Chapter Text
210 Days before the night in the Last City
After three years sleeping in a ratty old canvas hammock outside in all kinds of weather you’d think Newt would be asleep as soon as he lay down on an actual bed. A real bed with a mattress and duvet and even linen covers on the pillows but no. It’s been at least two hours since the lights went out and he’s still lying here awake. Winston and Fry are snoring away and Minho is curled up like a cat under his blanket. Jack has always been a silent sleeper and Newt can just make out his arm dangling over the bed on the other side of the room and Thomas hasn’t made a sound from his bunk since he got up about an hour ago to wash his face. Newt sighs and rolls over onto his side. Trust him to not be able to sleep when he finally gets his own damn bed. He sighs heavily and curses himself under his breath.
That’s when he hears it. He could have confused it for one of the boys breathing or snoring but… no… someone is… crying? Newt stays silent for a moment trying to tell where it’s coming from but he already knows.
Thomas.
Newt bites his lip. Part of him feels that he should leave Thomas alone but he thinks of the events of the last few days, has it really been less than a week since he was sitting with the newbie at the bonfire? Since then nearly everyone Newt has ever known has died and Thomas held Chuck in his arms as he bled out after being shot by one of their best friends. Newt can’t leave Thomas crying in his bed alone.
Newt crawls over to the ladder and as quietly as he can climbs down to Thomas’s bunk. Thomas is facing the wall away from him but Newt can see by the shake of his shoulders that the younger boy is crying. Something inside of Newt breaks at the thoughts of it. He’s seen Thomas cry before, hell he’s seen Thomas sobbing his heart out before but something about him crying alone silently in the middle of the night when he thinks nobody else can hear him is even more heartbreaking.
“Thomas?”
Thomas stills at the sound of his name. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand before turning to face Newt. Even in the dimly lit room Newt can see his tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes. “Hey,” breathes Thomas quietly, his voice uncharacteristically small.
Newt isn’t really sure what to say. He hadn’t really thought past coming down the ladder to be perfectly honest.
“Did I wake you?” asks Thomas sitting up, he sniffs as he wipes at his eyes again. Newt has never seen him look so vulnerable and he doesn’t know what possesses him but he climbs into the bed and throws his arms around Thomas pulling him into a hug. Thomas freezes against him but only for a second before he’s hugging him back. Newt isn’t one for hugs but he can’t help but notice how perfectly Thomas’s body seems to mould round his own. As if they were made for one another. As Thomas pulls Newt in closer to his own body Newt feels a strange sense of deja vu as they hold each other. Newt could almost swear they’ve held each other like this before…
He feels Thomas’s face buried in his shoulder and the fabric of his shirt is getting damp, he knows by the shake of Thomas’s shoulders that he’s crying again but he just holds him through it. He’d hold Thomas through anything he thinks.
And they sit there curled up on Thomas’s bed, holding each other. Thomas is crying into Newt’s shoulder and Newt is rubbing a pattern on Thomas’s back with his hands. Time seems to stand still. Newt would sit here holding Thomas until he was old and grey if he thought it would bring even an ounce of comfort to the other boy.
As Thomas’s sobs finally begin to quieten out he sniffs. “Sorry for getting your shirt wet,” he says into Newt’s shoulder. His voice sends vibrations down Newt’s neck and Newt feels himself blush at the feeling.
“It’s okay,” says Newt. He pulls away from the hug and looks at Thomas. God he’s beautiful, even as a tear stained snotty mess he’s beautiful. How can someone who has just been crying for ten minutes look that damn beautiful? Newt bites his lip. Now is not the time to be thinking about his colossal crush. “You think you’ll be able to sleep?”
“Doubt it,” says Thomas lying back down and patting the pillow inviting Newt to lie with him.
Newt hopes Thomas won’t be able to make out his blush in the dark room. “Me neither,” he says lying down beside him.
Newt studies Thomas. He toys with asking him if he wants to talk about why he was crying but he feels Thomas would literally rather talk about anything else. Newt knows there’s times when you need to talk about these things and there’s times when you need to be distracted from them and tonight Thomas needs the latter.“Wanna play a game?” asks Newt. “It might help us sleep.”
They are lying together in Thomas’s bed facing each other and sharing a pillow. Newt’s face is so close to his own that Thomas can smell the toothpaste on his breath. Even in the lowlight of the bedroom Newt’s hair shines golden on his head. Thomas’s sleepy brain thinks it’s almost like a halo. Like an angel. He’s pretty sure Newt is the closest thing to an angel he’ll ever see. Realising that Newt asked him a question and he just lay there staring at him and not answering Thomas bites his lip awkwardly and nods. “Okay, what game?”
“Twenty questions?” suggests Newt. “You’ll be good at this, practically everything that comes out of your mouth is a question. I don’t think I heard you make a statement until your third day in the glade.”
“Do I really ask that many questions?”
“Did you just ask a question about asking questions?”
Thomas simply sticks his tongue out at Newt like a child and Newt thinks it should be impossible for him to look as cute as he does.
“I’ll start,'' says Thomas. “What’s your favourite colour?”
“Yellow,” answers Newt instantly. “What’s yours?”
“Blue,” says Thomas. “Basic I know.”
“Well at least you’re sticking to your brand then,” teases Newt and Thomas gives him a gentle shove.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a rude little shit?”
Newt smirks. “Once or twice,” he admits. “My turn.”
“Hey,” says Thomas. “No it’s not.”
“You just asked me if anyone ever called me rude.”
Thomas scowls at him and it’s even cuter than when he stuck out his tongue. “Go on then,” he says.
Newt has so many things he wants to ask Thomas but he also knows Thomas basically only has less than a week of his life that he remembers so it’s hard to know what to ask him. There’s one question that is burning the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t feel brave enough to ask it yet. He wants to ask what the deal is with Teresa but he feels uncomfortable asking that. If Thomas gives him the answer he doesn’t want to hear then he’ll know his little massive crush he’s developing on Thomas can never go anywhere and he isn’t ready to kill that dream yet. “If I didn’t make you a Runner what job would you have liked in the glade?” asks Newt instead.
Thomas bites his lip as he thinks and Newt’s heart is hammering in his chest. How can he be so fucking cute doing basic ass things? It’s not fair.
“I liked working in the gardens with you,” he says finally.
“Yeah, but you were shit at that.”
“Maybe but it meant I got to spend the day with you.”
“You’d want to work in the gardens just to spend time with me?” Newt can’t believe he’s hearing this. What the hell does that mean?
Thomas smirks. “You just double questioned me. That’s not allowed, Newtie.”
“Fuck you,” says Newt and Thomas laughs quietly into his pillow trying not to wake the others.
“Since you asked an unauthorised question,” teases Thomas, his chestnut eyes mischievous as he winks at Newt. “I don’t have to answer it and it’s my turn again.”
Newt just rolls his eyes. He can’t believe him. Of course he would find a loophole to not answer the most interesting question of them all.
“Were you and Alby a thing?” asks Thomas and Newt is taken aback by the abruptness of it all. Thomas really did just go for it with his questions.
“Yes,” he says. “We ummm we were together for eighteen months. We broke up a couple of weeks before I had my ummm my accident and hurt my leg.” Newt hopes that Thomas’s next question isn’t about how he broke his leg or even worse why he and Alby broke up because he really doesn’t want to get into that right now. How can he even begin to explain to Thomas that Alby broke up with him because he was never able to tell Alby that he loved him? How can he explain to Thomas that he doesn’t even know why he couldn’t tell Alby he loved him? How can he explain to Thomas that those three words seem like the hardest to say in the English language and that he doesn’t even know why? There’s a memory deep inside Newt’s skull that he can’t access that holds the reason why he can’t say those words but he can’t remember it and it haunts Newt daily. He isn’t in love with Alby anymore but he was once but he couldn’t tell him that and Newt fears that he’ll never be able to say those words to anyone.
He expects Thomas to ask him another question but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. “Alby was a good man.”
“Yeah,” admits Newt. “He was.”
Thomas gives him a soft smile. “Your turn.”
Since Thomas asked about Alby Newt figures it’s free game to ask about Teresa. “What about you and Teresa?”
“She was in my memories when I got some of them back,” says Thomas. “I don’t know what we had before the maze but I think we… I think we might have been more than friends? I’m not sure though. She’s pretty and funny and smart and all but I don’t know how I feel about her. I know I like girls but I… I dunno.”
Newt’s heart sinks at Thomas’s answer. It wasn’t a firm admission that he liked Teresa but it was close enough to one. And he said he likes girls. Of course he does. Newt doesn’t really feel like playing games anymore. This was a stupid idea. He should have just stayed in his own bed…
“Do you like girls?” asks Thomas.
Newt shakes his head no. Why would Thomas ask him if he likes girls when he knows he’d been with Alby? Wasn’t it obvious he therefore liked boys? Then it clicks. Maybe.. Just maybe. There’s another question he can ask. One final question and it will let him know if his stupid little crush can ever go any further. “Do you like boys and girls?”
Thomas smiles. “Yeah, I’m bisexual.”
The small flame of hope continues to flicker in Newt’s heart.
They continue to question each other into the night and when Newt asks Thomas if he prefers cats or dogs and he doesn’t answer he realises Thomas has closed his eyes and seems to have fallen asleep.
As gently as he can without disturbing Thomas he tries to get out of the bed but Thomas’s amber eyes flutter open and meet his own. “Stay?” he asks, barely a whisper. If Newt wasn’t looking directly at him he might have thought he hadn’t spoken at all.
Newt gives him a soft smile. There’s an errant curl sticking up over Thomas’s ear and he brushes it back with his fingers. “Sure.”
Thomas returns the smile before scooting over on the bed to give Newt some more room. The bed really isn’t big enough for two grown men to sleep but neither of them care. Newt finally finds a position that’s comfortable and just as he starts to drift off he feels Thomas’s arm drape around his middle. “Thanks, Newt,” he says softly. “I really needed you tonight and thank you.”
With Thomas’s arm around him, and his breaths tickling his neck, sleep comes to Newt quickly and he sleeps better than he has since waking up in the damn box over three years ago.
***
21 days after that night in the Last City
The Safe Haven
Newt blearily opens his eyes and he’s met with the golden sunlight filtering through his canvas curtains and he groans. He takes his blanket and pulls it over his head. He always hated the sun and that was long before he had heard of solar flares or the scorch. It was far too bright and cheerful and all Newt wanted was to lay in the darkness and never get up again. He reaches across the bed but is only met with a cold mattress. He isn’t used to waking up alone yet.
He sighs and opens his eyes. Under the blanket he looks at his bare arms. There’s no sign of sickness anymore. Not even a scratch. The once black and inky veins that trailed up his arms like spider webs are gone and his skin is milky white.
Newt hates his arms.
He hates that he’s here.
He hates that he’s okay.
Healthy.
Alive.
When Thomas’s side of the bed is cold and vacant.
“Newt?” calls a familiar voice from the doorway.
“Go away,” replies Newt.
“Come on buddy,” says Minho, who is absolutely not going away. Newt hears him walking into the hut. “You gotta get up.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Newt,” says Minho again and Newt feels the bed dip as Minho sits down in the corner. “Come on man, I’m… I’m worried about you. How about we go and get something to eat and go for a walk on the beach?”
Newt doesn’t respond. Maybe if he just stays really still Minho will think he’s fallen asleep and he’ll leave him alone…
He feels a hand shake his shoulder.
No such luck then…
“Newt,” says Minho again. “Newt, for me?”
“Go away, Minho,” says Newt. “Please.”
“Come on man,” says Minho again, not taking no for an answer, gripping the blanket and trying to tug it away from Newt’s head. “Fry’s making a big batch of that porridge with the berries that you like and it’s a glorious day. We can go for a walk and you’ll feel better.”
Something bursts inside of Newt and he sits up suddenly in the bed. Minho flinches but Newt doesn’t comment on it. How is a bowl of oats and a stroll on the beach supposed to make him feel better? “What part of fuck off are you not getting Minho?” he yells. “I don’t want to have fucking breakfast, I don’t want to go on a fucking walk and I don’t want to fucking talk to you. Just leave me the fuck alone!”
Minho doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Newt but it’s not a look of anger, it’s not the snarky look he gives before he’ll say something sarcastic. Newt has seen this look before.
It’s the same look he gave him the morning he found him crumbled on the maze floor with a broken leg.
Minho stands and walks towards the door but he pauses at the doorway, his shaking hand clutching the frame. “I miss him too,” he says so quietly Newt almost doesn’t hear him. Minho turns to face him and there’s tears in his eyes. “I lost him as well, Newt… And I… I can’t lose you too.”
Before Newt can say anything he’s gone. He knows he should go after him but he feels anchored to the bed. Minho doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t. But Newt just can’t bring himself to get up. He just can’t.
Instead Newt curls back up in his bed and cries until he falls back asleep.
When Newt wakes up again it’s starting to get dark. He sits up in the bed and doesn’t look over at the empty side. There’s a plate with a sandwich on his bedside table and a glass of water. His stomach lurches at the thoughts of the food but he knows he should eat so he gingerly picks up the sandwich.
He replays the argument he had with Minho in his head over and over. He’s been so wrapped up in his head that he never really even thought about how Minho must be feeling. Minho had spent six months being tortured by WCKD daily and he’s finally rescued by his friends and not fifteen minutes later Thomas is…
Newt puts down his plate, he can’t eat anymore. Newt isn’t sure how long it has been since that night in the Last City. He thinks it’s been about three weeks but he can’t be sure all he knows is he’s spent all the time just lying in this bed and Minho has needed him and he needed Minho and he kept pushing him away.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and reaches down and pulls on his boots. He needs to find Minho.
The air is cold and Newt wraps his jacket, Thomas's jacket, tightly around him. It smells of musk, smoke and Thomas and Newt can't stop wearing it. It makes him feel closer to him somehow.
He has to find Minho. They're both grieving. He knows that and he can't push Minho away, not now. If Thomas was here he'd fix things. He'd make things better. He'd stop Newt from saying awful things.
But Thomas isn't here.
That's the point.
Everyone is sitting together by the fire and Newt feels overwhelmed by so many people. They are laughing and joking and he just doesn't get it. How could anyone be this carefree? This happy? When Thomas is...
Newt feels his chest constrict and he feels sick. The urge to run back and go to his hut burns through him but he has to find Minho.
Minho is sitting away from the others on his own and Newt's chest tightens again for a different reason. He bites his lip and looks back at his hut before crossing the beach and making his way towards his friend.
Minho doesn't look at him as he sits down beside him.
"Hey," says Newt.
"Hey." Minho is playing with the food in his bowl. "Fry's stew is as good as ever."
"Some things never change."
"Good that."
Minho continues to play with his food and Newt doesn't know what to say. He looks over at the others at some of the younger Immunes running around and playing games. They have their childhood back.
Thomas gave them that.
Thomas gave them everything.
"I should have ran," says Minho suddenly.
"What?"
"That night at the Right Arm. I should have ran. I stayed back and didn't follow you guys. If I'd just ran... if I'd followed you and Thomas I wouldn't have been hit with that launcher and I wouldn't have been captured and you guys never would have spent all those months trying to get me back... You wouldn't have broken into WCKD and Thomas..."
Newt sighs through his nose. "None of this is your fault. None of it and don't bullshit me like that we both know Tommy..." Newt freezes, "we both knew Tommy he... He was always going to take on WCKD. They still had Sonya and Aris and the others and he never would have left them there."
Minho nods and puts down his food. "He would have loved this place," he says.
Newt wraps himself up tighter in Thomas's jacket. His scent is getting weaker and Newt hates it. He thinks there will be a day soon when the coat won't smell like him at all. "Yeah," he says.
Minho looks at him. He opens his mouth to say something but seems to think better of it and says nothing.
"I'm so angry at him," says Newt. "So so angry."
"Newt-
"How could he do that Minho? How? How could he give up everything for me? Why Minho? He... Why would he do that?"
Minho shuffles closer to Newt and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “We both know why.”
“I hate him,” says Newt, his voice breaking. “I really hate him. How could the bastard think… How could he think for one minute that I’d want him to-to give up so I could live? What would make him think I’d want that, Minho? I just… I don’t get it.”
Newt can feel hot tears rolling down his cheeks and he wipes them away with the sleeve of Thomas’s jacket. “And now… Now I’m here. I’m here in fucking paradise except it isn’t paradise because all I want.. I just want… I never needed paradise… I’d have… I’d have followed him anywhere Minho… All I ever wanted… all I ever needed was Tommy.”
Minho pulls him closer. “You loved him.”
“I never even gotta tell him that.”
“He knew.”
Newt thinks back to that night outside the church before they left to save Minho and he sniffs. “I’m not… I’m not sure he did.”
Minho is about to ask what he means when Vince calls for their attention. He’s standing in front of that big ass stone that he got Gally, Fry and some of the other Immunes to drag to the common area in the afternoon.
“I promise my speeches won’t become a nightly occurrence,” he starts and there's a rumble of polite laughter in the crowd. Vince waits until there’s silence again and he looks out over all the survivors, his gaze seems to linger on Newt and Minho and he gives them a rueful smile before continuing. “We have come a long way together. So many have sacrificed so much to make this place possible. Your friends, and your family. So here's to the ones who couldn't be here,” his gaze falls back to Newt and Minho again and the empty space between them that should be filled with Thomas feels colder than ever. Newt looks down at his feet and Vince carries on. “Here's to the friends we lost. This place is for you. It's for all of us. But this,” he gestures to the stone behind him. “This is for them. So in your own time, in your own way, come make your peace. And welcome to the Safe Haven!”
Cheers echo out in the crowd and cups and glasses are raised in celebration. It’s too loud, it’s too cheerful, it’s too fucking much.
“I’m sorry,” breathes Newt as he rushes to his feet bad leg be damned and sprints down the beach.
Minho makes a move to follow him but Jorge puts a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder. “Let him go, hermano,” he says.
Minho watches Newt’s retreating frame get further and further away and he sighs. Jorge leads him back towards the others but laughing and joking is the last thing on Minho’s mind.
Newt runs until the pain in his leg won’t let him go any further and he collapses on the sand. How is this fair? How is any of this fair? And how is a goddamn rock in the middle of the beach supposed to make him feel better that Thomas is gone?
Newt curls up in on himself and stares out at the sea.
He doesn’t understand how the others can just… move on. How can they? How can he ever move on?
Newt remembers that when he first came up in that box almost four years ago he had a hopeful fire burning within him that they would make it out of the maze someday and he would be able to live a happy life. He remembers how every day he spent there that the flame within him became weaker and weaker until that one day in the maze when he jumped and it fluttered out completely.
Newt never thought he’d get that fire back.
And then a scared little Greenie came up in the box and ran across the glade before face planting in the grass. Newt smiled weakly at the memory.
The fire inside him reignited that day and with every second he spent in Thomas’s company it grew bigger and bigger.
Tommy was his lifebuoy in a turbulent sea.
Tommy was his shining star in a dark sky.
Tommy made him believe that he could have a future.
That they could have a future.
Not anymore.
Tommy was the reason he was still alive.
And Newt was the reason Tommy was dead.
Newt stuffs his hands into the pockets of Thomas’s jacket and his fingers brush against something hard. He pulls out the figure Chuck had made all those months ago in the maze.
Tommy had kept it even after all this time. Of course he had.
Newt’s fingers brush over the carved figure. He wonders for a moment what Tommy would do if he was here and Newt wasn’t and with that thought he sighs and gets to his feet. His leg hurts like a bitch but he has to do this.
It’s dark by the time he gets back to camp and a lot of people have already gone to bed. Two torches burn either side of the remembrance stone and a knife and hammer has been left there for people to carve names. Newt studies the stone.
Chuck
Alby
Winston
Rachel
George
There’s a lot of names he doesn’t recognise but the most important name hasn’t been carved yet.
Newt almost slices his hand off at least three times as he’s carving and he can almost hear Thomas laughing at him.
Almost.
When he’s finished he drops the tools to the sand and looks at the freshly carved name.
Tommy
He traces over the letters with his finger before pressing his forehead to the cold stone.
His breath hitches and he can feel the tears streaming down his face.
He finally says the words that he could never say when Thomas, his beautiful, brave, perfect, idiotic fool Tommy was standing in front of him.
“I love you Tommy.”
***
The WCKD Compound
Teresa stands with Ava and Janson and they are all looking in through the glass at the lab room.
They are all discussing the serum and its potency and other factors but honestly Teresa hasn’t heard a word since they stopped in front of his room.
She doesn’t remember ever seeing him so still. Even when he was asleep he was always twisting and turning or mumbling nonsense words but now…
He’s just lying there.
He was sedated of course. He’s been out since they brought him here. But it doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right.
She looks at the full blood bag that has been drained from him.
They’ve taken too much already.
They keep taking and taking.
They’ve always just… took.
She thinks of her mother and how Thomas’s blood could have saved her.
How Thomas’s blood could save everyone.
But as she looks at his prone form on the small bed in his room.
For the first time since all of this started Teresa doesn’t think it’s worth it.
"Teresa?"
The sound of her name wakes her from her thoughts and she jumps.
Ava gives her a concerned look and puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. She goes to say something but Janson cuts over her. "We are going to give its body 48 hours to recover and then we are beginning Phase 2 of extraction."
Its body…
"His name is Thomas," says Teresa.
"Oh she speaks," says Janson, his tone icy. "His name doesn't matter. He's WCKD property."
Teresa hates him. She hates him so much.
"You are treating him like he is some sort of lab rat," says Teresa pulling her cardigan tighter around herself.
"I don't remember you having a problem with our methods when it was Minho," says Janson.
"Enough", says Ava. "Both of you. We cannot waste time arguing. We shall work on the serum with the blood we have and we will work on developing both a cure and a vaccine. We will give Thomas time to recover and we will get our next donation in a week when we begin Phase 2. The boy in there is our last chance at saving humanity and we will treat him with respect."
Teresa feels a sense of victory that Ava berates Janson but it’s a hollow victory. Ava is still happy to drain Thomas after all…
Teresa looks in at Thomas once more in the room. He looks so small in the bed and his skin is impossibly pale. She feels sick.
"I've a headache," she says suddenly. “I’m going to bed.” And she turns away and begins walking down the hallway. She can't look at him anymore. Not like this.
Ava watches her walk away and sighs she turns to Janson. "You have zero tact."
Janson ignores her comment. "What do you mean a week until the next extraction?”
Ava gapes at him. “Thomas has lost a lot of blood he is going to need time to recover before we can take more. Even a week isn’t long enough in my opinion but we cannot waste more time than that.”
“We can’t waste a week just letting it sleep.”
“I understand that you and Thomas never got along but now is not the time to take your sick injustices out on him. If you want us to be able to develop a cure we must treat him with respect and not like an object.”
Janson’s anger boils over. “You cannot be serious.”
“Just let him rest, Janson. Please,” says Ava with a shake of her head. “Now, I’m going to bed. I don't have the energy for this right now,” she states walking away in the opposite direction to Teresa.
The door to Thomas's room opens and a doctor walks out. "Sir, we are finished with the withdrawal from today. The subject is ready to rest now."
"No," says Janson. "Take another half pint."
"But sir-"
"Will taking another half pint kill it?"
The doctor shakes his head. "No but the long term effects of taking so much blo-
"The quality of its life is of no concern to me as long as it will survive the procedure then proceed with another withdrawal," he says and he begins to turn away when he senses the doctor hasn't moved he turns to face him. "That is an order, doctor."
The doctor sighs and hangs his head. "Yes sir."