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And then he was being pulled away by Minho and Newt, his arms still flailing even when they only hit air. They dragged him across the floor; he fought them, squirmed, yelled to be left alone. His eyes remained on Gally, lying there, still; Thomas could feel the hatred pouring out, as if a visible line of flame connected them.
And then, just like that, it all vanished. There were only thoughts of Chuck.
He threw off Minho's and Newt's grip, ran to the limp, lifeless body of his friend. He grabbed him, pulled him back into his arms, ignoring the blood, ignoring the frozen look of death on the boy's face.
"No!" Thomas shouted, sadness consuming him. "No!"
Teresa was there, put her hand on his shoulder. He shook it away.
"I promised him!" he screamed, realising even as he did so that his voice was laced with something wrong. Almost insanity. "I promised I'd save him, take him home! I promised him!"
Teresa didn't respond, only nodded, her eyes cast to the ground. Thomas felt himself dissolving into the pain, letting it consume him. He almost didn't notice when someone sat down beside him. He knew it was Newt, some part of him registered that it was him even while he cradled Chuck and felt himself begin to drown in the ache of it all.
When Newt's fingers found his arm, when his other arm slid around Thomas's back and squeezed, he didn't shake him off. Newt would know. Newt would understand, Thomas knew Newt would feel it just like he did. The heartache, the awfulness.
Thomas hugged Chuck to his chest, squeezed him as tightly as possible, as if that could somehow bring him back, or show thanks for saving his life, for being his friend when no one else would. He was aware of Newt pressing close to him, holding him together as if he knew it was exactly what he needed. Newt always knew, Newt had always known. He'd seen it before Thomas, he must have. The bond that Thomas had with Chuck, the way he loved the kid and hadn't realised until they'd had to jump into the Griever Hole.Too late.
And Chuck had been so brave, had tried to act so brave in front of them. He had only wanted Thomas to be proud of him, to respect him. He had only wanted to be one of them. He just wanted to be treated as more than a child.
Newt's forehead pressed into Thomas's shoulder as Thomas cried, wept like he'd never wept before. He was swept away on the feeling, the utter sorrow, the guilt and the loss consuming him. He fell into the tears, Newt's touch the only thing holding him back from falling apart completely. His great, wracking sobs echoed through the chamber like the sounds of tortured pain.