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“Would it be rude to ask about his nose?” Thomas questions, keeping his voice low but loud enough for the guardian of the Soul Stone to clearly have heard him. Newt knows why he does this. He doesn’t know if he appreciates Thomas being his authentic self even into potential death or if it’s completely ridiculous for him to wonder about this when death nestles in the corners of Newt’s eyes.
“Perhaps just highly inappropriate,” Newt replies flatly, staring into space as he’s trying to come to terms with not being able to leave this planet anymore. Sure, no one has really been to Vormir, they knew they were diving headfirst into a black ocean with risk of ending up with potential brain damage or being eaten by a kraken but drowning in it while perfectly able to swim never seemed like a threat. Newt is no stranger to contemplation, more familiar with thought and deliberation than Aristotle, sitting like the Thinker. But this, this irreversible sacrifice, requires no discussion - Newt’s dying today and Thomas has no say in the matter.
Thomas is stalling. While it feels like time doesn’t exist here, it does and they’re wasting time, shrinking the timeframe of their entire rescue, moseying back and forth like he’s waiting for someone to get their wisdom tooth taken out. Newt is more than ready and he’s sure that the noseless figure in the ominous cloak and the red face knows, not in any rush to get it over with. Newt would dub that as kind, letting the two of them come to terms with it.
This was Newt’s plan from the start: getting their friends back, whatever it takes, whatever the cost. Getting Minho back, and Winston, Chuck, Alby. He’s saddened that he won’t be there to see them again but he didn’t reunite and devise a nearly perfect plan without realizing sacrifices might have to be made. He’s prepared to make his own. Thomas has to see that. There’s no way Newt’s letting him think he can do this.
In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul.
Thomas waltzes around like he hasn’t grasped what the cloak man said, that in order for them to get the stone one of them has to jump down the steep mountainside and cover the ground with their blood so the other might bring back the half of the universe that they lost. He never takes anything too seriously and Newt begins to understand why - to protect himself. To make sure he can remain strong enough to keep everyone afloat, to keep up morale. But now, right now , Newt just thinks he’s naive. Either they can leave without the stone and both of them are safe or they can get this over with and save everyone.
Without the souls Janson snapped away from reality with the help of the stone, there will be no people to bring back. They need every single piece to succeed.
Whatever it takes.
Newt repeats this like a prayer so he won’t forget it, using the time Thomas is wasting to remember something about everything that means something. His mum, dad, sister, meeting Alby and Minho for the first time, getting his memories back from WCKD, getting to live a somewhat normal life for the time after their group split after being completely morally obliterated when they failed to keep the universe safe.
For Minho to have a chance at becoming an Olympic champion.
Whatever it takes.
For Alby to be a humanitarian.
Whatever it takes.
For Chuck to know the endless opportunities he could choose from.
Whatever it takes.
For Winston and his fight for animal rights.
Whatever it takes.
For Thomas and his well deserved break.
Newt stands up from his seated position on a rock, willing his mind to exit from the memory of a playground he’d revisited to remember how that was the first time Sonya got badly hurt and Newt took care of her - the first time she’d let him take care of her and realized that even if he seemed distant, he cared more than he let on. He’s not sure whether the small particles nestling in his and Thomas’ hair is snow or ash and the wind that gently whistles still seems barely there, despite its intensity. He thinks it isn’t a bad place to go, nor the worst way either. This is what he’d planned anyway, all those years ago. Falling, feeling weightless and useless for a while until everything is erased like Newt’s story was just text on a whiteboard someone swipes away.
There’s a permanent eclipse, showering the west in a pink glow while the rest of the planet is shrouded in darkness. It’s beautiful. Newt’s been scared of dying like an animal ever since he escaped the Maze, in every fight, in every swing of his fist, in every moment he wakes up after an atrocious slumber. At least now it’s on his own terms, at least now he’s come to those terms.
“You think he’s talking bullshit? All people do is lie to us, can we really be sure?” Thomas theorizes, even if Newt knows that Thomas isn’t even believing what he’s saying. He also knows what they have to do.
“He knows your mum. Not even you do,” Newt tells him, not breaking eye contact. Thomas doesn’t seem to like Newt’s scrutiny and often shies away from it, never having been really great at maintaining eye contact unless he’s royally pissed off. But Newt knows. He’s gonna go. He likes living, he never thought he would like it again, but here is now and now is where Newt fulfills his only wish. He doesn’t wanna waste one moment. He wants to make up for all those times he too shied away from looking at Thomas by just unabashedly studying him now.
He’s bunching up the coarse fabric of his suit into his fist over and over, an anxious tick of his when he can’t pick at his nails. His jaw clenches and unclenches in tune with his swallowing to combat his dry throat because he’s so bad at remembering he has basic needs, despite his faint scowl he has no lines in his face like he was born with the expression even if his smile is more natural like he was made for it. Born to scowl, made to smile. Newt scoffs to himself. His eyes are fierce and intelligent, forged in the fires that made the world and are world-weary like they’re age old relics, having witnessed and weathered with every event in history. And yet they watch everything with care, love, hope. Gentle and comforting and attentive, same color as a drop of sunlight burning a pane of glass.
“We’re running out of time,” Newt states factually, trying to make his motives as unclear as possible. Thomas is a self-sacrificial shuckface, he’ll never let Newt do this.
“What if he’s got the stone in his back pocket or something,” Thomas tries but Newt shakes his head and he knows that he can see it, despite avoiding Newt’s gaze like the plague.
“You can’t leave without that stone, Thomas,” Newt says, firmer this time. Thomas’ gaze flickers to meet Newt’s for a brief second before looking away again, nodding his head in understanding that seems too much like acceptance and he thinks he’s getting out the easy way. Not him. Never ever him.
Until… as Newt keeps on studying Thomas like he’s an encyclopedia he spots that flicker of change, of realization. And Newt knows he’s made a mistake.
“ You?” Thomas quotes silently, his voice barely carrying over the wind. His gaze lifts to connect with Newt’s and he’s worried, betrayed, in disbelief. He’s been found out, and now he’ll have to fight for this. He will. “ We aren’t going anywhere without that stone, Newt,” he reiterates forcefully.
“This isn’t like other times.” Newt keeps his voice low, like these are some secrets they need to keep safe from the universe. “This isn’t a seventy, sixty, eighty or even fifty percent chance. This is the road and where it leads us and where we must part,” he continues, closing in on Thomas and his personal space which he usually avoids because of how highly he’s always guarded his own space.
“Poetry? Really?” Thomas questions like he’s disappointed and growing angrier. He might be. Newt would be too. And he’s sure he will have to get angry.
“There are worse ways to tell you what’s gonna happen. I won’t say them.”
“ You ?” Thomas says again. “You mean that if I’d have turned my back earlier, you would’ve just jumped? Without- without saying anything?” His voice grows in volume but Newt doesn't step down or away.
“I would’ve said goodbye. But not before…” Newt remembers the wire each of their suits is equipped with, saving their usage for when the time is right but he’s thankful he remembers they’re there.
“ You as in me ? You as in me over you , Newt? You think I’m even gonna let you near that drop? Are you fucking crazy?” Thomas goes on and on and he’s still stalling for time, thinking that he can stop any of this or prevent Newt from doing it, thinking that he doesn’t understand exactly what Newt had meant by his slipup.
“Thomas, this is not the time for you to pick a fight,” Newt warns him, refraining from using the name he always calls Thomas, thinking that maybe if he doesn’t use it for some time, it will hurt less when he goes. But it comes so naturally - Tommy. Thomas is someone else. Someone he didn’t know at a time long ago.
“But you knew I would. That’s why you didn’t wanna say that. ‘ You ’. You slipped up, Newt. You fucked it up and you expect me to not fight? Who the fuck do you think I am?”
“Don’t fucking swear at me, I’m trying to save your shuck life, you shuckfaced bastard!” Newt barks, grabbing Thomas’ arms and sandwiching him between them. “I know exactly who you bloody are, that’s why I couldn’t-... shouldn’t have said that! I fucking knew you’d do this stupid klunk!” His eyes are fierce and are drilling Thomas into place, preventing him from going anywhere until Newt relents and he won’t. His hands clutching Thomas’ arms hold on hard like a vice, almost like he wants to cut off circulation so he can’t fight back. He hates this. He hates it so bad to be in his last moments with Thomas and that he’s yelling at him, yelling at him to go let him kill himself when he’d been fighting for so long to bounce back from what he did at his lowest.
Stiff after Newt’s surprise grip on him, his body eventually loosens up. But Newt isn’t fooled. It’s not him going down without a fight or relinquishing, it’s him knowing that a screaming match won’t get them anywhere because with his track record going against Newt in that regard would mean an unimaginable sacrifice had to be made. One Thomas isn’t willing to make.
“I know this isn’t what… we planned for. It could never be. We’re always so ready and then it happens and suddenly all preparation is erased but something has to be done. And it has to be at whatever cost might need to be- “
“No! Don’t be sensible with me- goddamnit, I hate when you’re so sensible and wise, this isn’t ‘something that needs to be done’ it’s your l- you can’t. I won’t let you,” Thomas protests, already losing this battle as his voice wavers and dips, as his eyes flail around Newt’s face in search of some type of weakness or insecurity he can exploit to make sure Newt doesn’t jump.
Newt keeps saying that force is how he’ll have to do this but it becomes clearer that it isn’t how he’ll succeed. Thomas won’t be beat this time. Newt knows now how he’ll sway this in his favor.
“Tommy,” his name. His real name. To them, at least. He lets his hands travel up Thomas’ arms where they held him in place, a showcase of force, only for him to place his hands on his cheeks, a showcase of love. His own breath jolts, shaking as it exits his closing airways, drying out his mouth in the process.
“You can’t stop me. Even if you’re… looking at me with those… hauntingly beautiful eyes, even if every time you do look at me like this, I falter because I just wanna please you and be your favorite person. I still do. But I know when I’m beat, and now isn’t one of those times. You. Can’t. Stop. Me.” Newt’s voice shrinks as he speaks, eventually ending up as nothing but a whisper that the faint wind could capture and steal away.
Thomas’ eyes gleam like a fiery sunset intertwining its rays with the rain, calling for a flood. Newt feels how Thomas melts into his touch, sees how he screws up his face so he won’t cry.
“You are my favorite person, Newt,” Thomas says all in an exhale, unstable like a house of cards. He says it like Newt should know this, that it’s obvious and it makes flowers grow in the hollows between Newt’s ribcage. “You don’t even need to try, you’re just my favorite person. What makes you think I can let you go now ? Why would you tell me this?” He’s crying now, full on.
Fuck, Newt is a fool for thinking this would be easy, for thinking this would just be something they’d get over with. Seeing Thomas like this, calling him his favorite person, the thing he always strived to be, is utterly fulfilling and disgustingly tragic at the same time which is why Newt can’t contain it either.
“Because I was a coward who couldn’t face losing you because I fell in love with you.”
And he did do that. How couldn’t he? Thomas is the most extraordinary person on the planet. He’s brave beyond comprehension, compassionate enough to cover for half the population, intelligent yet aware, kind, beautiful - everything good in the world, Newt settles for, cheesy as it is.
“I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have told you at all,” Newt decides quietly, stroking one thumb along his cheekbone, the other hand sliding down to rest on his shoulder, squeezing it as he watches Thomas not respond, evidently agreeing with him. But at least Newt knows Thomas feels the same…
“I’m so sorry you find out this way,” Newt apologizes and gladly embraces Thomas back as he slowly snakes his arms around Newt, tucking his head into the crook of Newt’s neck.
“I don’t know if… if I really wanna know but… how long…?” Thomas asks while still locked in their embrace. Newt deliberates on if it’s smart to tell him, now when it’s about to end before it could even begin.
“Very long. Probably from the start.”
“You’ve got to be joking… “ Thomas mumbles hopelessly, holding Newt tighter than he just did, which is already pretty tight. “That’s a long time for us to not be together.”
Newt’s heart shatters. The implication is clear enough and he wants to punch himself in the face for not seeing it, for not believing it when he did see it, for giving in to the insecurities that nearly cost him his life and thinking that all those small things Thomas would do, things they’d both do only with each other, meant nothing. This sucks. This isn’t at all as simple as Newt thought. Now he doesn’t wanna go. He has to and he will, but he does so heartbreakingly unwilling to.
“We do what we can with the time we’re given,” Newt whispers, turning his face into Thomas’ hair, his lips touching the shell of Thomas’ ear.
“With the knowledge we have,” Thomas adds and Newt nods.
Thomas detaches from Newt but doesn’t go far, an almost relieved expression on his face as he studies the blond unlike he ever has before. “I never thought I’d see you up close,” Thomas laments and Newt notes the hint of despair between the lines of his words. “I can’t believe- “ Thomas stops himself, silencing himself by closing a hand over his mouth to which Newt responds by holding him close again.
Newt is a fool.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispers and Newt is about to respond that nothing of this is something to apologize for but he is a fool. There’s a sharp pain in his bad leg, causing his knees to buckle and he falls onto the rock hard ground, groaning from the sensation of the pain that’s usually dormant these days.
What he sees as he glances up is Thomas rushing towards the edge.
Newt is a FOOL!
“Thomas!” Newt fires the small grappling hook gun strapped to his good leg in front of Thomas’ feet and he slips, sliding onto the ground as well and Newt has to be quicker than his leg wants him to but fuck that damn leg. He stops where Thomas is laying, gathering his bearings, and kneels down, grabbing his collar and wrenching it tightly as he pulls Thomas towards him.
“You slinthead. The hell are you doing?” He hisses and tightens his grip as Thomas clutches Newt’s fist to try and dislodge his hold.
“I won’t let you die,” Thomas pants, his chest heaving rapidly.
“You’re not letting me do anything, Thomas,” Newt steadies his voice. “It’s my choice. Just… just let go. Let me go.”
“No!” Thomas protests fervently again. “I’ll be alive without you. I’ll just be here and you- “
“I know! I know but you’re not leaving with both of me and the stone.”
“ You .” He isn’t giving that up.
“You,” Newt echoes and takes the wire meant for climbing, and swiftly, before Thomas can even blink, twists it around his wrists, tying them together loose enough for him to get out of when no one is there to untie him.
“I love you, Tommy. You .”
“Newt! Don’t do this!” Thomas pleads, already struggling out of his bonds.
“I’ll wait for you. Don’t think for a second I won’t haunt you and Minho,” he tries comedy but he knows, judging by Thomas’ desperate expression, it won’t work.
“Please, Newt! Please!” He goes on but Newt shakes his head. “Please.”
“I love you. You can say it back one day.” Newt is a fool when he kisses Thomas, Newt is a fool for thinking this would be easy, but he isn’t a fool when he leaps off the edge, his last glimpses a confirmation that Thomas gets the stone and that he’ll be taken care of wherever he ends up. And he’s no fool for waiting patiently and sending small signals to Thomas and Minho that he’s still among them.