thomas got taken instead of minho bc i said so

yeah that does mean minho killed newt instead...!

also im kind of trying to go off the book as well but like idk

its a mix of both

guys im being poetic this entire thing is poetic

also TW: self-harm and intrusive thoughts kind of 

this is so thomas-centric btw

It's cold. 

It's so cold. Thomas doesn't know how it can be so cold, especially after the day is so, so warm. Newt's body is pressed up against his and he tries to focus on the blond's breathing, and the way his body is against his and how his hand is just a centimeter away from his own neck, but he can't. He usually has problems focusing on anything else, but this night is different. 

He's scared. He's terrified and cold and he wants nothing more but to cry and scream and wake everyone up and get comforted by Newt, but somehow, that idea is scarier than being the only one awake. 

Newt shifts and his hand is about to wrap around Thomas waist and pull him closer, but-

Thomas edges away. He doesn't know why he moves away from the silent consolation of his lover, but he does, and he doesn't regret it. 

He thinks WICKED is messing with his brain. No, he knows they are.

He sits up. Looks down at the shadow that's Newt. Blinks in the darkness. 

He lies back down again, but to face Newt this time. 

"What's wrong, my love?" Comes the voice that's so delicate, so soft. 

Usually, they would sit up, and Thomas would explain what's wrong, and they would kiss gently and maybe cry but they'd be together, and that would be the main thing.

But instead, Thomas just shakes his head.

The inside of his head is itchy. He doesn't know what he means by that.

"I'm okay," He whispers, and rests his head by Newt's arm.

He's still cold.

- -

Winston's dead. 

So many people are dead because of him.

The fire flickers and he watches the way the flames rise. 

He wants to feel the heat on his hand.

He reaches it out to touch the flames.

Then there's a hand that bats his own hand away from the flames and he looks up to see Newt, watching him hesitantly, like he's something that's scared and fragile and about to run away.

He takes his hand back and brings it closer to himself, but then he realises he is something that's scared. He's terrified. He looks at his hand.

He wants to reach forward and burn it without Newt being there to stop him.

The mere thought makes him laugh because he's going insane. He wants to burn himself or get the knife and either stab someone or himself with it. He wants to do something that will stick with him for a long time just to remind himself that he's messed up everyone's lives.

Newt watches him and, out of the corner of his eye, Thomas sees him share a wary glance with the fellow Gladers. They must think he's insane.

"Tommy?" Newt's voice is small against the inane laughing that's coming from his lover. "Tommy, snap out of it." 

Oh, he's going mad. 

Thomas watches the flames and he only just feels himself being dragged away from the fire by Newt, who's looking at him, pity all over his face.

Pity. He hates the word. 

He searches Newt's face, but all he can see is genuineness and worry, and he feels bad. He feels horrible and he wants to put on his brave face and say, "Don't worry, Blondie! We'll both be fine." but he can't. He opens his mouth to at least try and say something of the sort, but all that comes out is a sob and then Newt's arms are around him and it's all too much. 

He lets himself cry into his boyfriend's arms.

They protect him from the cold wind.

- -

He's alone. 

The Berg is cold and Teresa's glares are anything but warm and comforting, and all he wants to do is cry. His head hurts and he can feel people staring at him, but he can't find it in him to look up and glare back.

Instead, he closes his eyes and throws his head back onto the metal. He prefers the dull ache that it leaves him to the sharp pain in his head.

At least he knows where the dull ache came from.

- -

He's awake by the time they get back to the WICKED compound in Denver, and he hobbles into the white room they keep him in. 

He's left to dwell on his memories, and on the pain in his head.

He asks why there's a pain in his head, but he gets no reply.

He doesn't ask again.

He sits, and sits, and sits, and sits, and when he eventually edges out a sharp screw from his bed, he relishes in the blood it draws in his lower arm. 

- -

Janson says it's for the best.

Dr. Paige says it has to be done.

He doesn't know what Teresa says, or thinks.

He likes to think she's upset by the way she's torturing him.

But she doesn't seem that remorseful when she stabs needles into him.

He misses Newt.

- -

His head feels different.

It feels heavier and he can't control his limbs.

Maybe he's dying.

Strangely enough, the thought comforts him. He supposes he'd prefer to be dead than to be a puppet for WICKED.

Life was good, anyway.

Everything goes black, and for a second, his heart feels warm, heated by the small memories that flash by.

- -

The knife is cold.

It's in his hand, like a weight that tries to pull him back to reality.

He looks at it.

He wants to kill Newt.

He will kill Newt.

- -

Teresa stops them. He doesn't know how, or why, but she does. She messes with the mechanism in his brain and lets him be... him. 

He's grateful, but then he also realises he doesn't want to be alive, with the memories that contaminate his head. 

She doesn't care.

Teresa drags him along, whether he likes it or not, even after he's shot.

He still doesn't understand.

But when she looks at him in the same way Newt looks at him, he knows why. He wishes he doesn't. 

- -

He doesn't see Newt.

He looks at Minho, then at Teresa.

Living was nice. Minho and Teresa were nice. 

He meets Minho's eyes and offers what he hopes is a small smile. He hopes Teresa will explain to him that his insanity was because of WICKED. He hopes she'll kiss him on the forehead and tell him that he's in a better place now. 

He doesn't manage to look at Teresa. Nonetheless, he hopes she'll be okay. He hopes Minho will make witty jokes with her to make her forget about her pain for a while. He hopes he'll make her happy.

Thomas tries to speak, and he hopes what comes out is somewhat comprehensible. "Thank you," he thinks he says.

And then he pushes off from Teresa and falls into the fire beneath.

- -

The world doesn't end in pain.

It doesn't end in agony or screaming or shouting.

It ends in warmth.

Warmth from the bonfires at the Glade and in the Scorch, and warmth from Newt's arms alike. 

As the flames engulf him, Thomas closes his eyes.

ok so this wasnt meant to be like this when i started writing it

this doesnt have loads of newtmas in i apologise

also its really rushed and its bad </3

but its angst!!!!! and i love angst! 

ok bye bye besties

also idk if this makes sense coherently i dont write stuff in order i pick n choose as i wish

and i havent read this