TBS AND ALL HIS CHARACTERS One-Shots

I'm not going to make it (Newt)

"What," he stated, harshly. 

"Excuse me?" I whispered, grabbing his arm quickly, pulling him to one of the corners of the room. This exchanged didn't happen without a fair share of worried looks, and a small tug from Newt. I didn't care, I needed to talk to him. 

"What am I supposed to say?" He looked down on me as I pulled him close to me, his hips were almost touching mine, long blonde hair tickled my forehead. "That I was expecting this? That I am happy to go bloody insane? That I am shucking alright with all this cluck happening to me? What the bloody hell am I supposed to say, Yn? Hmm?" He was scaring me a little, face reddening, whispers as sharp as knives. 

"What am I supposed to shucking say? That goin' out of my buggin' brain is going to be bloody pleasant? Yn, I don't even want to shucking talk about this with you..." he spat. 

"Newt. I get to talk about this shit with you. The love of my life is going to be lost, you get to fucking talk to me. I don't expect you to say any of that, but I do expect some fucking condolences," I fumed. I didn't care how crazy this all was, I deserved some respect.

His mouth hung agape, as if he wasn't expecting that reaction at all. He had to have been, he knew me, he knew I was a spitball of fire. 

But, maybe he was already going a little. 

I could tell. The past few weeks, he had been acting more and more irritable. His moods would swing, his temper would rise abnormally fast, I almost was expecting this. We had all had the flare, in my mind. I felt as if my own sanity was slipping, at times, maybe he was just progressing faster than the rest of us...?

No. He was slipping even faster than the average infected. 

The trials he had gone through the past few weeks, the starvation, mind puzzles, the darkness for hours, being alone with his own thoughts, had made the flare eat at his brain even faster than it should have. 

I was furious. They should have given him rest, they should have given him some peace, knowing what was happening to him, what was going on in his melting, little mind. 

Fucking creators. 

Tears pooled at his lashes as he frantically searched my tired eyes for something. His breaths became more and more uneven as he shook with anxiety. He couldn't handle what was going on to him anymore. He couldn't handle the trials, the pain, the hurt, the loss anymore. 

His hands flew to my upper arms, grasping them tightly as his eyebrows furrowed in worry. 

"You can't let this happen to me, baby. You can't. I can't go out of my buggin' mind. I'm jacked, I can feel myself slipping. My heart, its breaking. I can't see straight, I can't feel. I can't feel anymore, baby. I'm terrified. I don't want to go insane. You can't let it happen. I don't want it, I don't shucking want it. I want to go, Yn, I want to go. I want to go. I-I want to go."

His sudden change in behavior scared me more than ever, the way he seemed to terrified, to shaken, to broken. Sweat gathered on his brow as he spoke about needing, wanting to go. 

He was loosing it. 

"Newt," I grabbed the sides of his head as he shook with fear, my thumbs swiped the fallen tears off of his face.

Suddenly, he seemed alright. Like, none of the pervious events had occurred, like he was immune to the flare, like he could be happy. But, his eyes....

"Look, Yn," He stood, wiped his tears, slightly embarrassed, "I-I.... have to go handle that shuckface, Tommy, he's.... green," he looked at me again, once, and stumbled over to a severely shaken Thomas. He was uncomfortable, seemed annoyed to be in his own skin