Newt | Through The Gates Of Hell

Running from the Bad Guys...Again

Y/N's P.O.V

We were all back on the ground, retrieving our personal belongings and acquiring new weapons and supplies from the crates they'd been tossed into when a glaring, dazzling light shone through the window. 

"Good evening citizens."

I'd recognise that ratty voice anywhere.

"This is World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment Department. You, through no fault of your own, find yourselves in possession of WICKED property. We have your compound completely surrounded while we retrieve them. Please, evacuate the building to avoid, say, unfortunate accidents."

"We need to go now!" Teresa said, yet again completing her role as the Speaker of the Obvious Truth of the group.

"Not so fast, missy."

I whirled around to find that the big, ugly man with yellow teeth had taken one of our party hostage, one hairy muscular arm wrapped around his captive's throat in a headlock, the other holding his gun to their forehead.

Newt.

My heart was in my mouth.

"Now, yer gonna come with me, nice n' quiet, and we'll hand you off to Janson so I get my credits for this job, yeah? One misstep and I blow out Pretty Boy's brains, ya feel me?"

Nonononononononono. 

I will not lose someone else I care about.

Barely thinking, I pulled a throwing star out of my newly stocked bandolier. Barely thinking, I threw it, faster than the mind could comprehend. Barely thinking of anything but saving Newt's life, I watched the weapon bury itself in the ugly man's shoulder. 

With an oath, the man dropped his gun and released the headlock he had on Newt, cursing as he grabbed his freely bleeding shoulder. I had no regrets as I watch him fall to his knees, abruptly collapsing as a loud bang sounded, and he fell over fully.

Brenda stood there, outstretched arm holding a smoking gun.

"You're not a bad shot with that blade."

"Neither are you," I returned.

She took in our group. "We have to go. Jorge is buying us time, but we only have until the song ends."

I'd been so fixated on Newt that I'd barely heard the slow, warm jazzy tune blaring from the speakers, lyrics too warped to make out.

Exchanging "fuck it" looks, we all ran after her. I paused briefly to pick up the gun the dead man dropped when I noticed Teresa slipping something into her pocket.

"You good there?" I arched my brow.

She mumbled out something half baked before rushing to follow the rest of the group.

Interesting.

Extremely interesting.

Slipping the gun into the waistband of my pants, I followed.

Our group regrouped with Jorge on the top level of the building, where he threw open a set of folding doors, revealing an opening with cables tethered to the top, leading off to who knew where. 

"We have a deal. We go to the Right Arm. We protect each other. Good with you, muchachos?" Leaving no space for arguments, he grabbed a crudely fashioned handle, he said "This way, follow me." before zip-lining into the darkness.

"Oh boy," Frypan said, looking resigned as Brenda forced another handle into his hand.

One by one, they all zipped into the darkness until only Thomas, Brenda, Newt and I remained. The blonde boy looked terrified, his Adam's apple bobbing on the graceful curve of his strong throat.

"I-I can't"

Fear of heights? Interesting.

Stepping forward, I rubbed his back gently, soothing him and murmuring, "It's fine. Just don't look down, okay? I'll go in front of you, facing backwards, and you just focus me, yeah?"

The gunshots firing downstairs were getting louder and louder, and I really wasn't liking the sound of footsteps on the stairs. We had to go now.

I grabbed a handle, stepping off the edge of the building, facing Newt. Thomas patted his back gently and gave a firm nod of encouragement before running off, in pursuit of Brenda, doing god knows what. As Newt hesitantly grabbed onto a handle and stepped off the edge, his eyes locked on mine. I gazed back steadily, taking in his petrified tawny eyes, white-knuckled grip on the rope and wind tousling his hair. Not caring for the dazzling lights shining into my eyes or Janson's voice as he screamed at his troops to go to the top floor and capture us as we zipped through the air, I focused on the boy in front of me, providing a blanket of safety and reassurance for him. Thoughts and memories of another person with blonde hair and a similar accent helping me through a time where I was stuck in a similar situation arose in my mind, but I never took my eyes off of Newt until both his sneakers were planted firmly on marble as he righted himself, letting go of the handle.

I looked up just in time to see the building we'd left light up into a furious inferno of flame and heat.

Thomas, and the girl, Brenda, were nowhere to be seen in the small party that had ziplined across to what appeared to be an abandoned apartment.

Teresa let out a small, pained "oh", pressing her hand to her quivering mouth.

Tears burned in my eyes as I blindly buried my head into a strong chest, strong muscular arms coming up to hold me close as I wept for my friends, people who had saved me, laughed with me as we trekked through a desert and shot the people I hated. The shaking hands, one on my back, the other on the back of my head, rubbed small circles as I felt the person hugging me gently press a kiss to the top of my head.

Newt.  

It had to be him. No other person could hold me like that, arms fitting in perfectly into the curves of my body like it was meant to be, doing all the things that calmed my down and simultaneously lit my skin aflame with desire, making the entire world except for the two of us disappear momentarily. My arms rose and hugged him around his neck, my fingers brushing his nape as he shook and I shook and we steadied each other on the rocking and thrashing waves of grief and pain. 

Jorge broke everyone out of the bubbles of sadness they were in by clearing his throat firmly. "They're on us. We have to go. We can grieve later." He grumbled, but even as he turned away from us, I glimpsed his dark eyes, shining with unshed tears. 

And so, we stumbled through the darkness, following Jorge with no sense of direction. 

The only thing I was sure of was Newt's rough, calloused hand never leaving mine.