31 - Give Or Take

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A/N: Hey guys! So this kinda marks the end of TST and we're moving on to TDC (where the thing happens). I know there's a bunch of stuff like the fights that I just skipped over but I don't see the point in rewriting everything again so yeah.

Thomas woke up in a white room.

Third time now, he'd woken up in completely unfamiliar surroundings. He's not that surprised. It's kinda annoying.

He's still exhausted from fighting the lightbulb monsters, exhausted from arriving here, wherever he was. He would be content to just sleep, but still, he looked around. There was virtually nothing else - just him, the bed, and walls.

White, white walls.

The white blinded his eyes.

He closed them, and went back to sleep.

Everything was blurry. 

Thomas knew this kind of dream - it was one of his memory dreams. He waited to see what happened.

When his vision cleared, he was in a room he hadn't seen before. White walls, white lights, white bed. He was older this time, a young teenager. 

There were lights above the bed, and trays of tools. Surgical tools. A loaded syringe placed precariously on its side, silver liquid inside.

A blonde boy lay, in the bed, restless. Newt. He wasn't restrained to the bed, but he didn't move. He only looked at Thomas with big, brown eyes.

"Come on, Thomas. We're waiting," the girl beside Newt urged him on. Her voice was icy, and it reminded him of steel. It was familiar - young, but deepened by maturity. Her face was covered by a surgical mask.

Young Thomas took wavering steps towards her, eyes trained on Newt's. No, Newt whispered, almost soundless, but Thomas made it out easily. Don't do this, Tommy.

I'm sorry, he heard his younger self say.

The nurse handed him the needle. A bead of silver dripped out the top, cool against Thomas's finger. His hands shook.

"Do it or I'll kill him," the girl said coolly. Thomas choked back a sob.

"They won't do anything to you, you'll be alright," he said, voice trembling. Newt nodded, closing his eyes. He held out his hand.

Slowly, Thomas pressed the syringe against Newt's hand. He watched the silver drain down, until nothing was left. 

From a faraway place, Thomas heard screaming. 

It took him a while to realise it was him.

He sat up on his bed, cold sweat already running down his back. He coughed, choking on his scream. It took him a moment to recollect his dream. And when he did, he wished he hadn't.

He knew what was in the syringe.

He had to.

Do it or I'll kill him, the girl had said.

Do it or I'll kill him. 

He did this to him. To protect him, but he did this.

It was his fault, everything that has happened; everything that was going to happen, it was his fault.

A cold, hard feeling settled over his heart. He couldn't shake it off.

He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He created this. He made this happen.

He was shaking, and terribly. Sobs racked his body; he wasn't even sure he minded being in this horribly nondescript room anymore.

Here, he didn't need to do anything. He wanted to escape it all, escape everything he's done. 

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