Ten | newtmas

thirteen

A/N: WOW. It's been a while, hasn't it? About a year and a half. But with Death Cure coming out, I couldn't resist. Just a warning, I changed quite a few key things and did some minor rewriting (including grammar) of the first twelve chapters, so I'd suggest a quick re-read to learn and remember. Thank you so much for continuing to comment and vote every day still. I hope you like it! Expect more regular updates now. xx

    Thoughts of Winston come crashing into my head like a brick through a window as soon as I wake up, not opening my eyes yet.

    There's no sounds of sirens or cops or anything like the night before. I didn't hear my alarm go off, and I don't hear a jumpy and excitable Chuck yelling at me to come eat breakfast. Is he even in the room?

    Maybe it's not the wake up time yet, maybe he's still sleeping. I open my eyes finally, looking immediately out the window only to squint up into the blinding sunlight, the only thing shading him from it being the bars across it.

    "It's seven," I hear, causing me to jump, turning my head in the direction of the noise.

    Thomas is sitting up against the door, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. He stares up at me, the situation making me feel... exposed somehow.

    "Tommy?" I ask, reaching up to rub the sleep from my eyes. He's got to stop doing that.

    Thomas smiles softly, the simple and out of place act putting me at ease. About him randomly showing up in my room, about Winston, about everything.

    "I, uh... I turned off your alarms. Don't worry, Frypan set food aside for you guys. I told him you both had rough days yesterday, and you deserved to sleep in," Thomas says, his eyes meeting mine but looking away every few seconds as he speaks.

    I'm at a lack for words for a moment, only partially because of my sleepiness. That was really nice of Thomas, god knows I could use the extra sleep. But now a flood of questions take over. Is there any news about Winston? Did Chuck have any night terrors? When's he supposed to have a panic attack? How did Thomas get in here? How long has been in here? Is he even allowed?

    "Thank you," I say, sitting up more. "Is there-?"

    "Winston?" Thomas asks, cutting me off.

    There's a momentary silence before I answer. "Yeah."

    "The most I've gotten is that he may be in stable condition. That's all I've been told," Thomas says.

    My promise to Chuck to wake him up if there was any news comes back to me, but it doesn't seem like a good idea now. I'll let him sleep as long as he can, there's no urgent reason to let him know now, especially with information that vague.

    "Stable... that's good," I say lamely, unsure of what else can be said about it.

    "Yeah, well, I sure hope so," Thomas says, a look of pained worry flashing over his face now.

    "Chuck told me they went a little hard on the lot of you," I say somberly, remembering Chuck's description from last night. It sounded horrible.

    "Almost got me put in solitary. They kept asking the same things in the same tone that made me feel like I wasn't even a human to them. I stand by whatever I said or did, but I didn't hurt anyone. Including Winston," Thomas says, the last part sounding like it was less about trying to convince me and more trying to convince himself.

    "It wasn't your fault," I say, only half believing it. It's true that it wasn't his intent, but if Thomas gave him the extra pills...

    "How could it have been my fault?" Thomas asks softly, staring at the ground. "We've been doing this for a long time now. Every single day. Something is wrong. It wasn't me."