Silver Lining (Newtmas)

34 - Dark, Darker

A/N: Just a notice, I'm not writing a lot of what Thomas (and friends) go through because well it's already written in the book :P Like Gally and the Right Arm and stuff. I also changed the plot a little because well. 

Thomas woke up as they were landing in Denver.

He took a moment to take in his surroundings, tighten his arms around Newt - who was already awake, looking at him with forlorn eyes.

"Come on, Tommy. Time to go," Newt whispered, voice cracking a little, but his hands didn't loosen their grip on Thomas' arms. 

They'd discussed this briefly before - Thomas and the others would seek out the doctor, and they'd bring him back to the Berg for Newt. After the decision they'd looked at Newt worriedly, like he was something fragile, and he was going to break any second. He hated it.

So, he agreed to stay and "recover" in the Berg.

Newt didn't believe one second of it.

That didn't make leaving him any easier though, but he put on a slight smile, and all but pushed them out of the Berg. Before they left, he shared one last parting kiss with Thomas, and though they were coming back, he was almost sure of it, it tasted like memories and salt and the bittersweet of goodbye.

He shut the door of the Berg after that, with force he hadn't intended on, and the bang echoed through his head.

Then he sat, against the corner where Thomas and him had slept, staring blankly at his surroundings. The ransacked storage compartment. A overturned bottle decorated by specks of dirt. A tiny bit of torn cloth where someone's shirt had been stuck in some obscure corner in their haste to get out. The smell of dirt, of sweat, and the thin, cold feeling of loneliness. Like the aftermath of a hurricane, an apocalypse. 

They'd brought everything remotely theirs with them. It didn't feel like they'd nearly escaped death, a few thousand times. That they'd shared everything they could have known with each other - the bonds, the friendships and experiences that gave they who had nothing something to hold on to, something, someone, to rely on, that told them they always had someone to watch their back, to catch them when they fall. The connections built upon loss, love, and faith, the love, the emotional tethers that screamed family. Everything left was nondescript; could belong to anybody. Was just there. Newt felt like that too.

There was a gun, he had a gun, which for reasons he didn't know, but at the same time knew all too well, he clutched on to tightly. Just in case, Thomas had told him, before slipping it into his hands, just in case somebody finds you. Stay here, don't die, you hear me? You're going to be alright. We'll come back as soon as we can, you won't even notice. But he sounded more like he was comforting himself.

With nothing better to do, Newt recounted all their experiences, touches, kisses. He turned the gun over and over again in his hand, closed his eyes, pretended he was safe, they were safe. He didn't let himself think about what could be happening to Thomas, to Minho, to all of his friends. When that wasn't enough, he closed his eyes, and he slept.

Minutes turned into hours. Hours turned into days. Maybe. He wasn't sure. He'd lost track of time, and with that, lost track of his thoughts, his mind. The blinding headache turned into a numb throb. He got used to the nausea. Everything was slow. Fuzzy. 

The dark thoughts started to return. But this time, he wasn't scared, wasn't ashamed. He felt calm, numb, passive. Nothing could hurt him anymore. Thomas, Minho, they were out there, searching for a cure. They were immune. He wasn't, but that was alright. He didn't need to be protected. He didn't want to be protected. 

Thomas could find someone else, someone better. Someone immune, healthy, just like him. It was alright. He was alright. No, no. Thomas didn't need him anymore. It was fine. Everything was fine.