Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

05 (*)

—Nikola told me earlier, and I still don't want to believe him. It isn't fair. Nothing has been fair for a long time, but it doesn't ease the pressure weighing my heart down. Because even after all I have done to protect them, even after all they has gone through, they haven't changed their opinion even a little. When they were taken here, they labelled them as subjects, as lab rats, and they will forever be just that for them.

Toys. Numbers. Something to play around with. But they are so much more. What are we doing to these kids? Every time I look at them, I talk to them, I can't help feeling guilty. Dr Paige insists that this must be done, that this is the only way, but I can't believe her anymore. Honest I would love to, just to shake away the remorse, but I can't. Lately, all I can think whenever she mentions how lucky they are for having been chosen to help us find a cure is, 'It could have been me'. Hadn't I turned out to be clever, it could have been me. Instead, it's been them.

And how can I tell him? How could I ever tell him? Every day I mean to, but when his warm brown eyes meet mine, hungry for answers, I find myself unable to give them away. How can I gather the gut it takes to explain—

—then they broke eye contact, and Thomas stumbled backwards, feeling weak and dizzy. Tiny dots of black light danced throughout his field of vision, so he winked until they faded away. As he did so, the Glade slowly reappeared around him. From the darkness above, which had turned the curvy branches into menacing, tangled shreds of shadow, he could deduce the vision had lasted longer than it had seemed. The only sounds were those of the rustling leaves and the wind leaping from one to the next. Newt was silent. So was he.

What had he meant to explain?

Without any kind of care, Thomas chewed on his lower lip as he squeezed his brains in search for the rest of the vision, but all he got was an aftertaste like metal. Blood dripped from the corner of his mutilated lips, and when he licked them, they burned like a wasp sting.

Somewhere inbetween their snapping out of the vision and Thomas' act of self lip destruction, Newt had stood up. Now he nervously wrinked a lock of pale hair between his fingers, skinny and fast like the legs of a spider. That was the only thing giving him away, for otherwise he was perfectly still. He wasn't scared. What he irradiated wasn't fear, but rather vulnerability. Defenselessness. For the first time since Thomas had arrived in the Glade, Newt looked completely lost.

Because they had both had a vision, whatever that meant.

"Listen, Newt, what did—"

"No."

"But if you have—"

"I said no." Newt lifted his chin and stared at Thomas in the penumbra. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout it, so spare yourself the cheap therapy."

"Excuse me? What the heck, Newt?"

"If you're witty as you wanna seem, ya shut your trap this moment."

Thomas' lips cracked open again, and a thin trail of blood trailed down his chin. "What's wrong with all of you?" he shouted. "Sorry to break the news, but having been here for longer doesn't entitle you to act like a jerk."

First Newt opened his mouth as though he might reply, but then he closed it again and, without any further comment, walked away towards what could only be the way out of Deadheads. Frustrated, Thomas grunted and sank a fist in the ground, earning a set of aching knuckles. Even after having been warned that he didn't have any entitlement allowing him to act like a jerk, Newt looked ready to keep on acting like a jerk.

But then Newt hissed and fell to the floor upon reaching the edge of the clearing. As he struggled to his feet, Thomas saw him pat his leg between curses. One struck Thomas as nonsensical funny, but it was surely some serious swearing among the British. Repeating it over and over, Newt got back to his feet and tried to walk away again, only this time dragging his leg along rather than walking on it. Limp—he had spoken about a limp, Thomas remembered. From Newt's low hisses, he hadn't exaggerated about it hurting like hell.