together until the end

Alone. That's how he felt. Alone.

His friends, almost all of them, were dead.

The only one that survived ? Newt. His Newt.

But was that enough ? He wanted to believe it was.

He really did.

But it wasn't.

Both of them knew. It wasn't enough.

Their love was a lot.

But not enough.

And life was not enough.

And nothing was enough.

All they had left was themselves.

Stiles is dead. Thomas is a shadow. Newt is a shadow. So who's left ?

Only reduced versions of themselves. Only painful versions.

The versions that remembered all the deaths.

Fucking Phase 4.

They had survived. They had survived Phase 1, and Phase 2 and Phase 3. They had survived everything.

Not everyone had survived.

Phase 1. Chuck. Alby. Ben.

Phase 2. Winston. Zart.

Phase 3. Teresa.

Phase 4. Frypan. Gally. Minho. Aris. Harriet. Sonya. Jorge. Brenda. Fucking everyone.

Fucking WICKED. They gave them a fucking "happy" ending. The two lovers that survived everything. The sole survivors of a tragedy.

But life. Life was awful. Life was hateful. Life was memories. Memories were pain. Pain was all they remembered.

And it was hard.

School was hard. The pack had kicked him out. Barely anyone talked to him anymore. Stiles is dead. Thomas is a shadow. Who's left ?

Everyone looked at them weird. The two teenagers that stared blankly during class, during lunch, during everything.

All that's left is a shadow. The shadow of their past.

On their shoulders, they carried everyone. Every death. And that was a fucking heavy chip on their shoulder. Minho. Teresa. Chuck.

Stop. Stop everything. PLEASE.

"Stiles, are you okay ?" asked a quiet voice, almost scared to speak, to be discovered talking to him.

"Wha... Yes, I'm fine, thanks. Just thinking."

The figure nodded and left as quietly as he came. All Stiles could do was watch the guy walk away, his blond curly hair moving with every step he took. Isaac.

At least, not every pack member completely forgot about him. Or made him feel like the worst person on Earth. 

As night came, Thomas and Newt were lying in bed, Thomas having wrapped his arms around his lover. "Newt ?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah ?"

Nothing answered him. After a few minutes, he thought that Thomas had fallen asleep — it was so rare — but no. "Do you think about them a lot ?"

Memories flashed before their eyes. Painful memories.

"Please !" shouted a voice they knew too well. Screams followed. They were screams of pain. But they couldn't do anything.