i am for your comments and to continuing readers i'd like to thank, for taking the hurt and still coming back to read on.
I'm really hopeful that this Chapter will be what a lot of you are looking for.
This Chapter is dedicated to GladerTributeCamper, who has featured in recent Chapters as a tribute. Hope you get better soon. This seemed an appropriate tribute to your recovery!
Happy Reading!
Chapter Forty
The world stopped.
There was no sound, no air as Thomas's eyes snapped open. He could feel the sudden and fierce clutch of insanity welling up like water from his toes, intent on drowning him. He looked down at Newt's slack face, at the way he had stilled.
"No…."
Thomas's voice had shattered. His fingers reached numbly for Newt's chest. This wasn't happening. It couldn't- No.
"Newt- No, no, no, no, no NO!"
There wasn't any air. The heat of the Arena had left him and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't feel. The world was beginning to crumble at the edges like unstable cliff tops. Grief and oblivion lapped angrily at the bottom of the drop.
Newt couldn't be gone! He couldn't!
He pushed the blonde curls from his face. Was his skin a little less hot? Thomas's heart was flying in his chest, hard and painful. It was going to give up at this rate he- Newt.
He fumbled for the older boy's wrist, a hesitant hand on his chest. He couldn't breathe.
No.
Aris was talking, words a stream of noise that Thomas couldn't understand. Newt. Newt wasn't moving. Newt was still and quiet, he- the Canon had-
"No. No. Newt, please man! D-Don't do this to me! No! Newt!"
His voice was rising as his vision blurred, and there was a hand on his shoulder but he jerked away. Words, people were talking. Somewhere, somewhere, a tribute was screaming again and Thomas wished with all his heart that it was Newt, because at least then he wouldn't be-
"Please! Please!"
He couldn't even say the word in his own head. Newt couldn't be. He just- It'd be like the world losing the sunshine. Newt wasn't supposed to go now!
"Newt- please. Say something, say anything, you can't- you can't go! Please!"
No.
"… in the first six hours."
Minho. Minho was saying something and it was dragging Thomas back into reality. No. Words, more words. That hand on his shoulder again. He didn't have enough control of his limbs to jerk away.
"…late. I don't think that it's supposed to be effective after…"
His head was on Newt's chest and Minho's words had broken through. He was sobbing now, the air was back and he could feel the burning heat of the Arena, of Newt, of the loss blazing through his cells. He'd never felt grief like this. Not when he was younger, not when his family died one by one and not when Chuck had died such a short time after leaving their Glade.
He'd never truly thought he could lose Newt.
He was a constant. The shining hope in Thomas's life, a part of Thomas that he couldn't do without. He felt the fight leaving him, hopelessness setting in. What was he fighting for now if it wasn't Newt?
Where was the point now?
"Thomas. Thomas you have to be quiet. Thomas! Shut your shuck hole right now!"
Minho. Thomas blinked and heaved in a breath. He hadn't realised he had been making any noise. The screaming from somewhere else stopped, and as Thomas swallowed past his raw throat he realised it had been him.
"Better. Now sit up."
His hands curled tightly in the fabric of Newt's shirt. He couldn't sit up, he couldn't leave the only thing in his life that had any meaning. The insanity was dragging claws through his veins, the crumbling eating away the edges of his world. He was so close to giving up and just succumbing to it. He was going to drown. His own voice was moaning in his ears but he had no control.
"No. No, no, no, no, no, no…."
His breaths were fleeting, suffocating. He couldn't see for tears. Hysteria was approaching at speed. His skin was clammy, his head swimming. He was almost certain he was going to be sick. His hands were clutching at the blonde's shirt, spasming harshly. He'd lost control, he hadn't been fast enough and he'd- he'd-
He'd lost Newt.
"No, no please! I can't, i can't- I can't lose you. I can't do this without you."
He buried his face in Newt's neck as he cried, aching desperately for the pressure of the blonde's arms around him. He held him tightly but the embrace was not returned. Newt's arms stayed where they were, limp at his sides. He could' believe it. He'd-
He'd never thought it was possible.
He'd been sure he could keep Newt safe, protect him from the others and from the GameMakers.
And he'd failed.
"I'm sorry." he choked out, a strangled whisper. "God Newt i'm so sorry. I love you. Please don't leave. Please, please don't- I can't, man. I can't-"
He was going to pass out. He was going to curl up and die. He was going to kill every GameMaker. He didn't know how, but he would. He'd make them understand what they'd done. He'd make them pay. He- Newt didn't deserve this. He was so happy, so hopeful, so kind and Thomas had been too late.
Too late.
"He's breathing."
Aris.
Aris. It was the kid that dragged him up, just like that. Saved him from drowning. He lifted his head. Aris was smiling, his tearful green eyes trained on the hand Thomas had on Newt's chest. He was sniffling. They both stared, silence falling between them as they watched. Aris was eager, and Thomas was terrified. If Aris was wrong he was going to slip right back into the pit of grief that awaited him. He didn't think his heart even beat while they held their breath and waited.
And it rose.
Something strong blasted through Thomas's system. Every vein, every cell, every atom of him sung. Aris chuckled. A soft, relieved sound. Thomas wanted to join him but he couldn't move. He just stared as Newt's chest fell. And rose again.
Newt was alive.
The air came back into the world so hard it made Thomas's ears pop. And then he was gasping and choking; stilted, aborted sounds as his body tried to work out how to function again. He cried. He cried so much he wondered if it was possible to cry himself to death. Aris was rubbing his back, his small hand circling and his voice filling the quiet space with quiet words. Words Thomas couldn't focus on because the rise and fall of Newt's chest had taken over every sense.
It was weak. It was shallow and fragile but it was there.
Thomas was weak with it, his muscles jellylike as the world readjusted and heralded the heartbeat he felt under his fingers. The Arena was hot and Thomas was sweating heavily and he could barely steady his hands but he had never felt better in his life.
"Newt."
It said everything he needed it to. If Newt could hear he'd understand what Thomas wasn't saying. He sighed, slumping bonelessly against the blonde once more, hearing his heart beating in his chest and feeling his skin cooling slowly.
It was working, the serum was working and Newt was going to get better.
He was going to get better.
"Harriet's out there, and you can bet she's going to come looking for Beth. Shank is good at what she does. We gotta get moving."
Minho again. Minho was there, in his space. He was- What was he doing? No! No wait!
"No, Minho-"
Minho was taking Newt from him again and the hysteria that had been at bay was threatening Thomas again. He reached for Newt, half-crouched, his fingers clutching at the blonde. Minho made an irritated noise, adjusting the limp form in his arms as he took him out of Thomas's reach. The Glader scrambled after him, trying to get to his feet. Minho was saying words but Thomas was too desperate to see Newt was still breathing. What if moving him made it worse? What if- He needed time to recover. He shouldn't be getting trailed about.
"Minho, please-"
"The bow. Thomas move your shuck-ass and pick up your bow."
He couldn't look away, even as his fingers scrambled numbly for his bow. A hand on his wrist was pushing the smooth and familiar handle into his hand. Aris. The kid was helping him up. Fingers curled in his sleeve. Tugging him forwards as he stumbled in his daze, his eyes locked on the limp body in Minho's arms again.
