In my Blood

CHAPTER 20 - Winston

Thomas gently touches the back of my neck with his fingers, cussing under his breath.

"What?" I ask, eyes wide, wincing as his fingers touch my tender skin.

"It's like... I don't know, it's a tattoo, with these squares and - and lines and dots, but your skin... it's all peeled, and burned..." he mutters in an intense tone. "(y/n), what happened when you were there?"

I feel my eyes getting watery, but blink it away. I'm reminded of all those days, alone in that awful room with only my thoughts to talk to, thinking the worst had happened to my friends, thinking I wouldn't see them again. I sniff a little, but don't want Thomas to notice, so I pull some of my hair in front of my face. "A doctor told me – told me he removed 'the Swipe', whatever that is. I don't know how long the surgery took, but when I woke up, I..." my voice trails off.

"(y/n), what?" Thomas presses.

"I'm remembering... stuff. I don't know, it's like those dreams we had back in the Glade, but these are... these are different, Thomas."

"How?"

I pause, feeling as if I'm about to burst into tears. "It's like, I can be doing something simple, and a memory will come back to me. But it's not vague, it's so vividly clear, and it hurts." I finally give up, tears escaping from my eyes, my throat feeling as though it's on fire as I try to suppress a cry. "It hurts to see my family, my past... I want my mother back, Thomas..."

Thomas pulls me into a hug, and I sob as he tries to soothe me. But it's not calming me down. I don't know why, because every time Newt hugs me, everything feels alright again. When Newt hugs me, the world stops turning, just for a moment, when I feel his arms wrapped around me. So why, when Thomas hugs me, do I not feel any immediate comfort?

"(y/n)? (y/n), what's wrong?" a familiar  voice asks anxiously. I pull myself away from Thomas' arms, and face Newt. He sees my tear stained cheeks, and immediately encases me in his arms, pulling me into his chest. I can't stop crying, tear after tear, each one falling mercilessly down my cheeks. Newt strokes my hair, whispering soft words into my ears. I immediately feel myself melt into his touch, his words. My body softens as I hear his heartbeat, like a steady drum.

A few moments pass until I finally feel calm enough to pull away from him. Newt looks deeply into my eyes, giving me a kind, understanding stare. I notice, in the light, the flecks of lighter golden-brown amongst the chocolate brown that fills his irises. They're so beautiful.

"You don't have to tell me," he says quietly, "at least not now."

"No, no, I want to," I argue weakly. "Just..." I gaze to the rest of the group, watching hesitantly in concern from a distance, "yeah, maybe not right now."

Newt nods in understanding, me wiping my eyes. "It's gonna be okay, you know," he says. "I mean... you seem to be reacting fine, compared to..." We both look to Winston, laying on the stretcher. I open my mouth to say something, but Minho bounds up to us, Thomas muttering something to Teresa who just arrived. Then, the others follow behind, Winston weakly limping now, dragging the stretcher behind him, despite his appearance looking worse than ever.

"So, we ready to head off?" Minho says with sarcastic enthusiasm, clapping his hands together. I attempt a pathetic laugh, and nod briefly, looking away to the mountains in the distance. I then focus my attention to Winston, who's face has grown paler even in the past few seconds. I see his eyes open. They're bloodshot, but... not red. Black. And the veins, on his arms... black, as well.

"Winston...?" I edge over to him timidly. His face is even paler. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead he splutters up thick, gooey, dark blood. He violently vomits it up, staining the golden sand a nasty shade of grey. I feel sick just watching it, and turn away, covering my mouth as bile rises in my throat.

Then, before I can even comprehend what's going on, I hear a gunshot ring through the air, and turn around to see Winston lying on the ground. He heaves, coughing up blood as he thrashes around, chest rising rapidly up and down. I feel the breath catch in my throat as I look at him lying, defeated, on the ground.

"Give me – give me the gun!" he chokes out. Frypan grasps a pistol in his hand, staring at Winston in shock. The others crowd around Winston, while I keep my distance, cautious of the sick boy.

"What's going on, what are you doing?!" Newt asks Winston. Thomas crouches down beside the boy on the floor.

"Winston, you okay?" he says carefully. Winston coughs up one last chunk of blood before collapsing on the ground, heaving for air. He weakly lifts back his shirt. I gasp.

It's as if his whole stomach has been torn apart and rearranged back together – badly. His flesh looks raw and bloody, and you can physically see where his skin was ripped open by the Cranks the other day, and where the black blood has clotted to form small clumps on his dying black stomach.

"It's... growing," he coughs. "I'm sorry, I'm so – so sorry..." his voice becomes quieter as he breaks down into small sobs. "I'm not gonna make it."

The group falls into silence. My eyes sting with oncoming tears. Winston shakily holds out his hand towards Frypan.

"Don't let me – turn into one of those... things," he breathes. Frypan doesn't move. I can see tears streaming down his cheeks from the corner of my eye.

Then, something unexpected happens. Newt moves forwards, places his hand on Frypan's, nodding to him with pain and sympathy in his eyes. And he takes the gun from Fry, moving towards Winston. I open my mouth in horror, yet I'm unable to get any words out.

"Newt," Thomas argues. But Newt continues. He bends down beside the dying boy on the ground, putting the gun on his chest, putting the boy's hand on the gun.

"Thank... you," Winston wheezes. "Now... get outta here – please..." 

Newt wears a pained expression, before parting his lips and uttering, "goodbye, Winston."