Wake Up

5

Happy reading!
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The next day began tense. Thomas woke up with a puffy red nose and eyes. His back ached from his sleeping position on that awful chair, and his head hurt as he contemplated skipping breakfast. An argument rose from his stomach with a loud and quite embarrassing gurgling noise. Five more minutes, he gave himself. Five more minutes.

He took the time to admire Newt again, an attempt at distracting himself from what breakfast could become. It worked well - better than any other strategy he'd been trying.

Newt's appearance continued to be one of depressing majesty. His skin was paler than ever, but his hair lay like a golden curtain. His lips still perfectly cracked. The desire to see his eyes open again was overwhelmingly aggressive in Thomas.

Thomas found himself doing this a lot recently. Something as simple as watching Newt was able to make him feel like not everything was absolute klunk. He could pretend his world wasn't crumbling to bits. Some part of him knew that Newt would wake up and that alone could be enough to comfort him.

His stomach reminded him of his promise, and Thomas reluctantly followed through. Even though he took the long way around, he still arrived sooner than he wanted. Well, sooner than his brain wanted. He cowered into the building and took the seat in front of his plate. At least Gally isn't here.

Frypan was on the other side, as always, "Hey, Thomas." He sounded concerned, pitying. Thomas hated it. "Are you doin' okay? You seemed upset yesterday and didn't eat your dinner..."

Seemed? Thomas didn't feel like responding. That little part of his brain that knew Newt was going to be okay also knew that Frypan didn't deserve the silent treatment. Eventually, he listened to it, but not very well, "I'm fine." Concise enough to get his point across. And for his weak voice to say.

"Okay," Fry bit the inside of his lip. "Well, if you want to talk about it, I'm always here. Just know that Gally is overwhelmed right now; he's not... I don't know, doing very well emotionally? He didn't really mean what he said."

Then why did he say it? The question stood in his mouth, fighting his lip barricades. His willpower was the only thing keeping him from snapping, and it wasn't very strong. But he knew that what Frypan said was true, as it always was. Gally hadn't ever been good with his - or other's - emotions, and Thomas couldn't be mad at him for that. He desperately wanted to, though. Gally should've been learning how to get better at it, not shouting every time he felt something. Thomas finished his breakfast.

"It might be a good idea to help today," Frypan recommended awkwardly.

Thomas nodded, refusing eye contact. The two migrated silently to the construction site. Only when he stepped outside for the second time did he notice the gray sky. Dark clouds crept up on the blue, and the Sun cowered behind them. A breeze picked up and ruffled his hair, brisk and relaxing. It felt like crying; something you need, but not a lot of. It was refreshing for the time being, but would probably turn into goosebumps if Thomas didn't get to work soon.

By the end of the morning effort, Thomas actually felt better. The work was able to slow down his constantly racing mind and give him something to focus on. He had a cold sweat clinging to his back, but he didn't mind. The distraction caused him to move faster and work harder. Thomas thought he almost saw a look of regret on Gally's face.

Frypan convinced him to eat lunch in the dining hall, but only because they were having soup. Thomas sat on the corner bar stool next to a Group B member who he didn't recognize. She knew him though.

"Hey, you're Thomas, right? The guy who got us here?" She sounded like she could be on the news - or she would have if she wasn't talking with her mouth full. She had scraggly, dirty blonde hair and familiar soft gray eyes. She was dressed in a gray tank top, roughed-up bell-bottom jeans, and a pale green flannel. It took Thomas a solid moment to realize her hair had been messily contorted into a bun.

Thomas waited to swallow his food, "Uhm, yeah. Sorry, but who are you?"

"That's alright, I'm Stephanie, but you can call me Steph," Thomas was right, she did sound like a newscaster, but it was somewhat comforting, in its unique way. "Luna told me about you. You go in to see that Newt guy, right? He's recovering from the Flare?"

"Uh, yes? You know Luna?" He didn't know how unsettling he should've found it that she knew so much about him.

"Oh- Luna's my baby sis. Who do you think does her French braids every morning?" Something in Thomas' brain clicked. It made a lot more sense; the resemblance was there, and Luna probably talked about her patients. Not that Thomas was one, but he was frequently in the medical building.

He let out a small chuckle, "That makes sense."
He paused for a moment to let her talk if she so desired. She did not. "Did you need something?"

Steph gulped down some water, "Not really. Just makin' conversation, you know? I probably should say thank you, so... yeah, thanks, man. For getting us here." She gave him a sincere smile that perfectly resembled Luna's. Thomas wondered how many other siblings had found each other.

He scratched the back of his neck modestly and embarrassed, "You're welcome? I don't know- I couldn't have done it without all of you."

She belted out a laugh, "Sure, be humble and all that if you want. None of us were going to get anywhere without you, though."

"Agree to disagree?" Thomas bargained with as much amusement as he could feel in his broken state.

"Whatever, man." Thomas liked her, he decided. She was funny, and that made him feel slightly better. Luna was pretty lucky to have a sister like Stephanie. She rolled her shoulders back and cracked her spine with a few loud pops, "Alright. Welp, I gotta get back to work. See-"

"They're back!" A boy burst through the door, panting. He bent over and clutched his knees. "They're back." The peace turned to chaos before the poor boy finished speaking. The squeaking of chairs against the hard wooden floor was almost unbearable if it weren't for the exhilaration of excitement. Bodies packed against each other, warm despite the biting pre-storm chill from outside. Minho's name rang in Thomas' ears - he hadn't realized how much he'd missed his best friend. The mob reached the group of former runners faster than should've been possible.

Minho was in the lead, disheveled and messy. His sneakers had dried mud latching onto them and dirty cuts and bruises were littered around his portrait. The others looked similar.
What surprised Thomas the most was what he was dragging behind him. It had more mud caked on it than every teenager in the Safe Haven combined. What Thomas realized were wheels were similarly covered in the cracked mud and had unorganized cut lines shaping imperfect circles that carved them out. Minho's hand was clasped to an all-too-short and small, black handle that came arching out the front of the item. It was a plastic children's wheelbarrow that was filled to the brim with other dirt-encased objects. It took Thomas a moment of recovery to notice that each runner had their backpacks stuffed with more than they had left with.

What in the burnt-down, horribly altered, crank-filled world had they found?
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What do you think they found?

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