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.
He couldn't face it.
Not when he gave Newt the Flare.
~
Newt lay awake, where he shared the room with the other survivors. He didn't think the word Gladers suited them anymore; not when more than half were dead.
Dead. Gone.
The word sounded foreign, as if perhaps they were just whisked off somewhere, somewhere better, somewhere where the Flare didn't exist.
Idly, Newt began to picture what would happen. He would be in what, high school? And all he'd have to worry about were grades and relationships.
How wonderful.
He didn't want all of this- he craved for a mundane life. And yet, he's thrown into life-threatening situations every minute.
He pictured himself to have met Tommy, one way or another. Newt believed in fate. He'd have met him somehow. In college, perhaps, or if one of them transfers. Maybe in a crowded train station. Or a nice coffeeshop down the street.
But he wouldn't have the experiences then. Wouldn't have what he had with Tommy now, or at least not in this short period of time. He realised, somewhat surprised, that he wouldn't trade this for anything.
He could feel the ghost of Tommy's lips as he drifted off to sleep.
A gun.
Black. Cold. A gun, against his forehead.
Newt took in a deep breath, shuddering with fright as he stared straight ahead. Tommy.
The gun trembled against his head. Thomas's face was inches from his, the gun tightly in his hand. Around his fingers, a stronger hand gripped.
"Kill him," a cool voice sounded behind Thomas. Newt recognised it immediately - Aris.
"Kill him, or I'll do it for you."
"No," Newt heard Thomas say, panting against him.
Newt closed his eyes, a strange sort of acceptance engulfing him. He heard his blood pulse in his ears, steady though rapid. He waited.
Newt opened his eyes, shuddering. His fingers gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers.
Just a dream, he reminded himself. The moon outside the window told him it was barely past midnight. After the Scorch, he had gotten ridiculously good at telling the time based on the moon and stars. He should be proud of that, really, but he was just tired. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
Bad idea.
The dream repeated itself over and over again, each time more intense, longer.
Until the last time.
As before, Newt waited for the gun shot. He almost relaxed; he almost knew Thomas wouldn't shoot him. He wouldn't do such a thing.
He opened his eyes, just a bit, just enough to see Thomas's finger press against the trigger.
A split second later, he heard a loud boom, and everything went black. The pain felt numb, numbed by his heart.
For the rest of the dream, he floated endlessly in a sea of black.
Kill him, he heard Aris repeating, kill him, or I'll do it for you.
~
Thomas sat with the others, in front of the Rat Man. He'd gotten out, finally, and he was as grateful for a distraction as he'd dreaded to face the rest of his life. He couldn't look Newt in the eye, at all, and though it had only been minutes before the Rat Man had made them gather together, it felt like eons.
Whenever he looked at Newt, a lump formed in his throat, and he had to look away. He should tell Newt, he knew, but he just couldn't make himself do it.
Because what if he was wrong? What if it wasn't the Flare? It was a minuscule chance, he knew, but he hung on to it like a lifeline.
It was silent when a new voice rang in his head.
It wasn't Teresa; it was bolder, louder.
Don't worry, Tom. Everything is going to be okay. Trust in me, the voice said.
Thomas was stunned for a second. The voice sounded wrong, intruding.
There was a pause. It's Brenda, it said. Just- trust me. And remember-
WICKED is good.
Thomas didn't reply. That voice; it sounded familiar in his head.
Way too familiar.
It was, wasn't it?
The girl in his dream.
It was Brenda.
A/N: I'm sososo sorry for the late update ;-; I wrote this last night at 1am so I'm not sure if its good lmao
I'm watching the #GreenieScreening live-tweet thing of TMR now HAHA and marvelling about how good the goddamn cast is ;-; someone needs to ask them about Newtmas though. Please.
Okay, back to the story. I honestly don't know where I'm going with the Brenda bit - I don't want to make her completely evil because I actually like Brenda from the books. Yeah, I'm one of those people. Suck it up. But I'll figure something out or something.
QOTC: Last movie you watched?
AOTC: Mission Impossible :> It's really good even though I didn't know what was happening for half of it
I hope I'll update soon, but I can't promise anything because of school and work and stuff... So yeah. Sorry in advance. But please give this a vote if you liked it, and comment your feedback! I love you all
(except you xingminion whenever you read this ;))