When Newt woke up, the roof he found coming into focus was wood. Quality wood, the kind that was fresh, new, not old and rotten at bits like everything he remembered from the Glade.
He propped himself up, slowly, cautiously. Looked around.
The room was big, bigger than any room he remembered. Though, he supposed he didn't remember many rooms.
There were drawers along one wall, wooden ones, handcrafted. Bags, items, on the floor, still yet to be sorted. He saw his own jacket, and a splitting headache choked him. He squeezed his eyes close, feeling, sinking himself into the mattress beneath him, until it subsided. He opened his eyes again, and looked to the other side.
More bed.
It was more bed than he was ever used to, the messy blanket evidence of someone else's being there. Newt rolled around, buried his face in the other pillow, breathed in the fresh, familiar scent. And in a hazy confused state, he fell back into a dreamless sleep.
-4 hours earlier-
Thomas allowed himself fifteen seconds to enjoy the view, breath in the fresh air. And if he didn't make himself go back, he would have gone anyways, his mind still hung up on Newt.
It took a while for them to find the plain but functional buildings behind a hill, and another while for him to carry Newt in, settling him in a bed he found there. It still held the scent that often came with new beds, and abruptly Thomas realised that WICKED had built this for them. They knew they'd survive, the children of the desperate, barely alive, not yet adults.
Looking at Newt, lying still on the white blankets, Thomas had to remind himself multiple times that he was alright, he was alive, they all were. And that was all that mattered. The trials were over, and against all odds, they'd made it out. A new start, he mumbled to himself.
He lay on the bed for some time after that, mind going through everything in the past weeks, months. They felt like separate lifetimes, separated into sections of horror, one after the other. He had an arm thrown carelessly over Newt, his hand against Newt's heart. The soft beat grounded him.
He didn't know what time it was, how long he'd been lying on the bed, stuck in his own mind, when he got up to help the others with whatever they were doing.
It was then that he remembered the young boy and his companion, looking from the distance, familiar. Very familiar.
"Chuck...?" He choked, barely a whisper. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind almost immediately, because if he entertained that, if he allowed it to bloom and flourish inside his head, it would just hurt more, all over again, when he found out he was just seeing things. When he found out it was just another lucky child, another person's brother they never had.
"Thomas!" He heard a shout and he whirled around, tears stinging the back of his eyes. The unmistakable voice rang inside his head, reminding him only of when the bullet struck the boy's chest, the blood soaking his clothes, and the helplessness, the helplessness he felt, the first time someone was taken from him.
But he turned around, he turned around and the first thing he saw was a young boy, chubby and smiling, delight shining bright on his face.
He'd recognise that face anywhere.
...
An hour later, Thomas had been introduced and reintroduced to Chuck, to the shy girl beside him. And if seeing Chuck (Thomas had to pinch himself twice, to make sure it wasn't a dream, wasn't just his mind playing twisted tricks on him) wasn't enough, the girl was Ash. Ash, Newt's sister.
Chuck wasn't sure how they'd ended up alive, and Thomas could have sworn the dean bodies he saw inside that one room was real, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter anymore, because they were here, they were alive, and that, that was good enough.
Thomas spoke to one of the immunes, a psychologist that used to work for WICKED, afterwards, about the Flare. He told him that it was a parasite, feeding on the brain, but it also feeds on others near it. It coexists with its same virus, getting stronger and feeding off strength. It couldn't have lived alone, only induced in groups, large groups. Alone, surrounded by immunes, the Flare virus in Newt's head would be weak. He also mentioned that the virus would feed off the strongest emotions, clouding, engulfing it, dulling it and turning it into aggression. For some, this would be hunger, lust. For others, it was love.
The emotions need to overcome the virus, he told him, to fight back, slowly but surely, and the Flare would always live inside Newt's head, but it would be dormant, weak, beaten.
-present time-
When Newt next woke up, the bed was still empty. Rested, with the throbbing at the back of his head dulled, he stood up and padded, however shakily, out of the room, then the house. He found Thomas sitting on a hill opposite the row of houses, staring up at the sky. Quietly, he joined him.
"Hey."
"You're awake," Thomas pointed out. Then quickly, "are you alright?"
"I think so," Newt replied, only a millisecond before Thomas' hand touched his and blinding pain, like a fusing lightbulb, exploded behind his eyes. Thomas' arms were around him in a second, holding him, enveloping him in the warmth he hadn't realised how much he'd missed. It took time but the pain dulled, leaving behind only a warm, fuzzy sensation.
"I asked a doctor that came with the munies; he said you'd heal, with time. It's going to be hard, but you've been through so much. You can do it."
"What if I can't?"
"Then we'll do it together."
Their lips met after that, unexpectedly, spontaneously. There was a hunger underneath, but they were in no hurry. It was over now; they had the world to themselves. They kissed and kissed and kissed underneath the stars, drunk from the sweetness and high from the craze. They were quiet after that, watching the stars overhead. Galaxies and constellations of planets, gazillions of universes, and theirs might be a horrible one, but the storm was over.
Lying in the peace of the aftermath, Newt turned to Thomas.
"You know," he said, a soft breath across Thomas' collarbones, "our lives sucked. But you know what they say, every cloud has a silver lining. There's something good in every mess. And I think, Tommy, you're my silver lining."
Thomas smiled. Tomorrow, tomorrow would be something new. He'd tell Newt about Chuck, about Ash, bring him across the fields and into the woods, discover new places, new worlds. But tonight -
Tonight was theirs.
~fin~
A/N: sO THAT'S IT
I'M DONE
okay I'll first like to apologise for nOT UPDATING FOR LIKE A MONTH when i said i would 2... 3 weeks ago? but I've just been hella busy with, well, everything.
FEAR NOT for I'm going to write an epilogue for this, and iIll have the full thank you's and Obligatory Ending A/N™ after i post that. I really really hope you liked that ending though.
QOTC: Favourite song right now? (Have I done this? I probably have. Oh well. I'll do it again then.)
AOTC: Right now it's Jet Pack Blues by Fall Out Boy (title refs hfjdshkds), if I had to choose one, but I honestly like a ton of FOB and Halsey songs. And Panic's new album too.
So THANK YOU for reading this. I love you all so much, seriously. So much love. If you'd like, you can give this a vote, and I'd love it too if you commented some feedback/anything. Look forward to the epilogue, and goodnight.
YOU ARE READING
Silver Lining (Newtmas)
Fanfiction(NOTE: CONTAINS SPOILERS) Thomas had always stared at Newt behind the screens of WICKED. When Newt was sent up, he gave up all hope of ever seeing him again. As things got worse, however, Thomas was tasked to go up to the Glade himself. But every cl...
