Chapter Text
Sometimes it’s all Minho can think about. He lays awake at night, watching Thomas sleep, always covered in at least two layers even on the hottest nights.
Why them?
Why did it always have to be them?
There used to be pictures on the walls: old, faded Polaroids from when their grandparents and parents pulled out their ‘back-in-fashion-years ago’ cameras. Digital, too, with the dates and events written on the back—sometimes careful, sometimes messy with their joy.
There used to be plants here, and the crack in the table has been there forever; no one can agree where it came from anymore.
Minho doesn’t know why this house is still allowed to stand.
It’s a sign of rebellion, maybe. By someone who sympathizes, even just a little, on the inside.
It’s his childhood home. He grew up eating dirt and mixing ‘potions’ in the now-ruined front lawn. He learned to bike and catch and run here, did his homework at the cracked table and eventually the desk in his room. Tried and failed to bake, multiple times, but got real good at making eggs in all forms.
He and Thomas got married under what used to be a little apple grove, right in the backyard, at sixteen and fifteen. Before everything went wrong.
He takes what pictures he can save: Pool parties, homecoming, prom night, trying desperately to pretend the writing wasn’t on the wall that whole last year.
They should be in college.
They should be in a little apartment.
They should be together.
He should have more than photographs.
A young Teresa, holding Chuck’s tiny hands. Newt and Alby, who eloped in a five-minute ceremony at the beach they grew up building sandcastles on.
Winston and Zart, planning. He remembers taking that one. Remember thinking ‘this is a moment history needs to record’.
He doesn’t know why he thought he would be the one who’d get to decide what went in the history books.
(he’s not sure history books are going to exist again.)
But he’s not here for pictures; he’s not here for memories.
Still, Minho takes the time to put them all in a folder carefully, making sure the corners aren’t going to bend when he puts it in his bag.
They’ll be good to have.
(he wishes he had a hundred, a thousand, a million more. he wishes he had his friends, his husband, his family back.)
The last time he was here, they were fighting. Fighting for their lives, screaming as dozens of people older and stronger, dozens of people who should have known better tried to kill them all.
Killed more of them than he likes to think about.
And took more than they killed.
He’s never going to find out what happened to most of them, he knows. He can try, but he’s one person. No one else wants to try again.
No one wants to come back here; there are ghosts in the walls
It’s too bad they can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know.
He tilts his head a little; there’s a soft sound—humming, maybe?—coming from somewhere. To make sure it’s not him, Minho covers his mouth with his hand.
The humming doesn’t change; it’s familiar in the way his old favorite song is.
Then it shifts to singing, and Minho can’t help but join in.
The tricky thing is yesterday we were just children
Playing soldiers, just pretending
Dreaming dreams with happy endings
In backyards, winning battles with our wooden swords
But now we've stepped into a cruel world
Where everybody stands and keeps score
The ghosts in the wall weren’t supposed to actually talk to him. Or sing. Maybe Vince is right.
Maybe his grief is affecting him more than he thought.
“How did you—”
“They thought we were dead.”
“Thomas, come back down. Whatever you heard, it’s not worth it.”
That’s not a voice he knows. But the second one; that one he stills hears in his dreams.
“It is. He’s safe.”
“Who’s safe, Thomas?” That is—Sonya. Sonya, Newt’s baby-faced little sister, she’s alive? She’s here?
She’d been one of the ones who was taken. Taken, along with Thomas, Teresa, Gally, so many more.
“It’s Minho, Sonya. He’s come back for us.”
“Who else is here?”
“Sonya, Harriet, Gally, Brenda, Aris—you don’t know them.”
“No, I don’t.” How long have they been here? How long have they been haunting his house and his dreams? “How long have you been here?”
“Only a few days.” He follows Thomas down the stairs. “They probably know we’re here, but we were determined not to let our escape fail this time. Not after what they did.”
“What they did?”
“We’ve tried to escape more than once.” Gally tells him. “It’s good to see you, man.”
It feels too light for everything they’ve been through.
“It’s good to see all of you, too. We thought for sure that you were…”
“Dead? So did we. Thomas, we have to get out of here.” A girl with dark hair, a little shorter than Thomas.
“Yeah, I know, Brenda. Can you take us back with you, Minho?”
The path he took should work for all of them.
It has to work for all of them. He’s not leaving them behind again—he’s not leaving *Thomas* behind again.
“We’ll tell you on the way.”
Now that they know he’s safe, they’re eager to follow him anywhere.
“What happened, Thomas?” He’s got a new scar down the left side of his face; Minho’s no doctor, but it looks like it intentionally just missed his eye.
“Not now, Min. Let’s just get out first.”
He wants to ask what happened to Teresa, to the other who had been taken. He’s not going to do that to Thomas, though.
Walking back through the house is easier, now that he has Thomas with him. Gally grabs a picture he hadn’t picked up, one of him throwing Thomas into a pool.
Were it not for his voice sounding exactly the same, Minho might not have recognized him. He can’t say for Aris and Brenda, but he knows that Thomas, Gally, Harriet, and Sonya have all lost weight.
As he builds up their fire, Minho knows he’s out of his depth. The six of them are talking quietly, telling him about what happened, interjecting and talking in sync every so often as they get to certain points.
The scar on Thomas’s face was done by Sonya’s steady hand, because it was that or they would have to cut off his infected leg.
“How did it get infected again, Thomas?” Brenda knocks her shoulder against Thomas’s, and Minho knows he has no reason to be jealous. They’re friends, have been through horrific trauma together, and it’s not like Gally hasn’t been doing the same thing all day.
He’s not going to begrudge Thomas anything he did when he thought he was going to die, anyway. Married or not.
“Yeah, Thomas, how did it get infected?” Sonya teases, then sobers up when she looks at Minho. “He’s an idiot, that’s how. He got hit in the original attack, and didn’t say anything until it was almost too late. He’s lucky I managed to get that knife.”
“Tell it better than that, Sonya.” Gally says. “I know you can. Details.”
“It was right at the end, when we were all getting dragged outside. Thomas and Teresa were back-to-back, and it looked like they were going to win, but then Thomas takes a bullet—seriously old-fashioned, like get better weapons, you’re supposed to be the most powerful institution of all time or whatever—to the leg and they both get carted away. I’m sure you remember some of that, Minho. Now, none of us except for Thomas and Teresa knew he’d been hit. They separated us all pretty much immediately and when we were finally thrown back together, Teresa was gone. We haven’t seen her since.”
She’s dead. They killed her, of course they did.
None of them say this out loud, trusting him to understand.
“And so Thomas was already infected, but we were all bruised and a little bloody, and he didn’t tell us his was more than a surface wound. So when we found out, I cut his face open so they’d have to treat him. It worked; it got him out alive.”
“And it convinced them that Sonya could be turned to work for them. She played spy for us for a while, totally badass.” Harriet adds.
He studies her for a minute. He’s never been close with her, not the way Thomas is; she’s just always been ‘Newt’s baby sister’, even well out of childhood.
But she hasn’t been Newt’s baby sister for a long time. Hasn’t been a kid in a long time.
None of them have. It’s not a luxury they could afford.
“How long do you think it will take us to get back?” Thomas leans into his side for the first time tonight.
“Only a couple of days, if that.”
“Did you get what you came for?”
“I did. I knew I couldn’t stay long, anyway. It’s not safe.”
They’ve got their little safe spot, where they’ll be left alone if they aren’t a bother, but Minho’s not sure how long that’s going to last.
If anyone knows about their escape, then they’ll be looking.
“How long until someone comes looking for you?”
“This far out? It’ll be at least a week.” Thomas leans into him more. “We’ll be safe with you long before that happens.”
Minho really, really, hopes so.
He covers their tracks in the morning. He doesn’t want to wake them up, they all look like they need the sleep, but he’d rather get them back to safety than let them sleep in.
“Been up long?” Thomas rests his head on Minho’s back; he can feel the scar through his clothes.
“No. I just… I don’t want you to get taken again.”
“I don’t want you taken, either. I missed you so much, Minho. I didn’t know if you’d made it out.”
Minho turns around, takes his face in his hands. Tracees the scar with his thumb. “I missed you, too. So much. I had to beg to come to check the house; I didn’t want to spend another day without a piece of you.”
It feels like their first kiss all over again, and maybe it is, in a way. The kids they never got to be feel so far away, like they’re people Minho doesn’t even know.
“Oh, god, I have to deal with the lovebirds again?” Gally groans. “I’m going to tell them to take me back, actually, if this is the alternative.”
Minho flips him off, but he’s grinning. He never thought he’d hear Gally heckling them again.
“Leave them alone, Gally.”
“Hey, Gally, Frypan’s still single, just so you know.” Minho winks at him, just to watch Gally turn red.
They make good time; none of them complain even when he sets a fast pace.
He probably wouldn’t either, if he was being led to a safe place.
It’s nearly dark when they get back; they hadn’t stopped for dinner because they’d been so close.
Minho knows they weren’t expecting him so soon, hopes whoever is on guard duty is cool about it.
“Minho! Back so soon? Thought we wouldn’t see you until tomorrow.” Jorge wraps an arm around his shoulders, not having seen the others yet. “What did you find? Didn’t bring any spies back, did you?” He finally looks back and sees them.
“Brenda? Brenda, you’re alive?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were they?” Jorge demands. “Just out in the woods?”
“My old house. Our childhood home, basically. They escaped.”
“Vince will want to talk to them.” Jorge says, sternly, but then he grabs Brenda and holds her close.
Jorge’s talked, a few times, about a little girl he raised on the run, said that she’d disappeared one day and he’d never seen her again.
“Who’s here?” Brenda asks him. “George—”
“I know I taught you better than wishful thinking, hija . ” Jorge looks at the rest of them. “Let’s get you some sleep. Fry will cook up a storm for you in the morning, I’m sure.”
“They can stay with me.” Minho offers, like there’s anywhere else for them to go at this time of night.
“Yes, they certainly can. I’ll hold Vince off for the morning, let you get your bearings a little before he wants to talk to you. Minho wouldn’t bring you back here if he didn’t trust you, and I trust him.”
It’s crowded, when they all settle in, but none of them seem to mind. It’s not like they have a lot of stuff, anyway. Just themselves.
Thomas sits up in bed— Minho’s bed. It has been years since he has been this close to him, and right now all he wants to do is stare at him.
Try and figure out where his new scars are. Try and figure out what might have changed.
If Minho had known where he was, he would have come for him. It wouldn’t have ended well, but he would have tried.
He knows Minho’s been watching him, watching his interactions with the others, with Brenda.
Thomas can’t tell now if he’s worried about them or not. If he’s jealous, if he thinks something happened.
He can’t read Minho in quite the same way. They’ve both changed too much for that.
“Thomas?” Minho sits up next to him. “Can’t sleep?”
“Just staring at you.” He whispers. Everyone else is asleep on blankets on the floor. “We can talk in the morning.”
“No nightmares?”
Not yet.
“No. Hopefully none, tonight. You’re here.” Minho smiles a little at that, kisses his forehead before laying them both back down.
“I hope so, too. I’ll be here if anything happens. If Vince tries to kick you out, I’ll fight him.”
Thomas shakes his head, grinning to himself, knowing Minho can’t see it like this. “Don’t, Minho.”
“Don’t say you’re not worth it. You’re the love of my life, my husband, and I would fight for you every day if I had to.”
Husband. The word rings through him and he wants to hear it again. It’s been so long. He wasn’t sure if Minho would even consider them married anymore.
“In the morning, then. Too late to be fighting anybody, husband. ” Thomas rolls into Minho’s arms, laying the way they always used to before the attack.
If he cries, Minho won’t tell anyone.
They get to have breakfast in peace, at least. Jorge had gone to Frypan when he got off duty, told him about them, and waited to bring them food.
His hand lingers on Brenda’s shoulder before he leaves to go to his own bed.
“God, I missed Frypan’s food.” Gally eats messily, and Brenda smacks him on the shoulder.
“And some of us kept our manners better than others.”
“You can just say you missed Frypan, you know.” Harriet says. “We’re not idiots. In fact, I’ve heard a lot more about Frypan than I ever wanted to know.”
“Oh, really?” Minho leans forward. “Maybe we can compare stories.”
It’s easy. It’s so easy, like Minho was with them the whole time. Even Aris and Brenda like him already, even if they don’t trust him yet.
They've been through too much for Thomas's word alone to be sufficient for gaining their trust.
Thomas wants to live in this moment: They don’t have to talk about it. Minho’s not asking the hard questions yet, and no one else even knows they’re here to ask them. He wants to stay here, with Harriet and Minho ribbing at Gally, everyone full and well-rested and smiling.
But even as he thinks it, he knows that if he’s lucky, he’s got an hour of moments like this.