Work Text:
Thomas couldn’t sleep; the sound of waves lapping over the shore in the far distance kept him up, the wind between the palm trees, Chuck’s face, the griever’s eyes watching him from the corner of the hut, Jorge snoring, Gally snoring. When he closes his eyes, he sees everything he lost.
His attempts are futile. He twists and turns, squeezing his eyes shut makes him miserable with a headache, and his heartbeat is erratic, hands shaking with the tightness of his curled-up body in the sleeping bag. He hears rustling, thinking it's his own body; he sighs. Then there’s a whimper, and his eyes shoot open.
Sure he had misheard, Thomas stays silent for a moment to hear any other noises; however, there's another and another, and a choking sob that makes Thomas’s stomach drop instantly. Sitting up, he scans the hut for anyone who could be awake, before his eyes fall on the boy sleeping beside him, blond hair stuck to his skin, falling messily over his face, which Thomas only sees through the hint of moonlight peaking through.
Oh God. Thomas’s heart drops too now, and he wants to reach out for him, take his hand, take his face in his and help ease the nightmare away. Newt is supposed to be okay here, he’s supposed to be healing, they all are.
“Wake up,” Thomas whispers, more so to himself. He wants to hold him, “Please.” But Newt only cries softly, Thomas falls back on the sleeping bag and watches the blond boy before he suddenly startles himself awake anyway. Gasping for air, his hands rubbing at his face, his cheeks, fingers coursing through his hair, and he groans before pulling himself up.
Thomas blows a small breath of relief through his parted lips, eyes hazy, nearly closed but open enough for him to watch Newt. The boy is still sitting up, frantic breaths falling through his mouth, and Thomas can still feel the urge to help him.
“Newt,” Newt looks over to him and listens to the way Thomas says his name through his sleep-ridden state; it comes out as barely a whisper, and his eyes fall through chocolate, “You okay?”
He watches the blond contemplate for a moment before nodding, offering a smile that only tips the edges of his mouth up, “Don’t worry, Tommy.” He lays back down, groaning and turning his back to Thomas.
So he tries to listen to Newt and falls asleep finally to the sound of the boy’s even breaths.
~ ~ ~
“Newt,” Thomas whispers. He sighs, brows furrowing together, and he leans forward, sitting up. “Newt?” He couldn’t take it any longer. After last week, Newt had been sleeping soundly, until tonight, when Thomas woke up to the sound of Newt’s soft cries again. Before he realises it, his hand is on Newt’s arm, pushing against the boy, “Newt, wake up,” His voice is hushed, as to try and not wake anyone else up, but Jorges still snoring, Gally’s sleep talking, nobody else stirs.
The moonlight illuminates the blond’s cheeks, wet with tears, and Thomas’s heart breaks. He thought last week’s nightmare was the only one, would be the only one. Here they were safe, an island far away from WICKED. They were happy here. It was like the Glade all over again, except without restrictions and high walls, mapping mazes and keeping secrets. They swam, gardened, cooked and lit bonfires. There was nothing wrong with being here. Newt seemed content, even the day after his first nightmare. Despite looking slightly tired, he carried on perfectly normal, only once giving in to Thomas’s look of worry, “I’m fine, Tommy.” He had said, before carrying on with planting crops.
Another sob escapes through Newt’s lips, bringing Thomas back to reality.
“Newt,” he says with urgency, shaking his arm now, “Newt!”
And then he’s awake. Gasping for air, sitting up forward, somebody mumbles from the other side of the hut, calling out questions, but Thomas is too busy watching the blond to care if he’s woken anyone up.
“Tommy?” His eyes are clouded, voice rigid.
Thomas nods, “Right here, I’m right here.” The hand that had been on Newt’s arm was now along the small of his back, his other hand reaching up to wipe his tears.
“I’m sorry-”
Thomas shushes him, “You have nothing to apologise for.” He doesn’t think he’s ever spoken so softly, his voice rasping, the smile on his lips felt overly sweet.
“No, this is supposed to be good. We’re supposed to be okay. I’m sorry I can’t get over it,” Newt cries, and Thomas shushes him again, dragging the syllables out. He was trying to calm him down, but his cries only worsened.
Then there's another mumble, and the room falls silent, no snoring, a few sniffles, the breeze outside, the lapping of the waves.
“Lie back down, Newt. We can talk about everything in the morning,” Thomas whispers. Newt looks at him before nodding, and he complies, but not before the brunet can wipe the rest of the boy's tears away.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” Thomas’s brows furrow down, and he can tell Newt's smiling up at him, laughing even with the few quick chuckles he hears.
“Nevermind then.”
“No, seriously, Newt! What?!” He only frowns more, and the blond laughs louder.
“Be quiet, you shuckfaces!” Someone whisper-shouts from the other side of the hut, and Thomas and Newt look at each other again before falling into a quiet fit of laughs. Thomas lies down, keeping to his separate side.
“Goodnight,” Thomas says, voice gentle. He can feel brown eyes scanning his face and hear the way Newt’s body rustles around to get comfortable in the sleeping bag.
“G’night,” He smiles into the word, and Thomas is the first to fall asleep now, and when he wakes up before Newt the next morning, he can tell the boy didn’t have any more nightmares after that.
~ ~ ~
The sun is shining bright. Saccharine, as it’s always been lately. Warmth surrounds the island and digs into their skin, like toes into the sand. The sounds of boys laughing, girls chatting, a fire somewhere, and food being prepared are all too familiar, yet brand new.
There was nothing irregular about today. Thomas frowns.
Alright, there was one thing irregular.
“What’re ya lookin’ for, boy?” A man calls out to the brunet, and Thomas turns around to meet the man. He’s burly, crouching low to dig his hands into the soil and plant seeds. He wipes the back of his hand over his forehead.
“Oh- uh. Newt?”
“That blond chap? Yeah, he was here earlier, lookin’ pretty exhausted from the sun, aight, went into one of the huts,” the man nods off behind Thomas. Thomas follows his line of sight, where their hut lays on the bank.
“Thanks.”
“You that boy he won’t stop blabbering on about?”
“What?”
“Nah, nonsense, he talks about some other kid from his maze all the time, something about following him anywhere and everywhere, till ends of time,” he chuckles now, shaking his head and looking down, “some boy named Tommy.”
Thomas smiles, cocking his head to the side slightly, “Didn’t know he talked about me.”
Now the burly guy really laughs, digging soil back around the seeds, “It’s all he will talk about is ya, kid. Now get outta here, poor boy looked out of it.”
The brunet frowns at this, and he says thank you again before leaving towards their designated hut; it sat on the shore, under palm trees that shaded the area surrounding it at particular times of the day. Now, though, Minho sat there, sharpening a knife; he looked up at Thomas as he walked by.
“Oh hey,” Minho waves his knife around.
“What are you doing with that?” Thomas asks questions that never fail to fill his head.
“I’m going to kill you with it, then Gally, maybe,” Minho answers, thinking about it seriously.
“Okay, I’ll take that as my queue to leave.”
Minho grins, and Thomas backs away before walking past him to their hut. It is large, being able to fit eight to ten people in it. And at the moment, was very much only a temporary solution. They’d make more huts; everyone could have their own. But it’d only been eight months since they got here, and they had larger problems than a couple hundred huts to build.
Thomas opens the door, and he’s immediately greeted by Newt pacing the room. He hadn’t heard him come in, too worried about his own problems. Hands digging through his blond hair, too long, and the curls pulled at recently.
“Newt,” Thomas calls for the boy. However, he doesn’t change course. “Newt?” he steps forward, and, in a swift movement, catches both of Newt’s arms and drags him back to Earth.
Newt searches Thomas’s face, and Thomas feels him relax within his grip. “Tommy?”
“Hey, Newt.”
“Are you okay?” Newt has the audacity to ask, and Thomas grunts. “You look worried.”
“I’m worried about you, Newt,” Thomas whispers quietly, and it’s that irregular, soft tone he’s not well-acquainted with but can only use when the blond is around. “I’m always worrying about you.”
A wall between them flies up, and Newt throws Thomas away from him with force. Distance, anger, frustration. Thomas scoffs, “You don’t need to worry about me, you shank.”
“Newt-”
“No! Stop. Please, Tommy, please, don’t- don’t pity me.”
Thomas frowns, and he’s void of movement, but his mind races through a million scenarios as to what’s going on with Newt in the few seconds that pass.
“I’m fine! Can’t you see that? Everybody else can!” Newt throws his arms up, backing away from Thomas, who reaches for him in reflex.
“They don’t see your suffering the way I do.”
Newt stands motionless, his hands come to his sides. He looks at Thomas and searches his face with those big brown doe eyes that Thomas has always taken a second to admire whenever he’s with Newt. His blond hair is dishevelled, and Thomas reaches forward and pats it down with his hands. His fingers comb back through it.
“You… you have these nightmares most nights, Newt. But so do I. They keep me up all night, long enough for me to hear you. And please, don’t you ever brush them off because you want to pretend they don’t exist.” “I’m not pretending they don’t exist,” Newt falls apart in front of him. He’s been falling apart; Thomas just hasn’t been quick enough to act on it.
“Then what is it, Newt?” a soft mouthful of words, a quiet prayer for Newt to open up for him.
“They scare me, so much. In those nightmares I see myself die from the outside perspective, I feel myself dying. But sometimes, it’s the other way around: I see you die. You’re the one they take. Sometimes, I wake up, and your bed isn’t even there, you’re not even here, and then I wake up properly, and it’s all a dream, Tommy. In my dreams, I lose you-” he chokes up.
“I’m here, I’ll always be right here,” Thomas’s hands fall down gently to the sides of Newt’s face; the skin is smooth but wet. Tears have landed and fallen, the reminders of them exist for Thomas to hold onto. “Stop crying, please, please stop crying.”
Newt sniffles, and he comes undone. Large sobs fall from his mouth, and Thomas quickly pulls his boy into his chest, Newt, taller by inches, places his head against Thomas. His hands grip the dark grey shirt Thomas is wearing, whose own hands are rubbing his back, another in his hair.
“I’m so sorry,” Newt manages to say, the words escape him in hiccups. “I’m just so-”
“You never need to explain,” Thomas hushes.
“But for you, I want to. I want to give you the answers.”
Thomas pulls away, just enough for them to see eye-to-eye and still be tangled in one another’s warmth and comfort. “Then in time, when you’re ready, you can. But when you’re not even able to help yourself with answers, just let me be here for you and let yourself heal.”
Newt wants to tell Thomas many things. One of them is simple: eight letters, three words. But he doesn’t say anything at all; he only nods.
“And you wake me up, Newt.”
“But-”
“No, I’m dead serious. You wake me up when you’re having a nightmare. I don’t care if it’s the best sleep I’ve had since I’ve been here; you let me know.”
Newt looks into Thomas’s eyes and feels seen. He wants to be selfish and imagine that Thomas was sent from God, for him. For him to love, for him to feel loved, to feel seen, to be his forever person.
“I’ll wake you up,” Newt repeats, and Thomas’s small smile is captured in Newt’s eyes as a memory he’ll forever remember. He brings him close again, pulls him against his body where he can savour his warmth and try to imitate the rise and fall of his steady heart. Newt buries himself, his hands loop around Thomas’s neck, and Thomas’s around his waist makes him feel captured in love.
The door of the hut opens, and the afternoon sun splinters through.
“Woah, am I interrupting something?” Minho’s voice greets them, and Newt pulls away first, but Thomas holds his grasp on the boy. “Came in to get Gally’s knife, told him I’d sharpen it for him,” he explains, and he moves past them. Thomas and Newt only share a look.
~ ~ ~
In his dreams, Thomas sees the glade. The sun shines bright, the grass is greener, and the boys call out to each other in good fun. Newt is at his right, Chuck to his left. He sees Teresa in the treehouse. There is laughter and serenity.
In his dreams, Thomas feels warmth, blazing hot, Chuck is gone. Where is Chuck? He searches, he couldn’t have gone far in so little time. But when he turns around, there is fire. Chuck walks into it; he screams for him, screams out at the flames that take so much away from him. He holds Newt’s hand, and he runs. He holds it so tight he fears this might be real.
But in his dreams, he loses him, as he often does. His voice is unheard against the wind and torrential weather that fights against the glade. The flames encapsulate their world, reaching every hut, every glader gone. Newt falls back as they run, and Thomas turns to see him limping badly, as he does when he’s been running too much on his bad leg. He tugs on him, and the fires are catching up. But somehow, despite his grip, Newt falls back, and their hands come undone. He loses Newt. To a world of nightmares, each night a different place, a new way. He wakes up sweating, breathing hard. Sitting up, he places his hand over his heart.
He doesn’t know how to deal with it all. But he knows that with Newt, maybe his answer lies there. They share these twisted dreams that replay reality back at them with awful turnouts and endings that are nothing like the one the ending they’re living now. Thomas doesn’t think he’s properly dreamt since he lived in the Glade, which is funny because he can’t even recall a single one now. He knows the black wall of sleep and the nightmares, but a dream is nothing that he remembers.
He understands Newt on a new level. Losing the people he loves, especially him. Not being able to fight and help, being helpless. He thinks if he talks about the nightmares to anyone, they’ll give him a way out that he’s already thought of. Anything they think of, he’s tried twice. He’s tried to escape them, and he’s terrified of them. And he knows that he won’t be able to fall back asleep for the rest of the night.
He looks to the door, it’s been left ajar, but all the beds are occupied. He contemplates getting up and having a breather. To watch the stars' reflections wash up on the shores under the palm trees. He contemplates death, he contemplates the future. But moreover, he wonders what a life this could’ve been had the cure not landed in his hands in time. He contemplates Newt.
He turns his head, blond hair, a face twisted up, hands loose. Newt’s eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth slightly open, but he breathes through his nose. Their beds are close together; they moved them a week ago after their talk. And with Newt’s nightmares, he finds that being closer to Thomas is good for him. He’ll wake him up if he’s not already up and hugging his knees as he is now.
Thomas sees it before he hears it. Newt turns onto his back, then his other side. He grips the bed sheets and pulls them up. But they ride low when he twists back over to the right to face Thomas again. With a whisper of a voice, he mumbles, “Tommy.” Thomas’s heart shatters all over his palm. He’s unsteady with himself already, but he’s got no idea how to calm Newt down as well as himself. So he lifts himself up and sits on the side of his bed. Before he knows it, he’s reached out for Newt’s hand, the same way he’d wake him up when he needed him.
“Newt.”
A sharp inhale, furrowed brows, Newt curls in on himself.
“Newt, you’re okay. I’m right here with you,” his voice is hushed, but he’s still on edge. His own heart stammers, and he breathes unevenly. Nightmares exist long past the dream realm.
Thomas takes Newt’s hands in both of his now and bends down, pulling them up to him and kissing the knuckles of his left hand. His thumbs brush over the pale skin, soft, but scarred. He’s been told their stories, and he’ll remember them as well as he knows his own.
Thomas isn’t sure if he should wait until Newt wakes himself up, or if he should wake him up himself. But that changes when he sees a glistening tear fall from Newt’s inner corner of his eye and ruptures over his nose. With one hand, Thomas shakes Newt, calling his name more clearly. He doesn’t care if he wakes the whole hut- no, the whole damn island up before he wakes up Newt. But alas, finally, Newt breathes harder, and his eyes shoot open. Newt takes his hands back to his sides, but Thomas slips himself in and takes hold of one tightly.
“Right here with you, baby,” he says it so softly, and Newt doesn’t try to get up; he only lays back and relaxes, breathing, just as Thomas had taught him two nights ago, looking at Thomas, just as he’d told him to do so.
“You called me baby,” Newt laughs, gentler than he’d done today when Minho and Thomas were shooting friendly insults back and forth, but still, it held the light of a thousand suns.
“Did I?” Thomas frowns, but the corners of his lips tug upwards when Newt nods. And he thinks, that maybe he should call him baby again if he’s so relaxed right now. “Baby,” he wonders if similar names have similar results.
“Tommy, stop,” Newt says, and Thomas doesn’t miss the flush of pink on the boy’s face, dusting over his cheekbones and nose.
“Never, honey.”
A low groan, a quiet laugh, someone cusses them out, and they fall quiet. Thomas slips back into bed with what little devices he’s been left to (missing a hand). With his head on his pillow, Newt in his sights with his hand still in his, Thomas tells him to dream well and that he’ll be right here with him.
~ ~ ~
“Tommy,” Newt sounds frantic, and immediately Thomas wakes up. His eyes flutter open to see a blurry figure in front of him, actually, on top of him. Thomas is on his back, and the blond boy is straddling him; as he sits up, he can see the tears streaming down his face.
“Newt?” his hands fall on the boy’s thighs. Newt lets him sit up further, and immediately, the brunet goes to hold Newt’s face. “Nightmares?” “It was bad, it was really, really bad. You were- they found us, here,” Newt sobs, and Thomas reaches forward and hugs him. He never lets him go, not when he’s crying softly into his shirt, or when he’s tired himself out of them and just sits in his arms.
Their fingers haphazardly move against one another, the trails of warmth that they leave in their path. Thomas feels for Newt under his shirt, and he’s held him like this for the past fifteen minutes. He thinks Newt may as well be asleep on his shoulder by now. But he hears him hum as Thomas places his hands on Newt’s lower back.
“Are you feeling better?”
Newt nods against Thomas’s shoulder. “Yes, thank you, Tommy,” he whispers quietly. And Thomas feels the emotion behind the nickname that’s always come from Newt’s mouth. He can’t remember the last time he was called Thomas, definitely not in the last nine months, that was for sure.
“Newt, sleep with me tonight,” Thomas says. Newt laughs, and immediately Thomas groans. “Not like that.”
“I know what you mean,” Newt pulls back and grins.
‘At least he’s feeling better,’ Thomas thinks, frowning. “Do you?” Newt slips into Thomas’s side, and Thomas makes room for him. But in the end, they find it easier for Thomas to go on his side and bring Newt into his chest. His hands fall around his waist, and Newt's hands wrap around Thomas’s hands. Thomas presses a kiss to the back of Newt’s head, and it’s the most loved Newt has felt in months, if not ever.
“Dream well,” but they both know that they’ll both be awake till sunrise.
~ ~ ~
“Hey,” the voice behind Thomas makes him frown, but he turns anyway and sighs. “What’s this I’m hearing about you having a boyfriend?” Gally grins, punching Thomas’s arm playfully.
“Newt isn’t my boyfriend,” Thomas rolls his eyes, smiling at his friend’s futile attempts at trying to punch him again. However, he catches his hand this time, swerving out of the way. “He just sleeps with me.”
“Yeah, and? It’s been two weeks of it, brother; you guys are either so in love or so in love and dumb.”
“Neither,” Thomas shrugs, grabbing his shovel again and digging it deep into the earth to continue his hole. He and a few others were making preparations for more farms. “Just helps with our nightmares, is all; means he can wake me up if he ever needs without disrupting everyone else.”
Gally falls back, “I didn’t realise you still had them.”
Thomas looks back at him, searching his face; he sees guilt clear as day written all over, “Gally, we don’t need to talk about it. But Newt’s not my boyfriend.”
“And you’re not in love?” the blond smirks, and he watches Thomas’s face fall. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Guess you better get a move on.”
Thomas shakes his head and scoffs, digging his shovel back down and pulling out the dirt. “Unbelievable.” “No! You are! Both you and Newt. I thought it was funny how oblivious you both were at first. Thinking you were only ever together and close because of everything, you two are down for one another. And either you tell him, greenie, or he’ll never know.”
Thomas frowns, “I’m no greenie, no more.”
“Force of habit- Wait, that’s what you take away?!”
Thomas raises one of his hands, “I’m not oblivious, alright? I’m not. We both just have a lot going on at the moment. Newt’s working on the farms, and I have to be around to help. Give it a couple of weeks, and I’ll talk to him.
“Talk to me about what?” Newt appears at Thomas’s side, and he strings an arm around him.
Immediately, Thomas grows worried. But Gally sighs and puts his hands on his hips. “I’ve been asking Thomas for weeks now to talk to you about the new huts! Do you have any idea how hard it is to fall asleep with Jorge snoring two beds down!? Or having five angry people throwing shoes at you for waking them up early on accident! God, the nerve,” Gally says, exasperated. Newt turns to the sleeping huts on the shore, and Thomas steals a glance at Gally, who grins and winks at him. Thomas shakes his head.
Newt frowns, “Well, let’s try and work on some of the farms and other huts before we think about sleeping quarters again. You can always sleep on the sand, Gally.”
“Nope, everything is okay. It’s not that important. Anyway, nice chat, Thomas. Can’t wait to see results!” Gally calls out as he leaves the two.
“Results for what?” Newt shakes his head and smiles.
“Um, the farms?” Thomas says, and Newt shrugs.
“What does he do around here?”
“Keep everyone in check and keep you in charge.”
“So, he is important,” Newt snickers.
“More or less. Try and keep him alive,” Thomas laughs, and the blond does too, nodding.
~ ~ ~
“...ommy.”
Thomas stirs awake, finding Newt already awake and looking at him.
“I’m so sorry, Tommy,” Newt whispers, and Thomas kisses his forehead. His hand grabs for blond hair, and he threads his fingers through it. “I thought- I thought I was getting better. This is the first one this entire week.” “That’s great, babe. Silver lining. Look for the silver lining,” he whispers hazily, eyes still blurry. This must’ve been the best sleep he’s ever had. No nightmare to wake up from. He’s woken up the same way he’d fallen asleep, Newt in his arms and their legs tangled together.
“Don’t call me-” “Babe. Gotcha, honey,” Thomas finds this an easy solution to get his mind off the nightmares. He hasn’t needed the solutions for a while, though. They come and go every few nights. However, as Newt had said, this was the first one in a week. Last week, he’d only had one, too. And for the past month, actually, he’d only had a few.
“I just don’t know why they aren’t going away-” Newt is interrupted when Thomas kisses his forehead again. He opens his mouth to say something but Thomas is kissing his cheek, then his hand, his knuckles. He kisses him all over, and the boy finally relaxes and laughs. “You’re being cute, stop.” “I’m never not being cute,” Thomas says softly. But he knows that isn’t true. He’s tough and always used to trying to defend and fight for the people he wants to protect. Showing a soft side has never been in his cards, but with Newt, he wants to show him that side.
“I-” Thomas kisses him. It’s new; they’ve never done this before. But it feels right, and at the perfect time. Tomorrow, they’ll talk about feelings and their first dreams in years, but for now, they worry about nothing. They hold each other and keep it short because their eyes can’t stay open for long.
And, for the first time in months, years, they dream of similar dreams where they are able to save one another. And they’re back here, in their safe haven. Dreams and reality coincide with happy endings, and no longer in their dreams to they lose each other.