The Edge of Sanity

1.

 

A/N: This is a two part oneshot (at least I'm pretty sure this will be it.. but I'm not sure yet) Newtmas fanfic, picking up on page 250 of The Death Cure. All credit for the first twelve lines goes strictly to author James Dashner. Otp attacks may or may not occur..

"Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery."

The words horrified Thomas. "Newt, maybe we can-"

"Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!"

"I can't."

"Do it!"

"I can't!" How could Newt ask him to do something like this? How could he possibly kill one of his best friends?

"Kill me or I'll kill you. Kill me! Do it!"

"Newt..."

"Do it before I become one of them!"

"I..."

"KILL ME!" And then Newt's eyes cleared, as if he'd gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened. "Please, Tommy. Please."

Thomas's heart was falling, his hands were sweaty and slick on the hard, cool metal of the gun in his hand. In his other hand seemed to be Newt's fate, a delicate thing to hold. Could he really do this? He bit his lip, gripping the gun tighter. Time was seemingly frozen for Thomas as he looked into the eyes of one of his best friends. His heart ached at the thought of losing him, just thinking about it made him want to be sick.

But he didn't have time to think about it, not with a crank in front of him, begging for death, an end to his misery.

But was that really what Thomas thought of him? As a Crank, a best friend, and maybe - just maybe - something more?

Even with the gun in his hands, Thomas was transported back to when he first met Newt. Newt in the glade. Newt in the maze. Newt in the Scorch. Newt's leadership, his limp, that irresistible accent that just made you love him even more than you already did. There was just that thing about Newt that made everything seem like it would all be okay.

Newt was supposed to be the glue that held everything together, the glue that held Thomas together. But the truth was inevitable. They were both broken and so was the world they were living in. No amount of glue would ever fix it all, all the pieces would never be picked up. They could never be whole again.

Thomas was snapped back into the present, though, away from thoughts of Newt, which were lingering in his head a bit longer than necessary.

He realized he'd lowered the gun. Newt's moment of sanity had slipped away.

Thomas knew he had to shoot Newt, it's what Newt wanted; the real Newt, not the Crank lying on the ground before him with raging eyes.

He raised his gun and internally told his hands to stop shaking, his stomach to stop doing flips. He closed his eyes, his heart falling into a black abyss, falling so fast..

Thomas couldn't help himself, he had to see Newt one more time, alive. He cracked open one eyelid, ever so slightly, eyes focusing on Newt, who was lying there looking like he was planning to attack. And then Thomas's eye landed on Newt's lips. He opened his other eye and looked at Newt full on.

It was like a shock, a wave, a bolt of realization. Thomas knew it in that instant, the thing he'd pushed away for all this time, pretending it didn't exist.

He loved Newt.

But it was too late, wasn't it? They couldn't be fixed. Not now, not ever.

Newt grabbed the gun suddenly and faced it towards Thomas, the barrel inches away from Thomas's head. This was it, the end for them both.

But Thomas couldn't let that happen.

He loved Newt too much and he didn't care if Newt ever felt the same way. He couldn't lose him. He knew it was a selfish thing to do, to make Newt stay in this world, miserable and insane.

Thomas grabbed the gun out of Newt's hands in a quick movement. He threw it into the alley behind them where it made a loud metallic sound as it hit.

Thomas pinned Newt down, holding his arms out to his side, against the ground. Newt kicked and screamed, pushing as hard as he could to get his hands and arms up. Thomas held firm though, putting all effort into holding Newt down, ignoring the pain of Newt's kicks.

"I know you're in there Newt!" Thomas yelled. He knew his words wouldn't help, though. He knew Newt was so far gone that nothing and no one could pull him back to sanity.

With all of his force Thomas pushed Newt down hard enough to get him to stop kicking, to stop moving. Newt's only option was to look at Thomas.

"Please, Newt." Thomas took a deep breath, knowing he had to say what he wanted to say now and then kill Newt. It's what Newt wanted, right? At this point Thomas rather be in pain from Newt's death than see Newt miserable and grasping for death when it was so close, yet so far.

Newt tried to thrash around some more, anything to escape Thomas, but Thomas held him down too tightly.

"Newt, stop! Just listen.." Thomas swallowed. "I love you Newt," he whispered. His throat was beginning to constrict and his eyes were burning. But then he looked at Newt and saw something, felt something. Newt had gone limp beneath him, but Thomas kept a grip anyways, in case he tried to escape again.. Or maybe because he liked being so close, touching Newt's arms. But there, behind Newt's eyes, the smallest spark of Newt, the real Newt.

Thomas continued, daring to hope.

"I've always loved you, Newt. From the moment I met you there was just something about you, drawing me in. I knew you were - are - one of my best friends, but to me you're.. more than that. I know this is a bad time to confess, but it's now or never or you may never know how I feel about you."

Thomas swallowed again. Newt was still, not moving. But his eyes were just the slightest bit less unhinged, his face just the slightest bit less demonic.

"I don't think I've loved anyone more than I've loved you, Newt," Thomas whispers. "I love you so much, that I am willing to fulfill your last wish, even though I know it will shred me to pieces. But I'm willing to do it, for you, because I love you and I don't want you to be subjected to this horrible disease any longer, I can't let you die without any dignity. I know you want this, and I'll do it."

Thomas held onto Newt for a few more seconds, remembering what it was like to be so close, to touch him, because this was it, the last string.

Finally Thomas let go of Newt and turned away, walking a bit down the alley to retrieve the gun. He picked it up, the metal cool and deadly, the trigger haunting. Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat, told himself not to cry, not yet. He turned around and walked back to Newt, who was now standing where he was once laying.

Thomas walked over to Newt, his feet heavy lead weights all of a sudden. He raised the gun with a shaky hand, pointing it at Newt's forehead, trying not to look at his face, his lips, which he longed for..

Thomas took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes. He could do this, it wasn't impossible. But it was impossible to kill Newt, his best friend, the person he was in love with, with his eyes open. He didn't want to see the bullet make contact, to see Newt slump to the ground and bleed. It was better this way, just a slight movement of his finger, a bang, darkness, and a walk away in the opposite direction.

Thomas gripped the gun tightly in his hand, still aimed at Newt. He knew Newt wouldn't move, he wanted this. He knew he wouldn't miss, he'd gotten all too good at this. He was so tempted to look at Newt, one more time, one more glance of his love. But no, if he did he knew he'd crumple. Thomas took one last deep breath, turned his head away even though his eyes were still closed..

And pulled the trigger.