sleep-warm - newtmas

mud

TRIGGER WARNINGS: depression, anxiety attacks, PTSD, guilt complex/survivors guilt, a pathetic amount of dialogue

Most days, Thomas struggled to feel like he was doing enough to have earned his place in the Safe Haven.

Everyday, Newt would cup his hands around his face and assure him that he had done so much for them, that he deserved safety just as much, if not more, than everyone else there.

His thumbs would brush away the anxious tears on Thomas' cheeks as their eyes met, both full of love for the other.

When Newt could tell that Thomas was having a really bad day, he would invite him to garden with him. It was soothing, sowing the dirt and harvesting the produce, especially when the sun was shining overhead and the two boys could work side by side, shoulders brushing.

But today it had just rained and the ground was soggy, too sticky to work with easily. Thomas was supposed to be trimming the cucumber plants, but he was busy admiring Newt as he gripped a weed and ripped it out of the ground, lean muscles rippling through skin tan from working in the sun.

Newt's hands were covered in tiny scars. Just little white lines that dotted across his knuckles and palms. When his hands were clenched around the root he was currently trying to rid the garden of, his skin would pull taut against his bones and his scars would become even more noticeable.

Newt has spoken to Thomas before about how insecure he was about his scars, about how they made him feel less than perfect. Thomas had shaken his head and kissed his hands, front and back, whispering about how beautiful and strong he was. 

The blond's hands would tremble in Thomas' grasp but he would eventually calm down and rest his forehead to the brunette's chest, tiny puffs of air ghosting over his shirt.

Thomas was so caught in his mind thinking about Newt that he accidentally stuck his hand in the muddy ground. The cold shocked him back to reality, and he immediately looked down to see his fingers coated in brown.

He shrugged it off and continued to work, not even bothering to wipe them off.

Newt crouched beside him, a half smile breaking his usually serious expression when his partner pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. The same cheek Thomas had routinely wiped tears from after sleepless nights of awful dreams or days feeling worthless and sad. 

There was rarely much speaking those days. Both boys knew what the other needed when in a bad place, and they would give it without hesitation. They could read each other better than anyone else.

Hours passed of thinking, working, and occasional talking between the two, and the sun had finally come out, drying up the ground they were knelt on. Newt stood and stretched out his back, rubbing a hand on his bad knee subconsciously. Though it had gotten better during their time at the Safe Haven, it would never be fully functional again. But he had accepted it now and learned to work with it, and it became less and less of a burden each day.

Thomas smiled fondly at the brown handprints on Newt's beige pants, before he suddenly felt a strange tingling feeling in his hands. He looked down at them and realized they were crusted in dry dirt, inhibiting some movement and making them feel trapped.

Thomas began to panic. He excused himself quickly and hurried to a bathroom where he began scrubbing at his hands under running water. The mud would not come off. It was caked on and fully stuck to his hands.

He sobbed, feeling claustrophobic and itchy at the feeling. He couldn't explain why he reacted the way he did, but it wouldn't go away.

Thomas was so focused on his hands that he didn't even hear the door open and click shut behind him until tanned hands covered in tiny white scars covered his in the sink, holding a rough towel. 

Newt wordlessly soaked the towel and cleaned Thomas' hands, hushing him as his sobs subsided.

As his hands cleared, so did Thomas' head.

"I... I don't know what I acted like that. I was stuck... I'm so sorry," Thomas choked out, only to be cut off by Newt shaking his head fiercely.

"Nothing to apologize for. I understand, it's okay. It wouldn't come off and  you got nervous. Nothing to apologize for," the blonde spoke softly, hands working over Thomas' in a quick but gentle manner.

Once the brunette's hands were clean the boys looked at each other with soft smiles. Thomas looked tired while Newt looked a little worried, but overall just loving.

Newt fully understand what Thomas meant when he said he was stuck. In his years in the maze, Newt felt trapped just about daily. He understood exactly how frantic it could make someone feel, how desperate.

Thomas ran his now clean hands through Newt's hair, leaning forward to embrace the blonde, who's arms circled his torso in turn. It was a familiar position and sadly a familiar feeling that accompanied it. The embrace between two men, no, boys broken, trying to hold each other together.

Traumatized was a word they had never learned, not since their memories were removed. There was no word for them to describe why they felt how they did.

Thomas didn't know what it meant to experience survivors guilt.

Newt didn't know what depression was.

So they were both left searching for the answers to their minds, to the deepest pockets of their conscience that felt empty or sometimes too full of all the wrongs things. And in those times, which were often, that they felt those places to be too much, they found each other as their answers. Because they didn't know the right words, but they knew each other.