back in 250 (Maze Runner)

Newt?

His head spun, the world a blur, as if caught in a storm with no end. He couldn't do this - no, he had to stop. But he felt himself slipping, a prisoner within his own skin, unable to halt the force that drove him. His body, unmoored, moved against his will, and then, with a fierce rush, the urge he had fought so long to suppress overwhelmed him...

KILL!

His anger flared, vast and consuming, an unbridled beast with no reason, no purpose. Never before had such fury possessed him. He was trying to kill him - infect him, too - there could be no other explanation.

"Newt, it's me, it's me!" Thomas's voice, a lifeline, cut through the chaos. Newt faltered, slipping back into something like normalcy, though normalcy was a distant memory now.
The only way to save Thomas, to stop himself from becoming the very monster he feared, was to end it.
He had to say it.

"Tommy, kill me!" The words were barely out before darkness reclaimed him.

Lost, he floated in a void, a puppet to an unseen hand. He attacked Thomas, his own hands betraying him, moving with a will of their own.

"I'm sorry, Tommy, I'm sorry,"

he whispered, as though the words could undo the horror. Thomas's reply, gentle and soft, was like a rope pulling him back from the abyss.

He had to stop - there was only one way. He saw the gun strapped to Thomas's leg, a grim solution gleaming in the dim light. He reached for it, loaded it, and in the eerie silence that followed, heard Thomas's scream, "No!" Desperately, Thomas lunged, knocking the gun from his hand. It skittered across the cold concrete, a lifeline lost. A primal scream tore from Newt's throat, feral and raw. He fell back, catching himself on trembling hands. The knife at his side, a last resort, gleamed with cold intent. He wanted to end it, but the rage inside twisted his intent, turning the blade against the boy he loved. He was going to kill him, he realized, a passenger in his own body. He saw the knife press against Thomas's chest, saw the crimson bloom of blood. He wanted to scream, to stop the madness, but he couldn't. He saw Thomas's eyes, wide with fear, yet full of pity. It broke him. Every muscle screamed in pain as he fought to regain control, to pull back from the edge of the darkness that threatened to consume him whole.

But it was futile. Thomas shoved him away, but Newt rose again, relentless, the knife gripped tight in his hand. Only one thought blazed his mind:
"Kill him, kill him."
He closed the distance between them, the blade aimed at Thomas's heart. But just as he moved to strike, the darkness lifted, leaving him with a terrible clarity. He had to save Thomas, and there was only one way. He turned the knife on himself, the sharp point poised over his chest. With a final, desperate surge, he plunged it deep, feeling not pain, but peace. Thomas's hands caught him as he fell, his eyes shattered and beautiful. "Tommy," Newt whispered, the name a soft surrender. Then he fell back, the darkness finally claiming him. Thomas knelt beside him, disbelief clouding his face as he stared at the boy he once knew. Newt lay there, eyes open wide, black veins and blood marking his skin, his hair a beautiful, tangled mess.

"Newt?"