Thomas grumbled to himself as he sat down in the grass, rubbing his arms from the cold bite of the wind. He wanted to be near the fire, but there was no way he would be near Galley. Uh-uh, no way, not in a million years. That lunatic was crazy, and the last thing Thomas needed was to be pushed into the fire.

'Oh, it was an accident!' He could hear it now. 'Not like it hasn't happened before. He was just a greenie anyhow.'

Thomas snorted. That was not going to happen. He wasn't going to be some weenie.

"Hey Tommy," a British voice brought him into focus as Newt sat down next to him, holding a bottle of moonshine.

"Newt,"

"Someone's in a mood, eh?"

"I'm cold."

"Yeah, so am I." Newt shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

"You have a jacket though. I don't."

"So go sit by the fire, get drunk with all of those shanks." Newt shrugged again as if it were the most obvious and uninteresting thing he had ever heard.

"Galley," Thomas said dejectedly.

"Ignore him," Newt rolled his eyes.

"You know, you don't sound at all sympathetic to my problems, here." Thomas glared at him.

Newt simply took another swig of moonshine.

"Are you simply planning on listening while you get drunk?"

"Pretty much," Newt shrugged again.

"You actually like that stuff?" Thomas made a repulsed face.

"I'm used to it,"

"You love your shrugging, don't you?"

Newt shrugged and took a long pull of his drink.

Thomas studied him carefully. "Either you've never hated Galley or you're already drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Newt said sullenly. His voice sounded slurred, but it wasn't too bad.

"You just don't care then, is that it?"

"I'm not--"

"Just say it, Newt, you don't care."

"Yes I do, Tommy, I just--"

"Give me some of that stuff." Thomas grumbled, taking the jar from Newt and drinking from the other side.

"Do you want me to talk to Galley?" Newt asked.

"No, Newt, you don't have to." Thomas sighed, handing the jar back.

Newt blinked as the jar was plucked out of his hand again.

"You two are so predictable." Galley snorted as he took a drink. "Shanks."

Thomas and Newt both leapt up, Thomas to attack Galley and Newt to stop Thomas from getting himself killed.

"You going to attack me, Greenie?" Galley chuckled in a taunting voice. "Is that it?"

"That's one way you can say it." Thomas spat.

"You really think you can do that on your own?"

"Yeah, besides, I have Newt."

"Thomas," Newt hissed from behind his shoulder.

"Newt, shut up."

"Thomas," Newt persisted.

Galley took another swig of moonshine, and Thomas punched him in the face.

Galley stumbled as blood poured from his nose. The jar of moonshine smashed on the ground, and for the next few minutes both boys wrestled, throwing punches and getting bruised up.

"Thomas, please." Newt begged.

"What?" Thomas demanded, turning around.

He was surprised to find Newt pale, slightly swaying, and he stood up quickly, as did Galley.

"I don't feel too good, Tommy." Newt said thickly.

"What's wrong?" Thomas asked worriedly, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I think--"

Thomas and Galley both winced as Newt doubled over and threw up.

"Is that really what moonshine looks like?" Galley wrinkled his nose, and Thomas smacked him across the face. "What!? I'm just saying, I'm never drinking it again."

Newt retched again, and Thomas, unsure what to do as Newt's shoulders rolled in sync with his stomach, nervously pat his back.

"Stop that," Newt groaned, shrugging Thomas's hand off. He gagged, holding his stomach, and Thomas looked away.

"Alright, I'm out of here." Galley muttered, and Thomas heard him stalking off, the grass crunching a little under his feet, a result of the broken glass.

"Tommy," Newt moaned.

"Are you going to be sick again?" Thomas asked nervously. "Because I'm not really sure how to deal with vomit."

"No," Newt croaked. "I want to sleep, Tommy, I'm tired."

Thomas slid his arms under Newt's armpits and hefted him to his feet.

"Ugh, Tommy, don't push on my stomach like that." Newt gagged, but nothing came up, a fact Thomas was very grateful for.

"I'm sorry, Newtie, sorry." Thomas mumbled, slinging one of Newt's arms around his shoulders. "Do you need me to help you walk?"

Newt groaned and held his head. "Yeah . . . I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm dizzy."

Thomas gently gave Newt a pat on the back and began to lead him towards his cot.

"Tommy," Newt moaned.

"We're almost there, buddy, just hang on."

"Tommy, I'm--"

Thomas scanned around them quickly, and he threw his hands into the air. "Do it in the grass, I can't help you."

Newt was already on hands and knees, coughing and spluttering on absolutely nothing.

Thomas watched this show for a good three minutes, and finally Newt vomited.

"I never thought I'd be glad someone threw up," he muttered. "But that little show was too much."

Newt glared at him, then got sick all over again, and Thomas started pacing.

"Tommy, you're making me motion sick." Newt moaned. Thomas almost thought he would look over and see the kid crying.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'll stop."

Newt coughed loudly and sat back. "Thanks,"

"Think you can make it to bed now?"

Newt nodded weakly. "Tommy?"

"Yeah?"

"Help me up, please?" Newt looked sad and flashed him a small smile.

Thomas grinned and ruffled Newt's hair. "Sure thing, Newt."

He hefted Newt to his feet again, this time being careful to avoid his stomach. When they reached Newt's cot, the blond fell into it gratefully.

"Thank you, Tommy." Newt murmured. He seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open.

"You're pale," Thomas frowned.

"Vomiting will do that to you."

"You sound horrible."

"Don't be so sad, Tommy, I'll be good as new tomorrow." Newt laughed weakly.

"You felt warm earlier. Do you have a fever?"

"I think so," Newt sighed heavily as he nestled his head into his pillow. "Don't be such a parent, Tommy."

Thomas hesitated, then turned away, disappearing into the dark.

"Tommy?" Newt called out. "Tommy, I'm sorry, alright? Geez, only a greenie."

Newt closed his eyes to sleep, and a moment later he heard something being set on the ground. Surprised, he jumped a little, and put a hand to his stomach.

"Calm down, geez." Thomas rolled his eyes, and the mere action of watching it made Newt's stomach churn. "Where are you going?"

"To be sick," Newt muttered.

Thomas thrust a bucket towards him, and Newt made good use of it. Thomas disappeared and came back with a cleaned bucket.

"Stay where you are, Newtie. Doctor's orders."

"What doctor?" Newt laughed. "You?"

"Yes, me." Thomas sounded indignant.

Newt looked down at the small armful of supplies. "Did you go on a raid?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Should I have let you suffer?"

"Quite possibly," Newt rolled his eyes, and grimaced as it made his head pound.

"Stop that," Thomas ordered. "It's orders."

"Orders," he scoffed.

"I have all sorts of things here." Thomas said absently, looking at his supplies. "There's water here, because once you're not losing your stomach you'll need some or you'll get dehydrated. I've got some bread here, again, for when your insides . . . stay inside. Oh, and I've got that ridiculous comic book you like."

"Thanks, Tommy." Newt grinned weakly. "Can you get me another blanket? I'm cold."

"Got you covered," Thomas chuckled at his joke and threw a second blanket towards Newt.

Newt had barely pulled the blanket over his body when Thomas slapped a freezing, wet cloth on his forehead.

"That's cold," he hissed in pain.

"You've got a fever, kiddo." Thomas said blatantly. "Getting it down. Don't complain."

"I'm not complaining, you shank!"

"Hey! Don't bitch with the doctor." Thomas tried to remain straight-faced.

Newt blinked, then shook his head and closed his eyes. He knew he would wake up to find that Thomas had stayed there long after he was needed, longer after he was wanted.

Thomas listened to the sounds of the crickets and the other gladers, all intoxicated and Galley in specific, recounting his best punch to Thomas's face.

He glanced towards Newt, who seemed to be breathing heavier, sleeping. As Thomas finally began to clean up the blood from his face, courtesy of Galley--that klunk--he froze. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard a faint British voice saying, "Thank you, Tommy."