If Only You Understood

His eyebrows furrowed with uncertainty as he gazed at the boy lying frail and exhausted, sputtering out coughs that sounded as if they tore his throat to shreds. Dark veins pulsated from his pale skin and his eyes bulged, red and hazy. Yet his movements were gentle as he tugged at the necklace that went about his neck and rested lightly on his chest. The ends fell apart instantly and he held it out to the watching teen with his trembling hands.

But his voice came out soft.

"Take this." He hissed, pushing it into Thomas's open hand.

"Newt no, we need to go—"

"Take it!" Gaining volume, his dark eyes pleaded desperately, insisting. He clasped Thomas's hand in a grip that held terrifying strength.
But it also told of gripping fear. The kind that made your insides twist, pushed vomit to your throat and started that buzzing of anxiety in your skull that you couldn't seem to get rid of. Fear that struck Thomas so hard he felt as if Newt had attacked him rather than held his hand in that way that sprouted nothing but dread through his limbs until he was alight with it. Overflowing with too many emotions and that godawful worry that clawed at his insides and caught his tongue so no words escaped past his gaping lips.

"Please Tommy, please."

And then that tiny capsule was tucked safely away and he was pulling a boy who could barely keep his feet underneath himself. His fingers clung to the fabric of Thomas's shirt so tightly his knuckles were a vile shade of white, but none of that power seemed to travel anywhere else as his feet dragged limply behind them in his pathetic attempt to walk, weakened by his growing state of sickness.

The next moments seemed to pass in a clouded blur of actions and noises.

People screaming, buildings collapsing, blazing fires rapidly gaining momentum as they bloomed throughout the city that had been demolished within mere minutes of the crank's grand entrance that left WCKD defenseless.
But all he could focus on was Newt.

Newt.
The boy who held so many cracks, so many scratches and chips that went unnoticed.
The boy who kept to himself, as to not be a burden.
The bog who was strong no matter what the predicament they always seemed to land in.
The boy who always knew what to say and what to do.
The boy who was the glue.

Reduced to the boy who couldn't even walk. Couldn't even form a sentence other than his senseless mutters and groans of pain. Couldn't even keep himself focused on what they were doing. Couldn't keep his mind clear enough to understand what he was doing.
One second he was laying on the ground, feeling the life draining from his limbs and the ability to think being discarded as if it was nothing.

The next, he had lost control.

Somehow, he had managed to climb to his aching feet. Managed to train his foggy eyes on his best friend. Managed to stumble along in a blind rage that he didn't understand.

The horror written across Tommy's face was something that penetrated his useless and tangled thoughts and he turned his attention to that minuscule detail for as long as he could. Though he couldn't stop the movement of his body.
And all the words he wanted to say stuck to the roof of his mouth, clearing him of any moisture. He felt like he was choking.

Choking on the words that couldn't seem to leave him no matter how hard he pushed them.
Choking on the fear that had planted itself deep in his chest.
Choking on the thick air that pressed all around him in a mist, blocking any and all rational thoughts that tried to surface.

Enraged yowls, harsh shouts and jumbled pleas all forced their way at the dark-haired teen who was trying his damndest to steer Newt out of harm's way.
Smacking weapons away and shaking him, trying to draw him back to reality.

For a few brief seconds he did.

His eyes cleared and control flooded back into his hands. "Tommy..." He breathed, feeling the tears prick his eyes at the realization that he was trying to hurt his best friend. Actually, physically inflict pain upon him. And that was the last quake that triggered the mudslide of emotions.

But once again that all-too-familiar rage came shoving through everything else and he was blinded once more.

"It's okay." Was the reassurance he grasped before losing all sense.

As if he was watching from somewhere else.
Watching through a bystander's eyes and not through his own crazed ones.
All he could pay attention to was the absolute agony that radiated off of his struggling best friend in overwhelming waves. Suffering. He was suffering over something that he couldn't do, no matter how many times Newt begged. Even though he knew that he was in pain, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

And Newt, with the fraction of sanity he had left, watching from the sidelines, let out the quietest, gentlest of chuckles. 'Always a scared little Greenie. Some things never change.'

After that everything was slipping away. Falling. Into a blanket of cold darkness. But in its own way it was welcoming.
And there they stood, lined up neatly with smiles plastered across their faces.
Alby, Chuck, Winston, and so many other Gladers, or some that weren't even a part of the Glade. Some of the first. Some lost along the way. And some he had never known, despite wishing he had the time. Maybe now he did.

Alby greeted him with a stern frown, arms crossed. "Newt, why the shuck are you here?"

He simply laughed, a weightless sound, at this and shrugged nonchalantly. "'ts time isn't it?"

"I'm afraid not." Came the tender reply.

Multiple arms wrapped themselves around his torso and he buried his face in someone's shoulder, feeling those scolding hot tears slide down his dirt-smeared face.
He was pulled away too fast. Far too fast.
Back to the world of chaos.

Back to Thomas.
Who lay stunned beneath him, though Newt was sure the same perplexed expression was reflected on his face too.

That was before he slumped forward and everything went black once more. Except now it was warm and it wasn't nearly as welcoming as the first time.

(End of Prologue)