The Other Side - A Newt Fanfiction

Chapter Thirty One: A Blade Plunged in Our Hearts

{WARNING: The following content could be considered somewhat triggering due to the concept of death and an underlying suicidal theme. Proceed with caution.}

The air in my lungs fully escapes through my parted lips as if a boulder hurtles at me, crushing my body and compressing all of the air out of it, and the muscles in my neck twitch as I begin to suffocate, my lungs losing their will to expand.
Thomas's eyes shift back to Newt's, his mouth moving as if to mutter silent words, floundering for a proper utterance.
Staring back at his friend, his impaled chest rising and falling laboriously, Newt whispers, "Tommy..."
For a moment, the passing seconds stop, the air going completely still as Newt stares into Thomas's eyes; this precise moment in time is incomprehensibly motionless, so much so that it could be framed, a painting that depicts utter tragedy.
Suddenly, the blonde boy begins to slump back, and, as his body collapses backwards to the ground, Thomas falls with him, quickly wrapping his right arm around Newt's back to break his fall.
I'm brought to reality the second Newt's limp body hits the concrete. "NEWT!" I scream, all of the pain in my bleeding head and neck and arms and legs going completely numb as I sprint across the concrete towards the boy, squinting my eyes as they swell with tears.
Thomas maintains a fixed, vacant look upon Newt, tears brimming from his eyes as his brain struggles to mentally grasp the sudden turn of events.
The stare that Thomas holds bears that of unfathomable torment, as if his entire world is falling apart before his eyes, and he cannot do a single thing to prohibit it.
Looking up at me, Thomas sits back onto the ground, moving out of the way of Newt's body that lies flat on the concrete as he stares ahead.
I slide onto my knees along the rough, cold ground, stopping just beside Newt's body as he takes in rapid, shallow, desperate gasps of air.
Leaning over his body, grasping tightly to Newt's white shirt as the dark blood swells up in a pool around the knife, I break a sob, darting my eyes all about Newt as I frantically wrack my brain, digging as deeply and quickly as possible in the darkest parts of my mind for a magical solution to the conflict. "N-Newt... Newt, no, stay with me!" I plead, shaking him as the tears overflow from my eyes and drop onto Newt.
The blonde boy slowly shifts his black eyes to me as he takes in soft, choking wheezes of air. I can see the pulse slowing down in the dark, bulging veins of his face, the black blood staining a thick strip down his chin and neck.
"We- We can fix this, okay?" I whisper in a frantic, quivering voice. "We can patch you up just- just like Gally! Just stay with me, okay? Newt, please, stay with me!"
His lips twitching slightly as if he's trying to speak, Newt slowly lifts his trembling, veiny right hand and rests it against my left cheek. He manages to brush his thumb along my skin.
Eyes locked onto his, I rest my left hand over his. "N-Newt...?"
A very subtle, almost invisible, minuscule smile tugs ever-so-slightly on the right corner of his black, blood-stained lips as he stares into my eyes, panting feeble, rapid breaths.
"Newt?" I whimper, tears overflowing from my eyes and rolling down my face. "Newt, please, don't..."
His breaths begin to grow choppy, cutting off every other second, as if his lungs lock in place, vying for control over themselves. He stutters for air, altering his eyes to the sky as the forced gasps begin to slow down until they nearly stop; however, Newt takes in one more deep, full, trembling breath before exhaling slowly, his chest sinking as his eyes shift in a manner that depicts emptiness, all life completely draining from them.
His hand stops shaking, and it slips from mine, limply dropping to the cold concrete.
Just as every bit, every drop, of life abandons Newt's eyes, a single, tiny, fragile tear escapes his right eye and slowly trickles down the side of his face.
Dead.
Within that instant, I feel as if a blade is plunged deep within my own heart, and all of the air is forced out of my lungs as I stare at Newt's desolate expression.
"N-Newt?" I wheeze with widening eyes, shaking him as he stares ahead lifelessly. "Newt?!"
Thomas, breathing heavily, locks his eyes on Newt, visibly shaking as if he's struggling to fight the dark shadow creeping over his soul.
"NEWT!" I scream, shaking him even more. "NEWT, COME ON! WAKE UP!"
His body just lies there.
He's never going to wake up again. He's never going take in his gentle, rhythmic breaths that sooth me by their mere soft steadiness. A smile will never tug on the corner of his lips, and his thick accent will never again utter my name. I will never feel his hand protectively rest on my lower back nor his fingers intertwining with mine nor his soft, warm lips pressed against my own.
I feel as if every fiber, every cell, every molecule that makes up my body is torn- no, shredded- apart with slow, unbearably agonizing tears.
Clasping my hand over my heart as I gasp frantically for air, I dig my nails into my bloodied chest as if I'm attempting to dig an opening that will allow my lungs to have enough space to fill with air; however, the claustrophobic sensation only heightens.
My lungs have no reason to inflate; my heart, no reason to beat; my soul, no reason to remain trapped within my own broken-down flesh and bones.
A wave of utter terror and sickness and torment crashes down upon my body, forcing me to lean forward on my hands and knees. I squeeze my eyes shut, yet that does not stop me from witnessing the beautiful, vast mosaic of mine and Newt's mended bodies shattering into millions of pieces, far beyond the point of repair. The sparkling, colorful shards bounce along a black, slick floor, fading into the depths of intensively dark nothingness, vanishing for eternity.
Taking in a deep, wheezed breath of air, I lean back onto my knees, letting out an upmost agonized scream at the sky, trembling fists balled up at my sides, digging my fingernails into my sticky, blood-stained palms. The truest form of grief, the deepest ache of mourning, crushes my spirit to dust, and the particles of my very being float away with the wind that carries my cries.
The pain of death stings where the metaphorical dagger has cut through my ever-beating heart, the unbearable torment spreading like a virus to my bloodstream and beginning to flow through my veins, out to every single inch of my body.
Wailing in utter defeat, I slump forward again, leaning against the right side of Newt's still chest and burying my face into my arms, body jolting with each and every painful sob that squeezes at my throat, choking me.
The stinging sensation of death itself begins to grow so painful, so unbearable, that my entire body grows numb, as if my essence is a mere empty void in space and time.
Shakily lifting my eyes, vision blurred with a thick curtain of tears, I stare at the black handle of the knife that sticks out of Newt's chest, beginning to breathe heavily through clenched teeth while the tears flow down my face. Along the side of the black handle, the simple, most anathematic abbreviation is written in a small, white font: 'WICKED'.
I suddenly sit up, quickly grasping onto the handle with both hands and yanking the knife out of Newt's heart with an enraged grunt, the gooey, rotting, dark blood stretching in slimy strings as I lift the dagger in the air.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn the end of the blade towards myself, preparing to pierce my own, shattered heart; however, before I can ram the cold, bloody metal into my own chest, two hands quickly grasp onto mine with a strong grip, stopping me from taking my own life with the very object that took Newt's.
Opening my eyes, I stare into Thomas's as he locks his onto me in terror, panting as he frantically shakes his head.
Breaking down in defeat, my head drops forward, hanging in despair as I sob uncontrollably, ashamed and broken beyond repair. Just like the mosaic.
Slowly and shakily, Thomas takes the knife from my hands before chucking it as far as he can behind him, the forceful swinging of his arm causing his weak body to fall back onto the palms of his hands.
I bury my head in my blood-covered hands, wailing into them with such forceful sobs that my throat feels as if it's tearing apart, growing raw from my cries.
Body jolting with every sob, I lift my head just enough to watch Thomas stare ahead to someone behind me, licking his lips anxiously as he struggles to remain rational, his cheeks soaked with streams of tears.
Following his eyes, I turn my head over my shoulder to look back at Brenda, who's chest rises and falls quickly with sobs, gaping at the dead boy on the concrete, her big, brown eyes so wide that I can see the whites of her eyes all around her irises.
Dizzied and completely hopeless, Thomas slowly rises to his feet, nearly stumbling back to the ground. He manages to gain his balance, taking wobbly steps over to the gun on the cement, shakily picking it up and looking to Brenda. He holds a long, immeasurably broken stare with her before turning on his heels and stumbling down the long stretch of concrete in the opposite direction.
The wind begins to pick up, throwing my hair about and into my sweaty, bloody, tear-stained face, and the courtyard begins to illuminate in an orange tint as the flames from the crumbling towers grow closer.
As I turn back to Brenda for a moment, I spot Fry, Gally, and Minho sprinting around the corner and rushing into view, only to halt in their tracks as soon as they lay their eyes on Newt.
Gally's expression drops into the purest depiction of shock, and, with his eyes locked onto the blonde boy, his chest rises and falls heavily with rapid, terrified breaths. Fry had said that Gally came up in their Maze shortly after Newt, and, just after restoring a bond in the past two days, Gally has lost an old friend.
Wheezing rapidly through tightly clenched teeth, I turn around to face Newt's body once again, squeezing my eyes shut as I struggle to fight back the urge to scream through my crying.
As I force myself to open my eyes again and keep them locked onto the blonde boy's lifeless stare, I see Fry in my peripherals as he slowly approaches Newt's body, crouching down just beside the boy's head. He reaches a trembling hand towards Newt, but, in the mere second that the tips of his fingers brush against Newt's knotted hair, Fry springs his hand back as if he could feel that Newt's body is hollow, soulless, like an empty shell. Pressing his lips tightly together to stop the quivering, he shakes his head as the tears immediately flow from his eyes.
Minho stares at Newt with defeated, glossy eyes before reaching into his pocket and looking to the object he pulls out of it. In his palm lies a small glass vial of the blue Serum. Returning his eyes to Newt as he stands on the other side of the dead boy, Minho slumps down onto his knees, breathing faintly through his parted lips as he stares at his friend in utter despair, sinking back onto the heels of his feet as his hands fall weakly at his sides, the dainty glass vial rolling out of his hand and onto the concrete.
As I lift my eyes to look directly at Minho, I can see his entire world crumbling apart, peering into his soul through his watery eyes.
It's at that moment that a new ache slowly cloaks a shadow around my shattered heart, and I realize that Newt was a major factor of Minho's world. As Fry had said, Newt was around when Minho came in the Box, and he had known the blonde boy for as long as he could possibly remember, back to the start of his new life as one of WICKED's variables, just as Fry and Gally had. Except Minho had spent so much time fighting for Newt's survival, from dragging Newt's shattered body back to the Glade after his suicide attempt to yelling at him to keep away from the ledge at Jorge's hideout to fighting off the Crank that had attacked Newt. He saved Newt's life again and again and again, tenfold, and yet his very drive of survival was just thrown to complete waste because, this time, Minho couldn't save the broken boy.
It's as if a part of Minho had been torn from him, ripped away against his own will, and, staring at his dead friend, Minho's face distorts in a manner that I would have never thought to have seen, and I honestly wish I had not: a manner in which the deep, tortuous pain felt from within him can be visibly read by his expression. His brows crease together as he squeezes his eyes shut, tears rolling out of his eyes and down his cheeks, and, clasping one hand over his face, he muffles weak sobs into his hand.
Shifting my eyes back to Newt, I slowly hunch over his body, leaning against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his bloody chest, my wailing muffled in his filthy, sopping shirt. Then, all at once, the most horrific, unbearable thought crashes into me:  "I didn't get to tell you...that I love you, too..." I whimper, grasping onto his shirt tightly as I cry into his chest.
As the wind blows, swirling the falling sparks into the black night sky and pushing the grey clouds of smoke in the direction of our group, the rest of the world falls completely silent, as if the universe itself is in grievance for the lost boy.
Squeezing Newt's limp body tightly, I fight the fatigue weighing down on my body as every muscle, every ounce of blood, yearns to give up. To simply stop altogether.
The flames of the buildings nearby dance and leap to the towers closest to them, slowly spreading throughout the city and working their way to our mournful group, the black sky beginning to glow orange with the illuminated, cottony clouds of smoke and the embers that flutter to the ground.
Minutes pass, and not a single word is spoken; only the sound of mournful grieving and crackling flames can be heard in the cold night.
Oh, how the sting of death is so sharp, so precise and slick, that it inflicts such immense, unbearable agony, far worse than one could ever imagine, bringing people to complete despair and leading them to beg for their own demise as they desperately claw for relief from the torturous loss of a beloved.
As I cry into Newt's chest, I feel someone's hand press against my back comfortingly. "We... We need to go..." Gally whispers, struggling to maintain the strong stature that he constantly carries.
Ignoring him, I tighten my grip on Newt's body, it no longer warm with life.
He huffs a sigh, slowly letting his arm fall as he stands upright.
Taking in stuttered breaths between sobs, Brenda slowly walks to my side. Sinking to her knees beside me, she gently rubs my back with her hand, her other clasped over her mouth to muffle her sobs, her eyes squeezed shut.
Fry, wiping his flowing tears with his coat sleeve, crawls to my other side, taking a seat. Sniffling as the tears continue to roll down his face, Fry gently pulls me off of Newt, taking me into his arms and cradling me in a consoling embrace.
Brenda wraps her shaking arms around me, too, squeezing me as tightly as she can while I wail uncontrollably.
I cannot help but think about the group hug in the Scorch, which hurts my heart even more. My new family continues to shrink, and I can't stop it, and, worst of all, the embrace that truly gave me a sense of comfort is gone for good.
Suddenly, the ground jolts beneath us with a thundering sound echoing in the air, causing myself, Fry, Brenda, and Gally to look back at a tower that is two buildings away from us as it completely collapses, getting consumed by untamable fire as it's foundation and support plummets to ground, crumbling into rubble and sending a gigantic tsunami of ash into the air.
Gulping as his face falls in somewhat terror, Gally looks to the rest of us. "Guys, we really need to get back to the Berg. Now."
As I avert my eyes back to Newt, I can see that Minho was not phased by the explosion at all, trapped in a hopeless, broken daze upon Newt's body.
"Guys." Gally repeats, urgency rising in his voice.
Fry and Brenda slowly pull away from me, looking up at Gally with somber expressions, though their eyes reveal that they know he is right.
Rising to his feet, Fry wipes his eyes on his sleeve, yet again, before offering Brenda a hand.
She slowly stands with his help, struggling to steady her breathing between her weak cries.
Frowning in pity and pain within himself, Gally looks to Minho and I. "Minho, (y/n)... We've got to go."
I stare at Newt's lifeless face. Underneath the thick, dark roping of purple and green veins and the black blood stains and shark-like eyes, I can see the gentle face of Newt's. I can see his soft skin and his pink, gentle lips and his big, brown doe eyes that would make me blush when they made contact with my own. Just because the virus did all that it could to consume him, does not mean that this body was not Newt's. The Flare took his mind, but not Newt himself. It could not erase him from existence. It could not wipe away everything that we had been through. This was the boy I fell in love with, the boy who deserved the world, and I refuse to let that go to waste. "We have to take him with us..." I mumble, nearly inaudible.
"What?" Gally asks, taken aback.
"Newt," I say, looking back at Gally with my swollen, tear-filled eyes. "We have to take him with us."
He frowns, sighing heavily. "(y/n)," he shakes his head, "I'm sorry... If we could, we would, but we cannot take him. We have to get to the Berg-"
"And we're going to take him with us." I protest, breathing rate managing to incline even more as the curtain of tears basically blinds me.
"We don't have time; he'll slow us down-"
"I don't shucking care that he'll slow us down!" I snap, clenching my teeth as I fight back the urge to scream through the sobs. "We have to take him with us!"
"We can't. We've got to go."
"I'm not leaving without him! If you hadn't have made me leave him in the first shucking place, Newt would probably still be alive right now!"
Gally's jaw drops as if I had just sent a bullet through his heart, and he nearly stumbles back. "He was getting worse and worse; none of us could control that!"
"I'm not shucking leaving him here to be buried beneath the ruins of a city built up by the very people that ruined his life! That made him fall apart!"
"If we don't go now, we'll be under the wreckage with him!"
"Well, I'd rather die than go to the shucking Safe Haven without him!"
"We're not taking him!"
"I'm not leaving him!"
"(y/n), I said we are not-"
"HE COMES WITH US!" A booming voice suddenly roars, completely enraged.
Jumping with a start and clamping my mouth shut, I turn back in the direction of Newt's body to see that Minho is still on his knees beside his best friend, but his facial expression has completely changed.
He scowls at Gally, breathing heavily through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath, and he clenches his jaw tightly. The look on his face depicts pure, fiery loathing, far more terrifying than when he had went completely mad on the Crank that tackled Newt at the hotel.
Minho rises to his feet, balling his fists tightly. "Newt comes with us." He growls, visibly trembling with unfathomable rage.
The remainder of tears roll down my face as I stare at Minho in terror. I slowly look back at Gally, who stares at the boy with an unreadable expression.
He clears his throat, shifting his stance slightly as he averts his eyes back to Newt's body. He stares at the dead boy for a few moments with an aching expression on his face before he mumbles, "Alright..." He sighs, shifting his eyes back to Minho. "Alright, we'll take him with us."