Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

06 (*)

For a while they were silent, Newt still gripping Thomas' wrist, as the latter let the sentence sink in slowly, like a finger pressed against fresh pizza dough. I saw you send us here.

It was ridiculous. He hadn't had anything to do with the whole Glade thing.

Or had he?

"It can't be," he finally said. He broke free from Newt and rubbed his wrist, although Newt hadn't squeezed it the slightest and there was no trace of red on his skin. "I mean, it makes no sense. There's no point in putting dozens of teenagers here, then somehow erasing my memory and sending myself up here too. Why would I..." Word by word, Thomas' voice quietened until not even he could make out what he was saying. Because he was amnesiac, so he couldn't really know. And he did rack his brain for a memory, a gut feeling, something to tell him that it wasn't true. But he couldn't find a thing. "Why?"

Powerless, he sat down on the edge of the matress and buried his face in his hands.

"Told ya you didn't want to know," Newt muttered quietly. He sighed. "You... It's not like I saw ya put us in the Box and press the button. We were inside a wardrobe, with brooms and stuff—not your five-star hotel suite. Me, I was curious, and you looked like you just murdered the Queen. Somehow the cat had eaten your tongue, but I knew  ya knew I was gonna be sent up  here. Just knew, you know?" He patted Thomas' shoulder once, then left his hand there. "Saw your face. If you... Look, I don't really think you picked me up and said, 'This one's gettin' it, this one's goin' in'. From your face, it wasn't your decision. You were sorry to give me the bad news."

Eyes closed, Thomas inhaled deeply. "Still..., why was I in charge of doing so? Maybe I worked for the people who put us here. It doesn't make me any more innocent. Why was I involved, Newt?"

"Sorry, Thomas. I'm afraid I don't have the answer."

"Yeah. Well." Thomas ran his hands through his hair, resting them on his nape. "So maybe I helped put you all here. What happens now?"

Besides him, Newt shifted on the bed to sit up. Now his legs dangled from the edge of the matress. "Now? What do you mean 'now'?"

"Now that you know I'm somehow involved in bringing you all here. What's gonna happen to me? Will you guys kick me out?"

For some reason beyond his understanding, Newt found that funny enough to laugh. Then he patted Thomas' leg,  and stretched his own. "Jesus Christ, Thomas, calm down or else you're gonna have a heart attack. First, you're takin' for granted that these freak visions are memories, which you dunno. Second, you're takin' for granted they're true and not manipullated by them Creators to stir some trouble in the Glade. Third, you're takin' for granted we're some bunch of credulous punks who'll kick your ass into the Maze for the night to give them Grievers a snack. And fourth..." He threw his head backwards. "You're takin' for granted I'm gonna tell the rest."

Thomas almost fell from the bed. "So you... Ain't?"

Newt shrugged. "Told ya already. We got no proof that you're in cahoots with anyone—be it the girl, be it the Creators—, an' we got no proof that the visions are to be trusted. Maybe they are and maybe you're the brains behind this, but we dunno. I dunno, and even if you were, now you're just as clueless as the rest. You're one of us now, and I won't put you in danger because of a bunch of maybes."

They watched the night together, and for the first time since his arrival, Thomas let himself relax completely. He was already dozing off when Newt added, "Besides, who's gonna believe I'm havin' visions with ya? They'd kick me off."

When Newt felt well enough to leave the infirmary, Thomas helped him downstairs again. His leg was numb enough that it didn't hurt to walk by himself, so as soon as they were on level fround again, they let go of each other. Still, they kept on talking in a low voice about the several things on Thomas' mind. Girl. Note. Glade. Maze. The job he'd be trying out in a few hours. Whether Chuck ever stopped blabbering.