IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- NOT LIKE THIS -

"Newt?" I repeat, voice soft, uncertain, searching. Like saying his name might stitch him back together somehow - anchor him to the moment, to me. But he doesn't answer. His head lolls, eyes glassy, far-off, like he's slipping down into some place I can't follow. I try again, desperate. "Hey, Newtie?"

The nickname lands. I watch it hit something in him - a flicker of recognition flashing behind the fog in his stare. But it's fleeting. His whole body tenses, jerks like a misfiring circuit. "You need to go, love, you need to go!" He bellows, voice cracking in panic. His limbs thrash as he twists out of my grip. The raw desperation in his voice punches the breath out of me. "Get away!"

His head snaps back. A guttural groan tears from his chest, animalistic. Not like him. Not at all like him.

My heart's hammering, my pulse thrumming wildly in my ears. I can't think. I can't think. Everything around us - the distant gunfire, the smog-choked air, the acrid scent of burning metal - presses in tighter, suffocating. But I move toward him anyway. My voice is shaking. "Newt... let's just get to the berg, okay?" The words feel right. I promised Teresa I'd wait. But at this point we're all going in the same direction anyways. They're smart enough to find us along the path. And I even if Brenda's serum doesn't last forever, it could maybe just keep Newt stable with me until the others get here... "Come on, please, Newtie- you gotta try with me here," I beg, dropping in front of him, my hands hovering over his like I'm scared he might burn me.

Another groan, deeper this time. "(Y/n)." His fingers twitch and then clamp onto my shirt in a sudden, clawing motion.

I jump. "What? What do you need?" My hands close around his wrists. His eyes, still half-wild, find mine - just for a second. Then they drop to my chest. His hand reaches up and clutches at something there.

The locket.

He clutches the silver chain, the one he gave me just several days ago. The one I swore I'd keep safe. He pulls it toward him with a trembling grip. "Good," he mutters, his voice slurring, but there's relief in it. "You keep it..."

"Newt- no- now's not the time-" I try to tell him.

"You need to keep this safe," he croaks, the words ragged, forced from somewhere deeper than breath.

My chest tightens. I feel heat rising in my face, my vision blurring with panic, confusion, helplessness. I'm falling apart and holding him together at the same time. "I will," I say, covering his hand with mine. "It's right next to my heart, Newt. It's safe. You don't have to worry. I've got it."

He leans forward suddenly, trembling hands fumbling at his own neck. I try to stop him, but he's too frantic. Too determined. The chain he wears - the one with a bronze pendant I have memorised by this point - breaks away in his fist. "I want you to give this to Tommy," he whispers, eyes darting wildly now. He shoves it into my hand like it's something sacred. "You have to."

My throat closes. I stare down at the little token lying in my palm. "No," I say, voice cracking, trying to force it back. "No, you give it to Tommy. He'll be back soon. You just have to hang on until then."

But his expression doesn't change. He's not arguing. He's pleading. "Love," Newt chokes out, barely audible. His breath is shallow now, staggered and strained. "Please."

The word crushes me.

My hands are shaking. I don't know what to do, so I clasp the pendant next to his locket around my neck. I press both of them to my heart like they'll somehow hold him together. "Okay," I whisper. "Okay, I've got it. I'll do that. Now just hold on for me. Please, Newt. Please hold on." He's breathing too fast. Too heavy. Every inhale is a struggle, every exhale a wheeze that sounds like something tearing loose inside him. His chest rises and falls in sharp, frantic jerks, like his body's trying to outrun the infection ripping him apart from the inside. "Hey- hey, hey, hey," I say, reaching out, cupping his face in both hands. His skin is burning. Too hot. Wrong. His cheeks are streaked with soot, his mouth lined in dark, oozing blood. His veins - God, his veins - they're black, spiderwebbing from his jawline, curling up the sides of his throat like something alien trying to surface. "I'm here," I whisper, and I say it again, louder this time, more for myself than for him. "You're here. I'm here. We're here."