A/N: Just a notice, I'm not writing a lot of what Thomas (and friends) go through because well it's already written in the book :P Like Gally and the Right Arm and stuff. I also changed the plot a little because well.
Thomas woke up as they were landing in Denver.
He took a moment to take in his surroundings, tighten his arms around Newt - who was already awake, looking at him with forlorn eyes.
"Come on, Tommy. Time to go," Newt whispered, voice cracking a little, but his hands didn't loosen their grip on Thomas' arms.
They'd discussed this briefly before - Thomas and the others would seek out the doctor, and they'd bring him back to the Berg for Newt. After the decision they'd looked at Newt worriedly, like he was something fragile, and he was going to break any second. He hated it.
So, he agreed to stay and "recover" in the Berg.
Newt didn't believe one second of it.
That didn't make leaving him any easier though, but he put on a slight smile, and all but pushed them out of the Berg. Before they left, he shared one last parting kiss with Thomas, and though they were coming back, he was almost sure of it, it tasted like memories and salt and the bittersweet of goodbye.
He shut the door of the Berg after that, with force he hadn't intended on, and the bang echoed through his head.
Then he sat, against the corner where Thomas and him had slept, staring blankly at his surroundings. The ransacked storage compartment. A overturned bottle decorated by specks of dirt. A tiny bit of torn cloth where someone's shirt had been stuck in some obscure corner in their haste to get out. The smell of dirt, of sweat, and the thin, cold feeling of loneliness. Like the aftermath of a hurricane, an apocalypse.
They'd brought everything remotely theirs with them. It didn't feel like they'd nearly escaped death, a few thousand times. That they'd shared everything they could have known with each other - the bonds, the friendships and experiences that gave they who had nothing something to hold on to, something, someone, to rely on, that told them they always had someone to watch their back, to catch them when they fall. The connections built upon loss, love, and faith, the love, the emotional tethers that screamed family. Everything left was nondescript; could belong to anybody. Was just there. Newt felt like that too.
There was a gun, he had a gun, which for reasons he didn't know, but at the same time knew all too well, he clutched on to tightly. Just in case, Thomas had told him, before slipping it into his hands, just in case somebody finds you. Stay here, don't die, you hear me? You're going to be alright. We'll come back as soon as we can, you won't even notice. But he sounded more like he was comforting himself.
With nothing better to do, Newt recounted all their experiences, touches, kisses. He turned the gun over and over again in his hand, closed his eyes, pretended he was safe, they were safe. He didn't let himself think about what could be happening to Thomas, to Minho, to all of his friends. When that wasn't enough, he closed his eyes, and he slept.
Minutes turned into hours. Hours turned into days. Maybe. He wasn't sure. He'd lost track of time, and with that, lost track of his thoughts, his mind. The blinding headache turned into a numb throb. He got used to the nausea. Everything was slow. Fuzzy.
The dark thoughts started to return. But this time, he wasn't scared, wasn't ashamed. He felt calm, numb, passive. Nothing could hurt him anymore. Thomas, Minho, they were out there, searching for a cure. They were immune. He wasn't, but that was alright. He didn't need to be protected. He didn't want to be protected.
Thomas could find someone else, someone better. Someone immune, healthy, just like him. It was alright. He was alright. No, no. Thomas didn't need him anymore. It was fine. Everything was fine.
He bit into his finger, too hard, the coppery blood almost sweet in his mouth. Goodbye, he wrote on the floor. A small, tiny, part of him thought of how Thomas would feel when he came back. But it didn't matter. He would be gone, he wouldn't hurt them anymore. That was alright.
Numbly, he stood, and opened the door of the Berg. The sun was bright outside, and it was painful for a second. He took the gun with him, it just seemed necessary. He staggered into the city, looking for something, anything, and followed where his legs led him.
More time passed.
He hadn't been planning on it, but it happened.
"Newt?"
He swivelled his head around. He recognised it, recognised the voice. Recognised the twinge of pain that came with it, came with hearing his name, and that voice that once belonged strictly to him. He saw him, too. Saw the boy he'd sold his soul to, that he'd trusted with all his heart. Saw the sweat, the pain, the tough, courageous exterior and the warm, pure heart underneath. He almost doubled over at the sight of him, so many emotions he hadn't felt in too long a time overwhelming him.
"Tommy?" His voice came out rasped.
"Look at yourself. What have you done?" Thomas whispered, eyes wide, something in them that Newt hoped was hatred, betrayal, disgust even. But it was pity. It was pity, for him, for the boy he'd once told was the strongest person he knew.
And Newt looked. For the first time since they left, he really did.
He saw himself, hair messed, dirty, coated in a layer of sweat and dust and dirt and god knows what he'd trudged through. Bloodshot eyes, infected cuts, scratches he hadn't bothered about. Dried blood underneath his fingernails, in his clothes, someone else's or his own he didn't quite know. He was like them, he was just like the other Cranks, the ones he'd hated so much and been sure he wouldn't become. He was one of them.
Thomas stepped forward, and in a moment's haste he scrambled back. Hurt flashed on Thomas' face. Newt couldn't handle it, it was too many emotions, too much hurt, hatred, love, longing all combined, so he did the only thing he knew how. He pushed them away.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, to himself, to his Tommy he'd sworn he wouldn't leave behind. "Please, Tommy, leave me alone. I'm one of them. I'm a Crank now. I'm sorry."
"Please, Newt, just come with us. You don't have to be like that, I promise." Newt closed his eyes, because he knew he wouldn't be able to do it while looking into Thomas'.
"I'm not like you, Tommy. I'll never be. Not all of us will live," he took a deep breath, raising his voice. "Some of us aren't immune. Some of us are human."
"Don't do this, Newt. I love you, I always will. We can do this, we can make you better, I promise, Newt. I promise."
"Don't make promises you know you can't keep. There's no cure, you know that, don't you? You can't save everyone; you can't save me." He was angry now, angry at Thomas, at his love, at the sacrifices he was willing to make, because doesn't he know there is no cure? And if he really loved him, he would have-
He would have-
"YOU DON'T LOVE ME, THOMAS, YOU NEVER DID. I can't believe I trusted you, LOVED YOU all this time. I hate you. Get away from me." Thomas didn't budge, but Newt didn't care now. He shoved, shoved the one person he thought he loved, because all of it was fake. Thomas didn't love him. Nobody did.
"I poured my bloody heart out to you, Thomas! I really loved you, but I guess you never did, huh. I never want to see you again, you heard that? Never. I can't believe you. I can't believe myself. All those things we did together, was that nothing to you? I said leave. LEAVE. Never come back. PLEASE!"
Behind blurry tears, he saw the boy he loved turn, and run, away from him, away from his broken heart.
"I hate you," he whispered to himself, "I hate you, Tommy. You were everything to me. Everything. I hate you."
~
A/N: Okay well that was an emotional rollercoaster god I'm hurting right now. I wanted to write this from Newt's perspective and the you'll find out why he felt numb and stuff in like a few chapters' time. But seriously, this fucking hurt me. Ouch.
In other news, HI :D I'm finally back and updated woohoo yay. I'd just like to put it out there that I'm a lazy shit that never a) writes in advance and b) edits my writing. I'm sorry.
You know, I sometimes read my old writing and cringe so hard because oh god ew me, or even any of my writing tbh, old or new, but it just feels right when I write it and all the EMOTIONS and stuff yes and that's why I love writing :)
QOTC: What fandoms are you in? :P
AOTC: Well, tmr obviously, teen wolf too, and the phandom (I almost got tabinof yesterday but guess what it was out of stock woohoo), 5sosfam, fob (slightly) and pll (slightly). But I plan on watching spn (oh god help me) and some other stuff too. FEEL FREE TO DM ME ABOUT ANY OF THESE/ANYTHING SO WE CAN FANGIRL TOGETHER :D
So anyways thanks for reading! I'm really really sorry for the late update. But I hope you liked this, because I sure did. Oh, the joy. But please vote if you did, and comment your feedback. Lots of love x
jk i'm crying