Missing Piece (newtmas!!)

Newt
A day after the burning of WCKD

"Newt.. Please, please wake up." Someone is faintly calling out to him, Newt can't make out who but someone is screaming. They sound like they're in pain and he wants to answer. He wants to tell them that he's right there with them and that he's fine, everything's fine, but nothing comes out. Newt is surrounded by darkness and he's cold, so incredibly cold. Where am I right now and what the hell is going on? These thoughts swirl around in Newt's brain but not a single one can be answered. "Newt. Don't do this to me. You can't leave-"

Then everything stops. No more voice, no more cold, and there's no more pain in Newt's chest. Bits and pieces of his memory slowly come back, forming a curated puzzle in his mind.

Newt died. He caught the flare and he died. Thomas, He was there with me. Where is he now? Did he make it out? Did any of them make it out? Oh god is he dead? Again, more questions that were left unanswered.

Newt's eyes were closed and he was lying down. The surface beneath is hard and cool against his back. Where the hell am I? He doesn't have an answer for that either. Newt's eyes slowly flutter open and he's immediately hit by the luminance of the sun. He squeezes his eyes shut, protecting his retinas from the brightness of the scorch. Newt slowly opens his eyes again, this time covering the suns burning rays with the back of his hand. The back of Newt's hand slowly comes into focus and he stares at it with a perplexed and wide-eyed expression. What was once ridden with protruding black veins, is now back to its normal pale complexion.

Newt grunts as he sits up and a sharp pain radiates through his entire body. He looks down, locating the source of the throbbing, along with the blood stained shirt clinging to his upper half. What seems to be the handle of a knife protrudes out of his chest. Newt grazes the butt end of the knife with his fingertips and it's as if the mere touch sends a shockwave to his temporal lobe. Small pieces of what feels like a distant dream play back in his head. It's like touching the very thing that killed him hit the play button on a tape deck that controls his memories.

Newt got stabbed, that much is obvious but the why, those details came flooding back to the point where Newt feels like he's drowning. His head is just below the surface and the more Newt fights, the further down he sinks. The overwhelmingly gruesome details evoke an emotion within Newt that he'd forgotten he even had. Fear. A feeling Newt refused to endure ever again. Newt had used Thomas' knife to stab himself. But this wasn't the first time Newt had done something like this, no. Newt remembers the incident like it was just yesterday.

It was warm, sunny even. There wasn't a single cloud in that stupid generated sky that engulfed the glade. That's when Newt found himself standing on top of the maze wall, back when he was a runner. How Newt got up there, he'll never know. The only thing he does remember was the bile that formed in his mouth. The knot in his stomach that was making it impossible to breathe. Newt hated that feeling. He hated feeling like there was no way out. Hated being trapped and alone, with no memories of who he was before his life was stolen from him. The next thing he knew he was inching closer and closer to the ledge and the closer he got, the less terrified he was. Every fiber of his being was telling him to jump. He was teetering on the edge and a sense of peace washed over him.

Newt knew this was the only way out. They were never going to escape. No matter how optimistic Minho was or how determined Alby was, Newt knew. He was just the only one who could admit it. Newt looks down over the ledge, a long way down. Newt isn't scared, not in this moment. Not until he takes that final step and he begins falling. Every sense of ease and calmness is quickly replaced with that same knot in the stomach feeling that Newt has grown to despise, Fear. Then everything around Newt goes black and all that excruciating pain from being alive is gone.

Panic starts to rise within Newt. he looks around, trying to piece together whatever he could from his surroundings. That only proves to worsen the boy's panic. Dying out fires, smoke, bodies and rubble are all Newt could see for miles. He begins to realize just exactly where he is and Newt feels that same knot from way back in the glade. He's still in the Last City. So many questions run through the blonde boys head but the shooting pain that vibrates through his body brings the fear stricken boy back to reality.

The severely injured boy exerts all of the energy he has left into standing. Newt winces out in pain, leaning against one of the destroyed buildings. His breathing is ragged and shallow. Although his complexion no longer harbors the discoloration of the flare, his skin is far more sickly than its usual warm tone. The heat of the scorch not making anything easier.

Newt's vision begins to blur and he feels his legs giving out from under him. This is it, he thinks to himself as a tear rolls down his cheek, creating a small wet spot on his ripped up pants. Newt is going to die, all alone. At least before he knew his friends would be ok, they'd survive without him. He wasn't a help to anyone, more of a hinderance than anything. He knew they didn't need him, not really anyway. But now, as his eyes begin to droop and he feels his heart rate dissipate, he didn't have that reassurance. For all Newt knew, his friends were long gone, part of the many bodies scattered across the barren city. Newt closed his eyes, preparing himself to die, and to actually stay dead this time, when a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him up. Nothing would've prepared the dying boy for who exactly it was that had saved him.