Chapter Text
•••**˚**•••
["To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that prisoner was you." - Lewis B. Smedes]
I can't sleep tonight,
Wide awake and so confused.
Thomas lies awake in bed, staring at the grass woven hut's ceiling. They had just gotten to paradise and were supposedly safe, though none of them could feel truly "safe" anymore. There was an unspoken truce that everyone was plagued by nightmares, and no one complained if they were woken by fast-paced breathing, a scream, or sobs. It wasn't how the world worked anymore.
Everything's in line,
But I'm bruised.
The inhabitants (the immune) had all mostly settled by then, everyone getting to their assigned jobs quickly. Harriet was in charge as well as Sonya, with the occasional help from the remaining Gladers (which was a very small number). Neither Thomas nor Minho wanted to. They'd had enough of leading for a lifetime. Thomas didn't feel like everything was normal, though, even though everything was. That was the problem. It really wasn't, but they were trying so hard to make it seem like it was. But it wasn't, and nothing would change that but time.
I need a voice to echo,
I need a light to take me home,
I kinda need a hero...
Is it you?
Ever since that devastating event that took Newt's life a year ago, Thomas was weak and broken. Imagine a window that you throw something at. First, spiderweb patterns appear. They might seem cool and artistic, but really, they were dangerous, and they'll keep fracturing. By the time the next ball hit, the window would break into small pieces. Shattered. Broken. Gone. Useless.
That's how Thomas felt. He walked around like a zombie, with slurred and robotic movements and speech. It was obvious he wasn't getting enough sleep. The Gladers, Brenda, Jorge, and Group B (remaining members) all noticed, but they knew better to disturb him. He'll come to them when he was ready.
I never see the forest for the trees,
I could really use your melody,
Baby, I'm a little blind,
I think it's time for you to find me.
Despite what they thought, Thomas had no plans to go to any of them. Now, when he talked, his smiles were forced, his gestures fake, and it showed. They had all been subtly getting closer, he knew, trying to befriend the hero and the one who got them here.
Thomas didn't feel like a hero.
He wasn't a hero for Alby, who was an (unsuccessful) sacrifice. He wasn't a hero for Chuck, who died to save him. He wasn't a hero for Winston, Jack, and the other Gladers that died in the storm and the scorch. He wasn't a hero for the cranks just waiting, no, begging for death. He wasn't a hero for immunes that died from the explosion. He wasn't a hero for Teresa who died in his arms, sacrificing herself for him. He definitely wasn't a hero for Newt, who he had killed with his own hands. Or rather, with that gun. "Please, Tommy, Please." still echoed in his head.
Can you be my nightingale?
Sing to me
I know you're there
You could be my sanity
Minho was the only thing that held Thomas up. And that's why he vowed to never tell Minho that he killed Newt. He knew it was selfish on his part, considering Newt was Minho's best friend and Minho was still coping with the fact that he was a crank, possibly dead from the flare already. And he was. Just not from the flare. Thomas knew Minho would hate him forever if he told him he killed Newt, so he didn't.
But it was getting harder and harder to hide it, each day.
Bring me peace
Sing me to sleep
Say you'll be my nightingale
His friends all noticed that Thomas was getting significantly less sleep as of usual, and that's because it was almost the first anniversary of Newt's death. Thomas' nightmares have become increasingly concerning, and Minho often slept in the same hut as him nowadays.
Somebody speak to me
'Cause I'm feeling like hell
"You're not okay," Minho said bluntly over the toast the next morning after Thomas had woken him up from yet another nightmare involving Newt last night. "Come on, Tomboy, I need you to tell me what's wrong so I can help you," Minho implored, knowing better to call him Tommy or Tom. It brought back too many sore memories.
Need you to answer me
I'm overwhelmed
"Okay...fine," Thomas hissed, deciding once and for all that he needed to get this off his chest. He was going to tell Minho and who knows? Maybe he'd even forgive Thomas, though that was a blind hope. Thomas could only wish that although Minho would hate him, he would at least get the closure he needed, but knew he didn't deserve. "Meet me at the slope at noon."
The slope was a field close to the dangling rocky cliff with vines, very similar to the maze. Thomas loved the scenery of it but it hit too close to what Newt had told him that day. It was fine, though, as long as they didn't stray too near the cliff.
"Fine," Minho muttered, shoving food into his mouth.
"I killed Newt."
"You mean indirectly, right?" Minho panicked. "Please tell me you mean indirectly."
"I. Mean. Directly, Minho! He begged for it, Minho! He didn't want to become a crank!" Thomas cried, his whole being shaking furiously at his friend's denial. "I shot him, and he..."
"You killed him?" Minho demanded, pointing a thick finger towards Thomas' chest.
"I'm sorry!" Thomas whimpered, cringing at how pathetic he sounded. "He begged for it! You have to believe me!"
Minho glared and stood up, his face a mask of rage. He swung his fist and it connected with the side of Thomas' jaw, and he went down, his legs buckling underneath him. Minho gave a roar and pinned Thomas' wrist to the rock, and snapped it. Thomas gave a wail of pain and his vision blurred around the edges. From what he could hear, his bone had snapped clean in half.
Minho continued to rain punches all over Thomas' face. Black and blue bruises started to form from the red splotches all over Thomas' stomach and face, not that Thomas could see them. Thomas went limp, knowing he deserved it. He deserved it all for killing Newt. His senses went numb and the last thing he could remember was Minho shouting "Kill yourself, Thomas! They think you're a hero but you're nothing more than a lowlife coward!" and then Minho ran.
*****
Thomas came to, his vision still blurry, slowly, he sat up, only to clutch his wrist and shriek in pain. It was clearly snapped in two as the bone was poking out of the wrist tissue. Thomas looked away, the sight upsetting his bruised stomach. He was certain there was a broken rib or two, and his nose was clearly cracked, if not broken.
What was the point? Minho was right. All he was was a lowlife coward. He never thought himself a hero, the contrary, actually, but there were some things that are made crystal clear when it's your best friend who pointed it out. This was one of those instances. Thomas saw it now; he was a traitor. If it wasn't for him, the Gladers wouldn't be dead, Teresa wouldn't be dead, so many innocents wouldn't be dead. But, he just had to be the hero. Newt was right. Minho was right.
It was time for this to end.
Thomas painstakingly dragged himself to the cliff. He stared at the ivy and the jagged rocks underneath. The cliff was tall enough to rival a skyscraper, and Thomas knew he wouldn't make the same miscalculations as Newt – he'd definitely die from this fall. There was no going back once he made his decision. And he had.
Thomas stood up, shaking. The pain in his ankles was uncomfortable but bearable. Especially since he wouldn't feel them soon. Death was numb, after all. Or so he's seen. That's how it was for Newt.
Gathering up all his courage and for once, stopped being the coward, he fell, tumbling down the cliff.
No one witnessed his death except for the rocks down below waiting to swallow him up.
I need a voice to echo
I need a light to take me home
I need a star to follow
I don't know?
"Minho!" Brenda yelled. "Where's Thomas?"
Minho, having just gotten back from his run, was not in the mood to deal with this. "Who cares?"
"What's your problem?" Brenda demanded, her eyes fixing into a scowl. "No one's seen him, that's why! According to Gally, you're the last person to."
Minho thought back to the confrontation that Thomas and he had earlier that day. "That's not a big deal," Minho tried. It wasn't. He killed Newt. Minho shouldn't care about his well being, right? Wrong. As much as he hated it, he cared.
Minho thought about the confrontation again. He wondered if Thomas would talk to him again, now that he was being more level headed. Probably not. The shank was super messed up the last time he saw him. He relapsed every moment, thinking to his actions, then his words. "Kill yourself, Thomas!" The words he had said a few hours ago stuck in his head. Thomas wouldn't really do it...or would he?
Minho imagined the beat-up body he had left on the slope. "Brenda, c'mon, now!"
Without allowing Brenda any time to mull over his words, he dragged her up the slope, the two of them sprinting as fast as they could. He went back to the spot where he and Thomas had their conversation. It wasn't a conversation, really, it was more like him using Thomas as a punching bag to take out his anger. He winced. Forgiveness was definitely not going to happen. Even from Thomas, who was too innocent to know better.
'Cause baby you're my sanity
Minho and Brenda saw the mess of blood on the slope and the trail of it going in the direction of the cliff. They followed it, grasping onto the blind hope that Thomas would be at the end, waiting for them. Only, of course, the reality was cruel, and they were at the edge of the cliff, and all they saw was blood leading all the way to the ledge. And then nothing.
"He...jumped?" Brenda gasped. "Why?"
Minho thought back to the time when Newt tried to commit suicide in–––no. He wasn't going to think about Newt, now. Perhaps only later, he would mourn his friends. Not now.
"I–––" And that was when Minho broke down. He told Brenda everything. Though Brenda was furious, she let it slide for now in favour of comforting Minho. She could be mad at him later.
You bring me peace
Sing me to sleep
Say you'll be my nightingale
*****
Later that evening, Minho sat all alone on the ledge of the cliff, right next to where the trail of Thomas' blood broke. Dangerously close to the fall.
A part of Minho wondered whether he should act like a coward. Jump off the ledge. Not that Thomas was a coward for doing that. Thomas' fall was brave. Minho's was a selfish escape.
No, Minho would live on. For Thomas and Newt.
Can you be my nightingale?