Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

13

Even though he wasn't the quickest person ever at that kind of things, Chuck quickly got the hint. He coffed, grabbed the plate and mumbled, "Um, guys, I'll give this back to Frypan." He walked away before finishing the sentence.

Thomas stared for a second, then turned to face Newt. He was frantically wringing his hands, and his face was dark. Not only because it was close night and the illumination in the Homestead was almost inexistent —the concern and fear in his features broke Thomas' heart. He felt something tighten his throat, and his eyes begun to itch furiously. The tiredness that anchored him to the floor battled with a sudden and strong urge to scramble to Newt and hug him until his sadness faded away.

"What's wrong?" he asked instead. The boy didn't answer for a few seconds.

"Everything," he finally admitted. "Slim it, I'm supposed to watch over Alby now. Shuck. We'll have to talk tomorrow."

There was no way Thomas would let him go away like that.

"No, it's fine. I'll accompany you."

Newt shook his head. "You're not allowed to see him right now. I'm sorry."

Thomas arched an eyebrow, and stared at Newt, who still wouldn't meet his gaze.

"If Alby's the Glade's leader and you're the seccond-in-command, it technically means that, with him like that, you're the boss now. So, still technically, no one has to allow you to let me see him."

Newt's dismal expression lit up for a second as a smile flashed across his face. "You're box clever, aren't you? Alright, Greenie. You can come over —but I'm warning you, it's not a pleasant experience."

Instead of asking the million questions that crossed his mind, Thomas gathered every tiny bit of energy he had left and stood up. He stretched a hand out, and helped Newt to his feet. When they touched, he felt something weird —like an electric current going up his arm and then spreading to all of his body. He let go of Newt's hand as soon as he could without being impolite, and discretely rubbed his fingertips against his trousers. They had started tickling, like millions of ants running up and down them.

They walked to the room in silence. Alby's whining put Thomas the hen skin. He started doubting whether he was ready or not to see him. The urge to talk with Newt beat everything else, though; he opened the door and got in.

Alby's body was tatooed with thick, dark veins that stretched across his torso, wrapped his arms and went up his neck, caressing the sides of his face, which was contracted in a wince of pain. Even though he was unconscious, he gritted his teeth, and would moan every now and then, writhing.

"I think the worst part's over," Newt quietly said. "The bugger should be sleepin' for a couple of days, then wake up okay. Maybe a little screaming now and then."

Thomas nodded, unable to say anything for the moment. He watched the Glade's leader as he tossed, and remembered him when he got out of the Box. He had appeared strong, ruthless and fearless. It had nothing to do with the current Alby.

"I don't get what this Changing thing is," he finally said under his breath.

Newt's response startled Thomas. "You think we do?" He threw up his arms, and them let them fall down again. "All we bloody know is if the Grievers sting you with their nasty needles, you inkect the Grief Serum or you die. If you do get the Serum, then your body wigs out and shakes and your skin bubbles and turns a freaky green color and you vomit all over yourself. Enough explanation for ya there, Tommy?"

Thomas felt all color drain from his face. The answer had been harsh enough to kick him down in the dumps. He didn't want to make Newt any more upset, but he needed answers. He needed to start puzzling that place together, or he'd go nuts. "I... I know it sucks to see your friend go through that, but I just want to know what's really happening. Why do you call it the Changing?"