The Transfers of Dauntless | Newt x Reader

15 | Bruised Knuckles and Bloodied Faces

"Shit, Minho," Newt breathes beside me.

Thomas is on the floor now, both boys breathing heavily. Minho pins him to the floor, the veins in his muscular arms visible as he holds the other boy's shoulders down, his knee still to his chest. Thomas throws a feeble punch at Minho's ear, but it's too late now - coughing, Thomas lays his hand down.

"I-I'm done," the brown-haired initiate splutters. Now that the fight is over, I can smell the scent of blood in the air. Thomas' mouth and nose bleed, as does Minho's ear.

For a second, all I hear is the heavy breathing of everyone in the room.

Until Jorge begins to laugh. "Good job, initiates," he says, and draws a white circle around Minho's name on the blackboard. Victory.

I look towards the two boys on the floor, my breath bated. Minho can't have injured Thomas badly - he wouldn't have, right? My chest tightens, and I'm desperately worried about the brown haired boy - until he starts to sit up, look around. As he looks at Minho, he smiles, his teeth more than slightly bloodied.

"I guess you won, huh?" Thomas says, dazed, and rubs his left shoulder. "You did good, then." He groans, then smiles again. "I'll beat you next time."

Minho grins too, and releases his shoulders, reaching for his hand and pulling them both up. The victor claps the other boy on the back. Hard.

"Nice one, Greenie," he wheezes, slapping him once more on the back before releasing him for the final time.

Thomas claps him on the back too, and together, they step out of the white circle. They walk slowly, both in some degree of pain. Why are they smiling? Why on earth would they be happy, when one just beat the other up?

Then I realise - this is all a game for them. Neither is severely hurt, and besides, to them, a bit of pain is a laugh. A fight could be something of a sport. No one gets truly hurt, and neither is offended. They're still friends. Perhaps a fight makes them better friends. I wouldn't know. They haven't been conditioned in the same way I have to detest violence and injuries and selfish fights. Not to mention, too, that they are different from me to begin with - they naturally seek entertainment from the danger that comes with a brawl, and I don't. And that makes them dangerous, because when it comes to ranking us, to deciding who has to become factionless, it's them, and everyone else here, who have the advantage.

***

Jorge calls for the next pair soon enough, and tells Thomas to get a cloth for his face from the nearby Dauntless hospital, if he needs it. I feel as if I should help him, but Thomas himself stops me when I make an attempt to run over and get something for him, insisting that it isn't that bad. I disagree, but I think I know him well enough to understand - he seems the type for stupid and stupidly brave choices, like taking the foolhardy risk of not letting anyone help him clean up, or indeed, clean up at all.

Newt steps up soon enough, as does Frypan, when Jorge calls them forward. I don't think this fight will last too long, either - although neither of the boys are physically incapable, well, Frypan is more of a cook, from what I've gathered, than a fighter. Although that will probably help him later on in life, it won't in this arena - although he's sturdily built, I have the feeling fighting is really not his favourite thing.

Newt is strong, I realise, physically, too. The veins tense in his muscled arms as he steps into the circle. As he sweeps the hair off his forehead and touches his bottom lip lightly, I bite my own lip and look down to the floor. Heat rises in my cheeks as I look at him.

In what feels like a very short period of time, Jorge is already yelling at them to hurry up and begin. They appear hesitant, but Newt is the first to throw a punch. His fist slams against Frypan's jaw, although it does take a second to him to prepare himself. Frypan blinks, his eyebrows twitching in apparent shock, before he retaliates - a swift, sharp punch to Newt's chest. Newt hunches over in pain, and I inhale sharply. My hands clasp together in front of me - my palms are slick with sweat.

He straightens his back, and a sense of relief washes over me - he's not hurt, not badly. Before Frypan can get a second hit in, Newt feigns towards his opponent's cheek, before striking him in the gut. As Newt thrusts his hands to Frypan's shoulders, Frypan falls to the ground, quickly pinned to the floor. He pushes up against Newt with his hands, and kicks his legs up, attempting to free himself. Once, his foot hits Newt's ankle, who has to bite down on his tongue to avoid crying out in pain.

Shuck! I bite down on my tongue, too, as his legs nearly give out. My teeth bite down so hard I can taste blood, and my hands only tighten their grip on each other. That's the worst thing Fry could have done. I'm so, so worried that Newt will collapse completely - I can see in his eyes that it hurts more than he wants to let on. To my relief, however, the pain only causes Newt to keep his arms straighter, his body tenser. He shuts his eyes, squeezing them right. His shaking breath is the only thing I can hear, until finally, finally, his eyelids open and his right leg straightens. He's okay, he's okay, he's okay, I repeat, like a mantra, in my head.

It soon becomes apparent that Frypan's attempts are futile now - Newt's arms tense on Fry's shoulders, but he's careful not to push down too hard; neither wants to truly harm the other. Fry relaxes his body, releasing the tension in his muscles. I unclasp my hands and try to calm down, too - neither is hurt, really; there's no blood, except for a small drop of red on Fry's jaw, and Newt's leg seems... better.

"Alright, shank," Frypan groans, more from physical exertion than anything else. "Time to call it quits, I reckon."

The tension in the muscles of Newt's arms releases, and he removes his hands from Fry's shoulders. He stands, his knees cracking slightly, his right leg only slightly wobbling, and grasps Frypan's hand with his own, pulling him up. Newt loops his arm around his shoulder, Frypan doing the same, and together, they limp out of the circle, both needing the support as much as the other.

Jorge circles Newt's name on the blackboard. Newt falls back to my side, Frypan next to him. Heat radiates from the boy's body, and I turn to face him, worried. If his leg's hurting, what do we do? Take him to the hospital wing, get some medication, painkillers, an ice pack?

"Are you okay?" I murmur to him, not wanting to distract Teresa and Brenda from stepping up to their fight. "Your ankle? Do you need anything for it? The hospital? And what about your chest? It might bruise - do you want to get it checked out, just in case?"

He looks at me as I ramble on, something sparkling in his eyes. It's not pain, not anger, nor anything of the sort - I can't figure it out. I bite my lip yet again as I look at him worriedly. My sentence trails off, and I look into his dark eyes expectantly.

"The bloody ankle's fine, (y/n)," he says, and I release a held breath, relieved. Then, he smiles.

And I smile, too.

****

A/N: Hi guys! Hope you enjoyed the update!

I'm so sorry it took so long - I've been really stressed lately with school and just... life, I guess. Plus I was hit with some ridiculous writer's block. But I'm gonna try to be a better author in the future, I promise (you guys can hold me to that promise!).