Various Array of One Shots ✔️

Hotter Than Hell >> TST!Newt X Reader

Title: Hotter Than Hell

Paring: TST!Newt X Reader

Warnings: reader gets hurt, dehydrated, lotsa angst

Spoilers: Watch/Read The Scorch Trials and you'll be fine

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You used to think that those rare sunny days in the Glade when it got to that stinking hot humid way where the boys had to peel of their shirts to work comfortably and you sitting in the shade watching Newt work was hot.

You were so completely and utterly wrong.

Hot was your tongue, thick and dry in your mouth.

Hot was going to sleep with your mouth closed and the skin on your lips fusing together.

Hot was the intense sun, beating down on your back, heating you up like a pot of Frypan's special soup, eating you from the outside in.

All the time, you were looking to Newt in hope that he had an inkling for what the group was supposed to do, go, be - now they'd all escaped, you couldn't shake the feeling of what was happening to you all. Zart, turned into that monster they called Cranks. Everyone falling like flies where they walked from exhaustion.

"You're still awake, _________, aren't you?" You heard Newt whisper to you. It was day, and after Thomas' good idea for walking in the night, everyone was taking a kip. Well, except for you and Newt.

"I can't sleep in this heat," you whisper back.

He hums in agreement.

Turning, you see his angelic face, watching you. "I can't snuggle with you in this heat," you add, "I can't think in it, I can't eat in it. It's like hell, Newt," you shake, thinking to all the horrible things you've seen lately. Gally, Chuck. The man who looked like a rat, Group B, the nightmares that come when you finally do sleep. "What if we're already been killed, and this is hell?"

He shakes his head. "That's absurd, __________, we haven't died. We're survivors, you and I. We'll get out of here." He reaches out to trace patterns on your palm. "I promise."

If it wasn't so humid, you'd be crying hot tears now. But you aren't, and your voice hitches anyway. "How can you?" You whisper.

Newt smiles that kind smile that only he can do. "Trust me."

That night, it falls quicker than any of the other days before. And so do you. It seems tonight, your body is too tired for this. Head over heels, down the dunes, you fall, with the boys chasing after you. You can tell they want you to be left behind. But Newt doesn't allow it.

Minho and he help you walk.

As days pass, they find more water. You grow stronger.

Thomas disappears.

It's so hot.

Hotter than your feet inside socks that feel like they're swimming in sweat.

Hotter than your brain, which boils in your skull.

It's so hot, and you know everyone's feeling like this.

"Leave me here," you tell Newt after a bad collapse. "I'm useless. All my tag said was Group A, 'the air'."

Newt refuses, and Minho gives you a piggyback ride for as long as he can the rest of that night. "We need you, ________. To breathe. Without you, we can't be Gladers. We're just boys and Therese all fighting to stay alive." He pauses, and kisses your brow. "If anything, nobody needs me. I'm just a limping excuse."

You wanted to tell him no, no, Newt, you're not that, you're the one who I love, who everyone looks to. You're not worthless. I am.

But you fall asleep.

In your dreams, it isn't hot. It's...normal. You don't have memories of before the Glade, but you think they are from then. There's a screen door and a little doggy door, and an inflatable pool on the grass in the yard. In the kitchen, making the world's best grilled cheese (you wonder what that is, and how you know this food's name) is Newt, dressed in an apron. He turns to you, and passes the sandwich.

"Where's Lia?" He asks.

You frown. Lia?

A little girl runs from nowhere, and flings herself toward Newt. "Daddy!" She screams. "Sandwich, sandwich!" She chants. She's no older than three.

You can't shake it. This can't be real, it's - by the stove, Newt drops the frying pan on his foot, and you run to it, and grab the pan with your hands. It's hot, hot, hot, so hot, too hot. Hotter than hell.

You don't cry. Newt doesn't either.

"Mummy?" The little girl flickers where she stands, like a candle in a windy room. Or a hologram. "Daddy?" She looks at your hands, his foot, and screams. "Hot! Hot! Hot!"

You wake with a start.

"___________?" You hear Newt whisper. "Nightmare?"

You're not sure. Either one seems to be one.