Work Text:
For those who skipped passed the notes (don't worry, I see you!): Something to remember, I've aged up the characters as they appear in the film, in their early twenties. Say around the 20-24 years old mark, especially for Teresa, Thomas, Newt, Minho, Frypan, Gally and Brenda. I know the actors are a little older but, well, they look a little younger. I'm going with how they appear in the film.
“Please Tommy.”
The darkness of the cold night made Newt’s brown eyes seem rabid with fear. His face so wide and open, vulnerable and crawling with anger. There was something dark in is eyes, something uncontrollable, something vicious and seething. Thomas hated seeing that pain in his eyes.
Newt, his friend, who had always been brighter than the sun. Who had always been kind and smart and charismatic, who had always been fiercely loyal and protective. Where had he gone? He was lost, being pulled away from Thomas, being dragged back into the depths of his mind, where he didn’t know himself, or those that cared for him.
In the void, that hellish place behind those haunted eyes.
And Thomas was not going to lose him to it.
“No!” Thomas shouted, pushing Newt off him. He rolled them over so that Newt was pinned to the floor, more Crank than his friend. “I won’t. I won’t do it. Please just hold on.”
Newt’s face contorted into something else. Something monstrous. He roared and grabbed at Thomas. The both of them grappled with each other. Thomas’ heart was in his throat, even as he fought Newt off in his rabid state, black and red blood dripping from his mouth, veins dark against his fair skin, he knew he could not let the darkness, the sickness win.
He’d lost Chuck. Alby. Winston. Jeff. He wasn’t going to lose Newt too.
In the raging fires the city was burning down, much like the man in front of him. The fire in Newt’s life was dying, dwindling, falling to a sickness that took and took and took.
“Newt, it’s me. It’s Thomas,” he said, begging for some part of Newt to remember him.
For the man he’d first seen the moment he came up in the box. His hands were shaking as he knocked the gun from Newt’s hands. “No, Newt, no!” Tears sprang to his eyes. He was failing Newt. He had promised he would save him, keep him safe.
If this was the last stand, he was going to save Newt.
“Please,” Newt begged, for a moment himself. Eyes clear and then the raging monster in him made a garbled noise and knocked Thomas to the ground again, knife in his hands. Thomas prided it from his fingers and threw it somewhere behind them blindly.
Over the racing of his heart and the blood in his ears, Thomas heard quick footsteps. Brenda. And then, something was being shoved into Newt’s neck. Time seemed to slow. Thomas watched as the veins in Newt’s face receded, a look of peace took his features and there was a soft smile on his lips.
He smiled down at Thomas, dazed. Eyes glazed over. And then, “thank you, Tommy.” His eyes closed and he collapsed against Thomas.
For one awful and frightening moment, Thomas feared that Brenda had stuck something else in his neck, but with trembling hands he saw that it was the serum, at least a version of it that would keep Newt alive, stable until they could get the real thing to him from Teresa.
Thomas wrapped his arms around Newt and sat up, cradling the man’s head to his chest, tears dropping onto Newt’s forehead.
“You’re welcome, Newt.” His voice was shaking, trembling, a sob crawled up his throat as Minho and Frypan skidded to a halt behind Brenda. He smoothed some of Newt’s matted hair. “You’re welcome.”
*
The roof was falling around them.
Fire and heat licked at their skin.
Thomas could barely move. One minute Teresa was next to him and the next he was being pushed up into the air, into familiar hands, Brenda, Minho, Fry and Jorge.
“Take him,” she screamed over the noise of the burning city, “and this, take this.” She pushed something into Minho’s hands. She held his gaze for a moment. “I’m so sorry.”
He could hear Gally yelling at Teresa, all of them reaching for her. She smiled. And then she was gone, falling into the depths of the falling building and fire.
The scream that left his lips shook his frail and broken body and soon darkness greeted him. A sweet relief from the pain coursing through his body and nipping at his heart. Tears rolled down his cheeks. But deep down he had known that when Teresa got him onto the roof and said sorry, that she wouldn’t be coming with him. She couldn’t live with the pain she had caused innocent people.
He had seen it in her eyes.
And he knew then that she wouldn’t be following him wherever he was going.
This was where her journey ended.
He closed his eyes and thought of Newt.
*
The first thing Thomas noticed was the sound of the sea.
A soft lull in the background of his mind, pulling him closer and closer. The tug of the ocean’s waves coaxing him the sandy shores, to some golden paradise away from the chaos of his mind. His eyes opened to a rocky ceiling and the smell of the sea, then someone’s face swam into view.
“Welcome back, shank,” Minho grinned, eyes bright in the daylight. The sunlight streaming in from the open makeshift door hit his friend’s skin and made him seem younger than he was. He was alive here, away from the pressure of the glade, of the fight, of the city.
Thomas reached out and grasped Minho’s shoulder. “Minho,” he said. Minho smiled and helped him sit up, pulling him into a fierce hug.
“Yeah, I know,” Minho chuckled, a little wetly, patting Thomas’ back, “I know, Thomas.” They didn’t have to say everything else, it was there, loud and clear. You’re here. You’re alive. I’m so sorry. I’m so glad you’re safe. We’re safe. I love you, my friend. Thank God. Oh, thank God.
They stayed like that for a couple of minutes before pulling back. Minho cupped the back of Thomas’ head and brought their foreheads together. “You gave us a scare. Been out for a couple of days.”
“Days?” Thomas asked, looking up at his friend. Minho nodded, helping Thomas to his feet. “I’ve been out for days?”
“Yeah, Newt and Fry were just in here,” Minho said, steadying Thomas when he swayed on his feet, woozy for a moment. He played his hands on Thomas’ shoulders. “People were getting hungry. Fry went to make some food. You good to eat?”
Thomas nodded, smiling a little dazed. He looked up at his friend. For a moment, he just stared at Minho with bleary eyes that were a little teary. “Minho,” he said lamely, hoping that it said everything.
“I know, I know,” Minho grinned and clapped Thomas on the back, “don’t get all weepy eyed on me. Everyone is fine. You got us here. We’re safe.”
Thomas leaned into his friend’s steady grip and let himself be guided outside into the light. His smile faltered at everyone is fine but let the pain wash over him and leave him with a state of lulled sadness. He could deal with the pain later. Right now, he needed to see everyone for himself.
Out in the sunlight, Thomas’ eyes fell on Newt walking towards them with Frypan. Newt. Alive and well. His hair soft and blond and brown golden in the sunlight, eyes brown clear and bright. Creamy skin clear of the flare, smile wider than ever. Dressed in clean clothes, no longer bleeding, no longer in tattered clothes, no longer sweating. Healthy. And he was here. He was here.
“Finally awake, shank?” Newt joked, grinning at Thomas. A step away from him. Thomas’ lips parted. He couldn’t believe it. His heart thudded in his chest. Newt. Newt was standing right there. He looked like an angel, Thomas thought, rather emotionally, a little wet around the eyes. Am I going mad? he asked himself. Unable to believe it.
The blue sky behind them, the sandy shores beneath his feet, the warmth of the ocean’s embrace, it was all so much, as the backdrop to Newt’s smile, to their safety. Thomas let out something close to a garbled sob and reached out blindly, touching Newt’s cheek, warmth and then, falling forwards but of course, there was Newt, arms wrapped securely around his frame, holding him close, protecting him, keeping him safe, like he always did.
“Newt,” Thomas cried into Newt shoulder, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s back and held onto Newt tightly, burying his face in his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t –
“I know, I know,” Newt whispered softly, “I know. I’m here, I’m here. You saved me Tommy, you saved me. You saved me.”
Tears fell onto Thomas’ head from Newt eyes, even though he was smiling. Newt looked to Minho over Thomas’ shoulder and grinned. He held Thomas closer. “You’re all right, shank. You’re all right.”
Minho shared a smile with Frypan and when he noticed Brenda calling them over, steered the small gathering away to give the two some space.
Thomas laughed wetly, pulling back only slightly to get a look at Newt, “how?” He touched Newt’s cheek, stroking a line where his veins had shown. Wiped away his tears. Traced his jaw.
Newt smiled softly, bringing one hand to cup the back of Thomas’ head like Minho had done but softer, with a different kind of affection, reserved for someone more than a friend. He brought their foreheads together, while his other hand went to take Thomas’ from his cheek and held it over his heart, flat on his chest.
“Teresa,” Newt said softly, “when she got you to Minho, on the chopper…I was out of it, course but she gave Minho something before she fell. Remember?”
Thomas nodded, “vaguely…it’s all a little blurred.” His chest hurt at the sound of her name. Teresa. She wasn’t here.
“Well, it was the serum, the cure she made from your blood,” Newt smiled, linking his fingers through Thomas’, right over his beating heart. Hands soft. Skin warm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Steady. Healthy. “They got it to me in time. I’m…me again.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do what you wanted,” Thomas croaked, a wet sob bubbling over his words, tears blurred his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you too.”
Newt gathered the shorter male into his arms, placed a tentative kiss on his forehead, “you haven’t lost me. And you never will, Tommy.”
Thomas closed his eyes at the endearment and then, turned his face up to look at Newt. Newt looked down at him, smiled sweetly, wiped away Thomas’ tears. Cupped his face this time with his hands. “I’m real, Tommy, I’m right here.”
“You’re here,” Thomas said, voice hushed, hands gripping Newt’s shoulders. “You’re here.”
Newt chuckled wetly, sniffed and nudged his nose against Thomas’, “I am.” A spark lit between them, something uncertain and yet so sure. So real. Something so heated and sweet and beautiful.
And then, Newt’s lips were on his and they were kissing. Gentle and all things soft that was what Newt’s lips felt like, delicate and then, passionate on his, reeling him in, keeping him close.
Thomas’ heart was beating wildly in his chest, his eyes slipped closed as Newt’s did. His mouth opened up for Newt like a rose in bloom, like the waves of the ocean, free and still and alive and he sighed happily, body melting against Newt’s. He tasted like sweetness and sunshine and Thomas was a little drunk on it. Home. He felt like home.
“I love you, Tommy,” Newt whispered, breathless when they pulled back from each other, still cupping his face. Stroked his cheek.
And Thomas knew, just like he knew his own name, “I love you too.” He had loved Teresa once, before the maze and perhaps a little during but the love he felt for Newt was different. It was pure and real and untouched by the hatred of the world that they had escaped from. It had grown over time, slowly and then all at once, like falling asleep, like lying in a meadow, easy.
She had kissed him before she died. A goodbye kiss. A sorry kiss. A kiss that said, things cannot change for me, but maybe they can for you. This kiss with Newt was different. Was raw and uncontrolled, was so very alive, no longer dated to their troubles. This was something more. Teresa had seen it, a long time ago, she had mentioned it once, but Thomas had been uncertain of his feelings for Newt before the maze, but after, during and now? He was so very much in it. He had fallen out of love with Teresa before he met Newt again. And had been too afraid to say anything to Newt, even when Newt had shouted at him about Teresa, he should have said it then, but he didn’t.
He was afraid.
He wasn’t anymore.
“I should have told you earlier,” Thomas said, “I should have told you when I…I should have said it before.” Tears sprang to his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey, none of that now,” Newt smiled, kissing Thomas’ forehead. “I should’ve said something too. And I’m sorry I didn’t. But we can’t change that. We have now. Don’t we?”
“We do,” Thomas smiled through his tears, wrapping his arms around Newt’s neck. “I love you.”
Newt leaned down and pressed his mouth to Thomas’, kissing him gently and then a little harder, swallowing the small moan that Thomas let out against his mouth.
“Me too, Tommy, me too,” Newt whispered. He cupped Thomas’ face again. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, sweetheart.”
Thomas preened at the endearment and would have, if he wasn’t so emotional, blushed or called him something back with a bite to it, but right now? He didn’t care. He liked it. He wrapped his arms tighter around Newt’s neck and hugged him, burying his face in Newt’s shoulder. Newt’s arms went around Thomas’ waist.
“It’s okay,” Thomas whispered back. “It’s okay.”
And it was. It would be. For as long as they kept going.