Chapter Text
Prologue
“Helluva speech, kid. So, what’s your plan?”
Newt turned his focus from Vince. He could sense Fry walking up behind him, but he kept his focus on Thomas – hand fumbling along the strap of his backpack. Newt squinted up against the sun, curious now to see what Thomas’ plan would be after insisting he would kill Ava Paige. Newt swallowed the words and the memory of what it felt to kill. His hands still ached, cool gunmetal a too familiar feeling now.
“You had a plan before we got here,” Thomas said to Vince, drawing Newt’s attention back. “Move out this morning. You stick to it. I want half of us moving out in the next hour to the Safe Haven. Find it. As for the rest of us? We clean out this camp, gather supplies and move as soon as we have a direction for WCKD. Decide what group you’re in and get moving.”
“We’re gonna need a lot more than a direction to head in,” Harriet pointed out.
Thomas nodded. “That’s why I’m hoping you’re with us.”
“They’ve got Aris and Sonya. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
Newt turned as he heard footsteps and his eyes snagged on a young girl stepping up. She nodded up at Thomas. “I can take the lead on the Safe Haven group.”
It seemed to be enough for Thomas. In the blink of an eye, people were moving. Supplies were passed hand to hand, bags packed and tossed into trucks, goodbyes exchanged. Lists, maps, and weapons. Promises and pacts.
Newt skirted two people saying goodbye to one another in a tight embrace. He stepped up to Thomas’ side as his eyes scanned the scene. “Well?” Newt asked.
Thomas turned to him and a smile appeared on his face for the first time that day. “We’re getting him back,” he said, voice laced with determination. “And then the three of us are making it to the Safe Haven and we’re never dealing with WCKD again.”
“Good that, Tommy,” Newt clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good that.”
Chapter 1: On Introductions & Insomnia
Or: Newt Brings Thomas a Blanket
It was no surprise to Newt that he wasn’t getting any sleep again tonight. He eyed the empty bedroll to his left. Thomas hadn’t slept in days, only hours at a time. And so, neither had Newt.
He exhaled into the stifled air within the tent. He understood. He did, really. Minho was taken. Minho. One of the strongest people Newt had ever known. Taken down by an electric shock. Twice. Only the second time, Newt wasn’t there to help him up, carry him to safety. The second time, Newt had hidden behind a crate while Minho defended them. While Minho saved his life. Again.
Newt bit down on his tongue, bringing himself back to the present. The tent. The tent Minho should have been sleeping in with them. The tent Thomas should have been sleeping in. He let himself get lost in that thought instead. Thinking on other universes, where perhaps they still had Minho with them, was useless. He would never be in those universes. In this one he had Thomas, and he wasn’t going to lose him too.
Newt pushed himself up on his elbows and looked out of the slim opening of the tent. The breeze ruffled it just enough that he could see the mountain outside, but there was no sign of life. Still, he knew it was out there. Somewhere.
He arched his neck to the right to see Fry asleep on his side, blanket pulled up past his shoulder. Newt reached to the bottom of his bed roll and pulled his boots on. He didn’t bother lacing them, they wouldn’t be on long. He grabbed the tattered white blanket and left the tent.
He paused on the outside, his eyes falling on the boy sitting just further from the camp looking out. He was perched by the top of a hill that sloped lower into the mountain, silhouetted against the night sky and barely visible with no light on him, but Newt knew he was there. Newt always knew Thomas was there. He’d swear Thomas made his own light.
Newt could remember nearly every moment with Thomas. Granted, there weren’t many in the few months they’d known each other, but Newt would have remembered them all, regardless.
He couldn’t remember specifically when it happened – falling in love with a boy preoccupied with nearly everything else going on in the world. With a boy who spent so much of his time focused on everyone else that he never stopped to even consider himself. That was okay, Newt reminded himself time and time again. Newt considered Thomas enough for the both of them.
It wasn’t only physical attraction, though Newt could have gone on about the freckles and moles for days, the angled cheekbones over the small hollows in his cheeks, the way his hair seemed to curl over his forehead in the most disheveled way that only he could pull off. And his hands, his hands. Thomas’ hands were quite possibly Newt’s favorite thing about him. The thin, bony fingers, the veins running up the backs and up his forearms. He could never draw something remotely similar to them. Not that he hadn’t tried.
No, it wasn’t only physical attraction. It was the ease Newt felt around him. The lightness, the assurance. The feeling that no matter what happened, Newt would be okay as long as Thomas was around. He felt…safe. Like he could make it through anything. Like he would make it through anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that sure of something.
He took a breath and looked down at the white tattered blanket in his hands. Vince had given it to them earlier in the week. He’d given them quite a few. It wasn’t warm, not by any means. It was thin, ragged. There were stray threads that kept snagging on things when he tried to move it. It was a mess, but it was something. And lately, everyone needed a small something to get them through.
Newt took a breath and then a step toward Thomas. And then he kept moving.
Thomas’ shadow extended back behind him and Newt worked to steady his breathing as he walked closer. There was no need to be anxious. It was just Thomas.
“If you’re gonna stay out here all night again, you should at least take a blanket with you,” he said. He tossed the blanket to the ground next to Thomas and then stepped up next to him. “After everything we went through,” he continued, “it’d be rather anticlimactic to have you put out with a cold, yeah?” He let a small laugh out and then took a seat next to him.
“Thanks,” was Thomas’ only response.
Newt swallowed. A weighted silence settled between them, only interrupted by the winds blowing through. He ignored the way his leg began to ache in the angle and focused on Thomas instead. He could tell Thomas was distracted. More than that, Newt knew Thomas was nervous. It was easy to notice. Like everyone, Thomas had a tell.
Newt shifted his eyes to the right a bit and watched Thomas. His eyes were scanning the horizon, but they weren’t really seeing it. They filmed over as his right leg shook and Newt knew then. Thomas’ wheels were spinning.
“Remember the night that the Grievers attacked the Glade?” Newt asked, hoping to bring Thomas back to him.
Thomas seemed to still next to him. “Of course,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Newt nodded, recalling the memory himself. He felt the corner of his mouth lift up. “You remember, I suspect, when you went and stabbed yourself with a Griever stinger?” He turned to Thomas, but Thomas only looked at him confused, no sign of laughter anywhere on his face. “’Course you might not. You were passed out half the night, now, weren’t you?” Newt took a breath as he looked back up to the sky.
“I…, yeah,” Thomas cleared his throat. “Yeah, I remember.”
Newt stretched his legs out and then brought them back again, letting the blood flow through. It eased the ache, but it still made its presence known. It always would. “Yeah, well,” he continued. “What you don’t remember, is what happened after we locked your butt up in the slammer.”
“When Gally took over,” Thomas said.
Newt furrowed his brow, considering this point of view. “Well, sort of,” he settled on. He supposed now was a good enough time to explain Gally taking over. He exhaled. “Tommy,” he began, “when those Grievers came through,” he dropped his gaze as the memory flooded him. His chest ached. He started over. “Now, you know none of us had ever seen one before. No matter how many times I ran that maze with Minho, never in my life had I seen one.”
“Wait, wait,” Thomas interrupted. “You were a runner?”
Newt’s heart stuttered. Of course Thomas didn’t know. He turned to him and forced a smile behind his eyes. “Yeah, Tommy.”
Thomas tilted his head. “How come…?” his words faded.
Newt considered his options, but now wasn’t the time. This conversation wasn’t about him. It was about Thomas. He offered a smile and looked back up at the sky. “That’s a story for another time. Now, the story is about the night of the attack.” Newt took a breath as the memory began to play like a film in his head.
***
“Newt, you’re not seriously getting on my case over this!” Gally shouted. “Do you see what just happened? Did you watch any of that?”
“Yes, Gally,” Newt choked out. Though, it was quite possible he only thought it. His hands still shook at his sides. He could barely focus on the hut around them. All he could see was Alby being ripped away in front of him, Eric tossed to the side like a sack by a Griever.
“Really?” Gally pressed as he started walking toward him. “Because I don’t think you’re seeing this how-”
“Gally,” Minho demanded.
In the corner of his vision Newt could see Minho yank Gally’s arm back, but Gally broke free before he ground out a few choice words to Minho.
“Stop,” Newt said. He was sure he said it this time. But, just in case… “Stop!”
The broken room around them quieted down. Newt finally looked up. “Where’s…?” his sentence faded. He didn’t even know who was alive and who wasn’t. He looked around at the small group gathered: Gally, Minho, Jack, Rob, Tim and Jeff. Seven, including himself. Thomas and the girl were in the Slammer. Chuck was with Winston and Alex. And that was all he knew.
“Newt,” Minho’s voice brought Newt back to focus. “Hey,” he said lower, “you alright?”
Newt considered the question.
“Newt, look at me,” Minho said, tilting his head just a bit lower to catch Newt’s eyes.
“Minho,” Newt breathed, heart rate picking up. “They’re,” he shook his head. “They’re all-”
“It’s okay,” Minho nodded. “Hang in there.”
“Newt,” Gally started. “Look I know this is bad, but-”
“Gally, shut your mouth,” Minho snapped, turning back.
“He’s not okay, Minho,” Gally shouted. “He’s not thinking right.”
Minho’s grip on Newt tightened, but he kept his eyes on Gally. “Shut your mouth!”
Gally eyed Minho. There was a silent exchange that Newt didn’t have the patience nor focus to interpret.
Minho turned to the others. “Get water.”
Jeff sprinted through the door and out of sight.
Minho turned back to Newt. “Newt, listen, the night’s over. The Grievers are gone.”
“Minho,” Newt breathed.
“I’m right here.”
“No,” Newt shook his head. “I need you get the others.”
“Get who?”
“All of them,” Newt said. “Everyone left.” He nearly choked on the word. His head swam and the ground felt so distant suddenly. Alby was gone.
“Okay,” Minho nodded. “I’ll be right back okay?”
“Gally,” Newt breathed. Zart was gone.
“What?” Minho and Gally both asked.
“Gally.” Billy was gone.
Gally hesitated, but stepped closer to Newt.
They were all gone. Newt swallowed. He glanced at Minho. No, not all of them. “Now, please, Minho.”
Minho nodded once and sprinted through the door. Newt could hear his voice calling across the Glade – the destroyed, burnt Glade.
“Newt,” Gally said. “What is it?”
Newt looked up at Gally, met fierce blue eyes looking back at him. “I need you to lead them.”
Gally watched him for another moment. When he spoke, his voice was low enough that Newt barely heard him. “What?”
“I need you to lead them,” Newt repeated. “Please.”
“Newt, you’re next in line. This is your-”
“Gally,” Newt said. “I’m giving it to you. Send Minho to me and take the others.”
Gally paused for a moment before his eyes hardened. “Good that.” He turned then and pointed to Jack. “Stay with him.” He pointed to Rob and Tim. “You two, with me. Let’s go.”
Newt watched them leave in silence. When they did, he turned to Jack as the younger boy was walking toward him.
“Newt,” Jack started. “Are you sure about this?”
Newt breathed out. “I’m sure he’ll do better than me right now.”
Jack’s eyes softened, but he didn’t say anything.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” Newt shook his head. “I’m okay, really.”
Jack shrugged and took a seat on the small railing behind them. “It’s okay.”
Minho burst in the room then. “What the shuck just happened?”
“Minho,” Newt warned.
“I leave for three minutes and you go and put Gally in charge?”
“I had no choice.”
“You had several choices.”
“Minho,” Newt warned again. “Look around. Everything’s gone. I can’t take this place over.”
“Alby made you second in com-”
“Alby made a decision based off-” he cut his words off, suddenly aware of Jack’s presence.
“Don’t say that,” Minho shook his head. “That had nothing to do with anything.”
“Didn’t it?”
“No, Newt,” Minho said, taking another step forward. “It didn’t.”
“I can’t lead,” Newt insisted. “I don’t want to. Not now. Not like this.”
“Fine,” Minho folded his arms. “If you don’t want it, fine. But Gally?”
Newt lifted his eyes to Minho’s. “He’s a leader.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“You didn’t think so once before.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit and, while Newt felt a little guilty about the card he’d just played, he knew he hit his mark.
“Gally’s not thinking right either, you know,” Minho said, a bit calmer.
“What other choice do I have?” Newt said. “I know you wouldn’t take it-”
“-hell no-”
“-and Tim isn’t strong enough for that. Winston is still too new at being keeper.”
“What about Dan?” Minho asked.
Newt looked up at him.
“Not,” Minho held up his hands in defense. “I’m not being funny. I mean it. He used to be keeper.”
“Yeah,” Newt nodded. “He gave it up because he didn’t want to be. You think he’d want to be leader?”
Minho sighed. His hands found a resting spot on his hips as his eyes scanned the floor as if searching for an answer. Suddenly, his eyes snapped up to Newt. “Thomas.”
Newt blinked. “What?”
“Thomas,” Minho repeated.
“You want the Greenie – who’s been here three days – to be Leader?”
Minho took a step closer. “Listen, Newt. I know he probably seems like a dumb shank running into the Maze and all that, but I’m telling you. He could do it.”
Newt didn’t say anything. It was true, the new guy was rash, but there was a bravery to him Newt hadn’t seen in… well, since he’d met Minho.
“I told you,” Minho continued. “He busted his butt to save Alby. Risked his dumb life,” he shrugged. “He never gave up hope.”
Newt swallowed. That was something he didn’t have in common with Thomas, and maybe that’s why Minho was right. Maybe that’s why Thomas would make a good leader. “Gally will never stand for it.”
“Screw Gally,” Minho shrugged.
Newt shook his head. “I can’t make Thomas Leader. It’ll cause a rift in the Glade.”
“Look around you, Newt,” Minho spread his arms out. “There’s already a rift in the Glade.”
Newt sighed.
“Let’s just talk to Thomas when he wakes up,” Minho said. “He might know a way out. Let’s see what he remembers from the Sting.”
“The Sting?” Jack asked suddenly.
Minho turned to him. “Seriously?” he deadpanned. “No wonder Fry made you a dishwasher.”
***
“It wasn’t that serious,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “It was all luck.”
Newt bit down on the smile that threatened to break. He remembered thinking the same thing about Thomas. How things change… “Well then you’ve got quite a four-leaf clover there, Tommy,” he said as he shifted to press his shoulder into Thomas. “No,” Newt shook his head. “I may not have been in there with you two, but from what Minho said, it wasn’t luck. And, no offense, but I’ll take Minho’s word on it. That night the Grievers came, he told me that no matter what happened after that night, no matter what Gally did the next morning, we should put our trust in you because you were the one who would be able to get us out.”
Thomas shifted next to him.
Newt continued, “and now, I know without a doubt that Minho is with WCKD right now, fighting and holding himself together because he knows you’re out here. He knows how strong you are, how smart and how one-track minded you can be. He knows you’ll come after him, and he knows you’ll get it done, no matter how abrasive you are about it.” Newt paused. He looked at Thomas, profile silhouetted against the mountains. “And I know it, too.”
Thomas looked back at him and Newt could see his eyes soften just a bit from the usual hardness that seemed to live there ever since Newt had known him. Thomas nodded, barely perceptible. Newt could accept that for now.
“Right,” he nodded. “Well, I’m going to get some sleep. Don’t want to greet Minho with shadows under my eyes. Last thing I need is for him to greet me with some snarky remark about not dressing myself up for him. Rather not give him the ammo, y’know?” Newt gripped Thomas’ shoulder, a small squeeze to try to ease the tension in them. He stood and turned to head back to the tent. “Night, Tommy,” he said over his shoulder.
“Night Newt.”
Newt couldn’t help the small pull inside of his chest at Thomas’ voice. He pushed it down. There was no need to focus on it. There never would be. He glanced down at the ground as he walked past the place Minho was taken. He pulled his eyes away a moment later and exhaled. “I’ll see you soon, Minho.”