The Tributes of Twelve | Newt x Reader

35 | Alternate Ending Part 10

"Of course," I reply, and he grins.

"When are we moving?" he asks.

"As soon as possible," I answer, "but we'll have to get everything out of this place and into the Village."

I can see my father bite his lip out of the corner of my eye. "How are we going to get everything over there, y/n?" he asks.

"I-uh..." my voice trails off. It would take hours to carry everything over, and besides, my father and Chuck might not be able to last the trip with heavy materials in their arms.

"I have an idea," I hear behind me, and I swivel around to see the owner of the accented voice. Newt. Who else would it be?

"Hey, Newt," I say. "We were just discussing how we're going to get-"

He holds up a forefinger to silence me. "Got it buggin' covered, love," he says, and in reply to my questioning look, he says, "I've got a horse and cart to collect my stuff tomorrow, and I decided to get one for you, too."

"Thanks," I reply and engulf him in a hug, which goes on for far too long before my father coughs behind us and I pull back sadly.

"So, tomorrow, then?" I ask, and he grins before kissing my forehead.

"Tomorrow, love," he agrees, and I can hear the gust of wind as the door slams shut on his way out.

•••

I'm back in the arena. Although this time, it's not the same as it was before. No, this time, all the tributes that died are now alive, their rabid eyes boring into mine. I look around to see Newt, but he's not beside me.

"It's your fault we died, y/n!" Harriet tells me, and Alby nods in agreement. "If it weren't for you, we'd be happy!"

I can see Gally's lips twist into a smirk. "No, y/n's too selfish for that. She'd always put her life above someone else's. She's too weak."

"I-" I begin, but find I can't continue.

"Bloody right," I hear a British accent drawl, and turn around to see Newt. "It's your fault these innocent tributes are all dead, y/n! Or should I say, love?" he smirks tauntingly, and he reaches his hand up to stroke my cheek. I shiver at his unloving touch.

"You said you loved me," I mutter in a small voice, and immediately hate myself for being so weak.

"Well," Newt laughs, the normally happy sound cutting through the air like a knife. "I lied."

"HEY!" I hear a voice yell. "Y/N!" I feel myself jerk awake and see Chuck looking at me, his brown eyes glittering with worry. "You were shouting Newt's name in your sleep," my brother murmurs.

"I-" I shake my head at the nightmare, trying to clear my mind of Newt's words and his terrible, terrible laugh. "I'm fine now, Chuck," I lie weakly, "go back to sleep, shuck-face. It was just a dream."

Chuck frowns, but lays back down. "Goodnight, klunkface," he says.

I try to let out a laugh. "Goodnight, slinthead."

Despite Chuck bidding me a goodnight, I don't manage to get back to sleep. My brain throbs and I feel pain tighten in my stomach at the thought of the gaunt faces of the tributes. The blank darkness makes it worse, and I'm relieved when light finally begins to stream through the windows.

Chuck yawns beside me. "Ready to move into a new house?" I ask, and shake him.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he replies, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

About six seconds later, I hear a knock at the door, then an accented voice call out, "y/n!"

"Newt," I grumble, then louder, "just a second!"

I slip one foot out of bed and shiver at the cold. I slip a warm jacket on my shoulders and jump out as quickly as possible. I walk over to the front door, leaving my brother swathed in blankets, and open the door to reveal Newt standing there, hands in his jacket pockets. He takes my hand and kisses it once again, and I sort of melt.

He leans closer into me and whispers in my ear, "have I ever told you how bloody beautiful your bed hair looks?"

Whoa. I blush. "No, I don't think you have," I respond, trying to keep calm.

"Are you shanks aware that I can hear you both perfectly?" Chuck asks from behind me, sounding vaguely sick.

Newt grins. "Thanks, buddy!" he yells to Chuck.

"No problem," Chuck responds, and then says, more hopefully, "can we leave yet?"

"Sure," Newt responds, "go wake your father and collect as much stuff as you can carry at once."

As Chuck runs off, I turn to Newt and bite my lip. "You don't have to do this, you know," I tell him, but he just smiles.

"I want to," he replies, "and besides, we're both rich now, aren't we?"

"I guess so," I mutter as I walk into the house to collect more things to bring with us. Needless to say, he follows me in. "I guess so."

•••

An hour later, the four of us are seated inside the cart, scarce bags of belongings sitting around us. We didn't bring as much as I originally thought we would. We've brought sentimental things, pieces of clothing, jewellery, old figures carved out of wood, photographs with tarnished silver frames and pieces of scrap paper, books with hard leather covers.

Newt tells me that his family will already be setting up his new home, near mine. His family and Minho will be our only neighbours.

The ride there also takes a shorter time than I thought, and Newt jumps out of the cart to offer me a hand getting out. I laugh and take his hand.

Maybe this new life won't be so bad after all.