So many things to say

Newt wanted to say so many things. Wanted to do so many things he would never get to experience. He wanted to see places that weren’t the Glade or the scorch, places that looked like the world had before everything went to shit. He wanted to see the sea, and mountains and real forests. He wanted to see rivers and flowers and snow, and real, normal thunderstorms where no one was killed or harmed in any way. Newt wanted to see rainbows. And animals, living and thriving, not like their cattle waiting to be killed and eaten.

Newt wanted to kiss and be loved by someone. He remembered that that’s how it was, before. People fell in love. They lived together, cared for each other, kept each other safe. They had families or didn’t, and sometimes they stayed together till one of them or both died.

Newt would never know how it felt to know someone so very thoroughly that their thoughts were yours and you didn’t even know how to breathe without the other person. Or well, that’s how he imagined relationships worked. It sounded silly and a little bit unhealthy, in his honest opinion, but still he longed. He longed for all those things he could never have. Meeting other people than the Gladers and WICKED had introduced those thoughts into his mind. Thoughts of ‘could be’ and ‘would like it to be like that’ that he had never had before. In the Glade there were just a few things of importance: Stay alive. Keep your friends alive. Of course they’d had fun too. They had struggled and grieved and fought, but they had been able to be kids too. Playing and loving. Pranking others and cuddling your very best friends late at night, when no one else could see how much you missed the parents you didn’t remember.

But Newt had never had time to think about how it would be to grow up. To live a normal life, to be happy and content and to sleep without fear.
And now he knew he never would be able to see all those things.

*

Newt was struggling to breathe. His whole body ached, every cell screaming in pain as the Flare virus ate his sanity away. Sometimes thoughts would enter his mind – thoughts he knew weren’t his. Couldn’t be his. They were violent and mean and horrible. He was thinking about hurting his friends. Killing them.

Newt didn’t want that. He pulled his hair, hissing almost silently in agony. It wouldn’t be long, he knew that. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, so he was glad that Thomas and Frypan weren’t paying attention to him right now. They were plotting or planning, Newt didn’t even care. He turned around, stepping away from the table. Letting go for just a few seconds. His thoughts were tumbling through his brain, his vision went black for a couple of seconds until he pulled himself together again. This time it was harder than the last time. It was getting worse. He choked on a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Then he turned around, ignoring Jorge’s and Brenda’s asking faces. They knew something was up. Maybe they even knew what was happening to him.

It didn’t matter, they needed to find Minho, that was the only thing that kept him going.

*

When they finally found Minho, some very small part in Newt went out. It was like before there had been this tiny flame of will. Will to live, to go on, to fight. But finding Minho extinguished that flame. Not because he wasn’t happy to see his friend again. Not because holding Minho in his arms wasn’t the second best feeling in the world (right after looking at Thomas). But because now he knew they’d be okay. This tiny group of friends he had gathered. Those who were left. Thomas and Minho. Frypan. Even Aris, Harriet, Sonya. Brenda and Jorge. Hell, maybe even Teresa.
They were going to be okay.

*

Newt knew he wouldn’t make it back out of the city. He knew he would never fly off in the Berg, or sail to new shores on that huge rusty ship like the others hoped to do.

What he hadn’t known was that it would be so painful. He wasn’t afraid of dying, had never been. Hell, there had even been a time in the Maze when he longed for death to take him. At that time, he had acted out of desperation. Hunger and stress and so much fear. They’d been in the Maze for a couple of months. Two dozen teens and pre-teens, barely capable of keeping themselves alive. Two had already died, George being one of them. And Newt wasn’t made for that kind of stuff. He couldn’t cope. He couldn’t bear to lose anyone else, go one more day without shelter, warmth, a full belly and the love of parents he knew he should have had.

He wasn’t cut out for a world like this. Still, he survived, even though at times he tried his hardest not to. He survived and fought and found friends and in them, he found a reason to live.

He survived. Up until now.

*

At first it hadn’t been too bad. He woke up with a headache. Couldn’t remember all the names of the first Gladers for a few seconds. Forgot how Alby’s face looked up close. Forgot how Frypan’s sunday stew tasted. Couldn’t remember Ben’s horrible singing and Jack’s roaring laughter after one of Chuck’s first jokes.

It got worse after that. Sometimes he looked at Minho and for a fraction of a second he didn't know who he was. He couldn't make out Tommy's laugh in a group of people's. When he realized that he had forgotten how it had felt when George had hugged him close so long ago, he almost cried. Not necessarily because he missed George so much (which he did), but because he knew that he would lose everything else too, and soon. He would forget them all, he wouldn't remember the people he loved.

The memory loss was maybe the worst, but soon after came the cramps. His bad leg hurt more than normally. His head wouldn’t stop spinning, even minutes after getting up. His fingers started shaking, just as he was about to grab Thomas’s hand. He found it hard to swallow down perfectly good food. He couldn’t sleep. And overall, he got weaker. His vision was swimming for minutes on end, and he favored his bad leg to an extent that it made his good one hurt almost worse than the broken one.

On that last morning he got up and had to run to the nearest bucket to throw up in. He hadn’t eaten much the last days, so he choked on some bile and fought the overwhelming urge to cry. He failed, sobbing silently, wishing it would just end. But it didn’t in that moment. At the end of that last day, Newt was glad that it hadn’t ended earlier. That he got a chance to see Minho again. A chance to say goodbye. But for now, he just wanted to die. To lay down and never wake up again.

To never be in so much pain again.

Newt swallowed hard, managed to get up on his third try and drank some water. There were things to do first. People to save.

*

When it felt like the blackness would overwhelm him any second now, Newt decided to stop pretending. Thomas and Minho had half carried him around the city, taking his weight, smiling, fighting, whispering words of reassurance. But this wasn’t working, and they needed to go on without him.

“Guys, guys”, he croaked out hoarsely. “Stop for a minute, will ya?”

Thomas and Minho exchanged worried looks, but lowered him down behind a street corner, away from the fights still going on around them.

Newt took a minute to catch his breath, then he looked them in the eye. He didn’t even flinch when a bomb went off just a block or so away.

“It’s time.”

“What are you talking about? Come on, Newt, let’s get going. It will be alright. We’ll fix this.” Thomas was breathing hard, he couldn’t quite look Newt in the eye.

Minho was silent for a long time, just looking at his old friend. “I’ll miss you, slinthead.”

Newt smiled thinly. That was Minho for you. “I know you will. Just take care of the others, Minho, will you? Be the leader WICKED made you out to be.” Now he was almost grinning, leaning heavily against the wall, not able to hold himself up anymore. Minho rolled his eyes, but his eyes were wet.

“What the hell are you talking about? Minho, you can’t-“

Thomas seemed upset, even more so at Minho for just… accepting this. Accepting that this was how it was going to end. Newt shushed him.

“Don’t ruin it. This is how it’s going to be, Tommy. I-“ He coughed and took a few seconds to gain complete control over his shaking body again. “I know how I look. I’m a Crank now, and I’m not coming with you, Tommy. I’m not going to. I want this to be the end, so please. Give me that.”

Thomas swallowed hard and started shaking his head, but Minho hit him gently. “Let him do this, okay?”

It felt like hours till Thomas finally nodded, not able to say just one word. Newt felt his strength draining away, and with it his control over his thoughts, body, instincts, feelings. He knew it was only a matter of time before he lost it completely. Before he would pass the Gone and never come back. Not be himself anymore.

Losing everything that was him.

“Minho, could you give us a minute?”

Minho chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I love you, Newt. We’ll run together again, when the time’s right.” He wiped his eyes angrily and pressed a rough kiss on the top of Newts head.

“We will”, Newt said, trying to smile at the person whom he had known the longest in his life. Minho shook his head, hesitated for a second, but then he left, walking away so fast he almost started running. And Newt knew that was what Minho wanted to do. Run away from all this. Oh, how he wished he could do the same.

“Eh. What was that about?” Thomas looked so confused and conflicted Newt almost laughed. Instead he dove right into another coughing fit, spitting out black blood.

“Don’t worry your little head, Tommy”, he whispered. “Minho, the slinthead just wanted to give us some privacy.” He grinned weakly and tried to sit up a little more. This was important.

Thomas jumped up to help him, holding him through another fit during which he felt like he was suffocating. His vision dimmed slightly, and for a couple of seconds he retched violently.

“Fuck, Tommy…”

Thomas looked pale and only now seemed to realise what was going on, what was going to happen.

“Newt… I don’t know what to say. What to do. Please, I want to help you…” He looked helpless and small, even though he was all that was holding Newt up at this point.

But he was still the most beautiful thing Newt had ever seen, and if he had to choose, Newt would always choose it to be like this. With Thomas.

“I don’t know either, Tommy. There is so much so say, so much I wish I had said earlier…” He sighed brokenly and touched Thomas’s cheek gently with his hand.

“I wish I would have met you earlier, Tommy.” Newt closed his eyes. He wanted to see Thomas, he really did. But the glare of the fires in the streets, the loud sounds of people shouting, screaming, dying. He just wanted it all to go away. But it wouldn’t. He wouldn’t die, if he let go now. He would go crazy, destroy things, hurt people. Kill people. And then he would die. And it would probably be even more painful and horrible than this.

“I… I don’t want to become one of them. I can’t, Tommy. You… you need to do it.” Newt opened his eyes again, squinting, when Thomas tried to move away. He looked like he was panicking, shaking and crying hard.

“Listen, you need to kill me. It’s the only way. You’re my friend, Tommy. Can you do this for me?” His voice was barely audible in this chaos, but he was sure Thomas understood. He shook his head, violently, still trying to get away.

“I can’t, Newt. I can’t. I can’t. I won’t.”

His eyes were blown, tears streaming down his face, snot dripping down his nose. He wasn’t pretty in that exact moment, his agony a stark contrast to the softness of Newt’s feelings for him.

“Yes you can, Tommy”, Newt whispered, a smile ghosting over his face. He felt the clock ticking, it would be only minutes till he lost himself, he could feel his mind, his sanity slipping away.

“Because I need you to.”

Thomas was breathing too quickly, sobbing uncontrollably. He looked everywhere but in Newt’s face.

“Why me?”, he whispered finally, settling down just the tiniest bit.

“You know why, Tommy”, Newt said softly. “Look at me, Tommy.”

Thomas did, and there was so much pain in his eyes. He nodded slowly. He knew why.

Newt cleared his throat, only coughing slightly. His body was shutting down. His hand was still on Thomas’s face, stroking it gently.

“I love you, and I want you to be happy, Tommy. And you will be. You’ll have beautiful little babies with Teresa or Brenda or whoever you’ll choose, and you’ll name them all after me.” He grinned, but Thomas didn’t. He rather looked like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest, which was probably not far from the truth.

“You deserve to be happy, and to live a long, wonderful life. For me, Tommy, okay?”

They were looking at each other for a long moment. Time seemed to have stopped, the universe granting them a second that was the only eternity they’d ever have together. Thomas was looking for any sign of hope but finding none. Newt trying to show him how much he was loved, and that everything was going to be okay.

Then Newt’s shaking started to get worse, his vision blurred, and he knew that this was it.

“It’s time, Tommy.”

Newt used the last of his energy to lean forward and plant a kiss on Thomas’s cheek. "You'll be fine. I promise."

Thomas was crying again, but he grabbed his gun with a shaking hand.

“I’m so sorry, Newt”, he sobbed, but Newt shook his head no. There were so many things to say, so many things to remember. So many things to do. But Newt didn’t have any time left, and now it was time for him to go. He had done his best, and he hoped he had done right by the ones he loved.

“Don’t be. Goodbye, Tommy.”