The Other Side - A Newt Fanfiction

Chapter Thirty Two: Consolation

It took twenty minutes to get to the Berg. Gally had led the way, provided cover, and Minho and Fry carried Newt as we managed to make our way through the city falling to flames.
Once we stumble along the top of the tunnels, towards the massive aircraft that waits for us, the hatch door sinks to the concrete. Lo and behold, Jorge and, to my surprise, Vince stand on the other side of the door, excited expressions on their faces; however, their joy disappears the second they lay their eyes on the condition of our group.
"Hold on, hermanos!" Jorge shouts as he and Vince sprint out of the Berg to provide aid.
The men approach us quickly, but then stumble to a halt when they lay their eyes on the body in Fry and Minho's arms.
As I stumble in place, averting my tired, puffy eyes to the two boys, I see Fry panting heavily, but his heavy breaths are choppy and stuttered and tears continue to run down his sweaty face, for he had been crying the entire time he carried Newt. Minho, on the other hand, displays an entirely different fraction of the wide scale of mourning, simply staring down at the vacant face of his old friend, whose eyes are now closed, thanks to Minho. The strong boy's expression displays one on the brink of lifelessness, locking a deadpan stare on the body.
Vince, face falling, shakes his head and mumbles in disbelief, "No... Not the kid..." He looks to Jorge with his widening eyes.
Jorge has his eyes hold onto Newt.
"We need to get inside and get to Thomas!" Brenda calls over the loud, continuous roar of the ongoing war in the city.
Pursing his lips together as he nods slightly, lifting his eyes to Brenda, Jorge takes Newt's legs from Fry, who looks like he's on the verge of passing out. "Let's get into the Berg, then! Hurry!"
Nodding, Brenda grasps onto Fry's arm before running towards the aircraft, pulling Fry behind as he fights to fill his lungs between weak sobs.
As Jorge and Minho follow after with the body, Vince watching them rush off, Gally rests a hand on my right shoulder. "(y/n)?" he asks in concern, causing Vince to look back to us.
The man's eyes widen as they fall upon me, looking me up and down.
Panting shallow breaths through my pale, dry lips, my eyelids grow heavy, making it arduous to keep them open. By now, the blood from the back of my head had managed to trail down to my lower back, causing the backside of my tank top to cling against my body with the warm, sticky liquid; however, that's not the worst of it. The bite in the crook of my neck, where it meets with my left shoulder, had continued to gush out, so much so that nearly the entire front side of my tank top is bright red, my left arm caked with the tacky, overflowing red liquid, and the liquid that is supposed to give me life has managed to stain the upper-left side of my pants. My vision blurs in and out, head spinning as I struggle to remain balanced.
Without a moment of hesitation, Vince scoops me up into his arms. "We're gonna patch you up, kiddo! Don't worry!" He shouts before ordering Gally to follow behind as he turns and runs to the Berg.
Worry? Why worry about death when I feel as if I am no longer alive?
• • •
Silence. Empty, lonely silence.
I sit alone in a compartment that extends out over the left wing of the Berg, a small, tightly compacted room of steel that only contains a metal cot and two steel chairs.
Newt's body lies on the narrow bed, a white sheet pulled up to his chin.
He looks so peaceful, as if he is sleeping, but his chest does not subtly rise and fall with soft breaths.
Lip quivering as my eyes swell up with tears, I look down at Newt's red WICKED jacket on my lap, fumbling with it in my hands, anxiously brushing my thumb along the collar as I bite my lip to fight back the tears.
Vince and Jorge had managed to patch me up swiftly, bandaging wrapped tightly around my head and medical wrapping tightly wrapped over my left shoulder, stretching across my chest, rolling beneath my right arm, and wrapping up my back and back to the wound on my left shoulder, layered several times over. They had given me a grey, heathered, baggy hoodie and matching sweatpants to change into after they had cleaned me up, and, while I continued to wail over Newt hopelessly, Brenda had managed to braid my hair that drapes down my back from underneath the bandaging. Although the wounds have been tended to and wrapped, they continue to throb with intense pain, equivalent to that of which I feel deep within my heart.
A gentle click breaks the silence, and I flinch slightly in response.
Turning to look over my shoulder, my eyes fall upon Gally as he slowly opens the door and stands in the doorway. "Hey..." He mumbles quietly. "Mind if I come in?"
Pursing my lips together as my eyes shift slightly, I shake my head, slowly looking back down at Newt's coat in my lap.
"Thanks..." He closes the door behind him before walking to the corner of the small compartment, taking the second chair and moving it beside me, taking a seat. Sighing heavily, he leans forward with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together, staring at Newt.
The silence of death returns, but only for a minute or two.
"(y/n)?" Gally says softly, giving me a questioning glance.
I don't respond whatsoever, eyes locked onto Newt.
In my peripherals, I see Gally look down at his hands as he takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to say. "I just... I wanted to say that I'm sorry," he pauses for several passing seconds, pursing his lips tightly together and furrowing his brows before adding, "and that you were right."
I turn my head to the boy, an unreadable expression on my face.
He averts his eyes to mine. "You were right about it being my fault. That, if I had let you stay with Newt when you insisted on so, you probably could have prevented this... I should've," he pauses again to take a deep breath, choking up and struggling to maintain his strong stature, "I should have listened to you... If it weren't for me, Newt could have been here with us... Alive." He mutters, looking back at the boy's body. "I'm the reason we've lost some of the greatest people. People I could never amount to." His lips twitch slightly as he obviously fights back tears, but he keeps a stern expression. "First, Chuck, and, now," he momentarily pauses, his jaw hanging open as he fights to utter the name, "Newt..." He mutters before looking back down at his hands, head hanging in shame. "I... I'm sorry, (y/n)..."
I stare at the boy for a long stretch of time. I may have only known Gally for two, going on three, days, but I can tell that this broken, vulnerable demeanor is completely out of his character, and it must be extremely hard for him to be this open and sincere, but, then again, he knew Newt for literally as long as he can remember, so that had to crush him enough to behave this way.
"It's not your fault..." I whisper, voice a little raspy from all of the screaming over the past hour. My own voice feels foreign to me.
Gally lifts his head to look me in the eyes, giving me a questioning look.
I shake my head. "Gally, it's not your fault. I was just... I was letting the pain talk..." I admit. "This is no one's fault, aside from WICKED, but they are burning, just as they deserve." I explain weakly. "We could not control any of it. We could not control the virus, we could not control the surrounding battle, we could not control Newt... He," I have to pause, the tears beginning to blur my vision and my already sore throat beginning to burn as I fight to swallow the lump growing in it, "Newt chose to take his life. He knew his limits, and he believed that the virus was going to devour him. I mean, he would get overtaken, and then regain control just to see what the Flare was making him do..." I choke out. "The Flare made him swing the knife at Thomas, but...the real Newt made himself plunge it into his own heart..." I finally cave, breaking a sob as I bury my head in my right hand, my left still fumbling with Newt's jacket.
As I begin to break down into tears of grievance, Gally stares at me with somber eyes for a few passing moments before hesitantly resting a comforting hand on my back.
"I just thought that he, of all people, would have made it to the Safe Haven... I thought that he would get to see Paradise because he deserved it more than anyone else..." I lift my left hand to my face, too, muffling my cries into the palms of my hands.
Clenching his jaw, Gally begins to rub my back, staring at Newt's body as he nods somberly, frowning. "He really did deserve it the most..." He mumbles weakly in agreement.
I can't help but wail weakly into my hands, my heart aching deeply while my head and neck painfully throb with each beat of my shattered heart.
Moments of silence, aside from my whimpering, pass, but then something unexpected happens: hesitant, Gally slowly wraps his right arm around me, pulling me into a consoling embrace. As he squeezes me comfortingly, I can hear him sniffle slightly. "He was a great shank... I never admitted it to him, but he was far greater than I could ever be." He confesses. "He was a strong leader and yet a kindhearted nurturer. He even helped me through some rough patches in my early days in the Glade, even when I was a total shuck-face..."
Wiping my red, puffy eyes with the sleeve of my grey hoodie, I listen to Gally intently whilst staring at Newt's peaceful expression, soaking up this new, small fraction of Newt that I hadn't learned about yet as if Gally's words bring a part of the dead boy back to life.
"Every Greenie that came up in the Box felt an instinctive sense that they could confide in him. It was just an aura that Newt carried with him. I'm sure you already knew that through your own experience..."
I nod slightly, sniffling as Gally pulls away to lean on his elbows again, turning his head to look me in the eyes.
However, as Gally opens his mouth to continue speaking, he is cut off by someone shouting, "THOMAS!" from outside of the room, causing the both of us to jump with a start and dart our eyes to the door. Shifting his eyes back to me, Gally struggles to make up his mind on whether to stay and continue to comfort me or to go help the others.
"Go... Help them..." I whisper weakly, brushing away my further flowing tears from my cheeks.
He lifts a brow questioningly. "Are you sure?"
I nod, inhaling deeply with a stuttered breath.
Pursing his lips together, Gally nods hesitantly before slowly rising to his feet and striding to the door, swinging it open. "Where's Thomas?" He calls before stepping out and closing the door swiftly behind him.
• • •
The shouting had continued for an hour. By what I could hear, Thomas was brought into the Berg, but I never left the room. Gally insisted that I didn't, nor was I able to bring myself to leave my chair. I just feel... Lost. Completely and utterly, hopelessly lost.
I can't bring myself to leave Newt. Maybe I'm going crazy, not wanting to leave a dead person's side, or maybe the Flare has finally decided to start eating at me, but why does it shucking matter? Nothing seems to matter anymore. Sure, I'm alive and healthy, but at what cost? I hadn't realized that my picture of Paradise demanded for Newt to be in it until he was gone. Until it was too late.
I feel empty, hollowed out, as if my body is a vacant shell, a carcass, my soul gone; however, the excruciating pain in my head and neck remind me that I am, in fact, and, unfortunately, still alive.
Looking back down at my lap, I reach into the pocket of my hoodie, slowly taking out Newt's red bandanna. If it weren't for the fact that it is physically impossible for my body to release more tears, this little maroon cloth would be triggering me into another hour of blubbering. I break weak sobs, but no tears escape.
"I should've... I should've let you keep this..." I choke out, squeezing the bandanna tightly in my hand, so tightly that my knuckles turn white, and I lift my eyes to Newt's veiny body. "I shouldn't have let you give this to me. You needed it, not me..." Even though it's silly, the thought of this lucky bandanna possibly changing the route of Newt's life breaks me even more. "Shuck..." I hiss at myself, burying my head in my hands. "I miss you so shucking much, Newt... I- I wish I could have done something different- something that would have saved you." Somehow, tears begin to swell in my swollen eyes as I peer at his body between my fingers. "I wish I had told you that I loved you... I should have told you that I loved you..."
"But I'm sure he already knew that." A voice says softly from behind, causing me to jump with a start, quickly sitting upright and looking back at the doorway to see Minho leaning against the door frame with folded arms, a somber expression on his face. He's changed into a clean set of dark grey sweats. "I mean, I had told him so." He stands tall, quietly walking to the empty chair beside mine and taking a seat.
I stare at the boy with sad eyes, pressing my lips tightly together as I fight back the urge to cry even more. "Wh-What do you mean?"
Leaning back in his chair as he huffs a heavy sigh, locking his eyes onto Newt's body, he mutters, "Back when we first met you at WICKED headquarters, I sensed something was there. Something," he pauses before saying, "special. Like it was destined." He manages to let out a pathetic, forced chuckle, but he cannot bring himself to force a smile along with it. "By the time we were in the Scorch, I forced him to fess up one of the nights. He told me he thought he was in love with you, but he was afraid that he was just being a dumb kid, and he was even more afraid to open up to someone like that, given that he comes," he pauses, clenching his jaw as he corrects himself, "came with a lot of baggage." Minho averts his eyes to me, inhaling deeply through his nose as he leans forward on his elbows. "I told him he had nothing to worry about. I said, 'Shank, it's been two, maybe three, days, and I can already promise you that she loves you, too.'" He sighs as he looks back to the cot. "Of course, that did not make him any less nervous to tell you. I mean, by the time we had gotten to the Right Arm camp, I had to nearly drag him down the mountain to make him go share his mind, but, of course, WICKED had to shuck that up, too..." He mutters, running his fingers through his hair. "But he finally got it off his chest, and I trust that he was already sure that you felt the same exact way."
I ponder for a few moments. "Yeah, well, you telling him that I love him is a lot different than me telling him..." I mumble, shifting my somber eyes to Newt as I frown. I rest my right hand over the bandaged left crook of my neck, grimacing. Shuck, the wounds still hurt horribly.
Minho frowns slightly. "I guess you're right..." He admits.
Minutes pass in silence.
"You know," I begin, not letting my eyes leave Newt, "he really missed you." I can see Minho turn his head to me out of the corner of my eye, which causes me to return the glance. "Some nights at the new camp, I would catch him in his hammock, staring at the ceiling with that look he does when he's fighting to stay strong, but he is really broken down. You know, when he is as cold as stone, but his eyes are tearing up, unveiling the truth..."
Minho, somehow managing to chuckle softly, blinks back tears as his eyes begin to water. "I know exactly what look you're talking about..."
I nod, forcing a small smile, but it quickly fades. "He hated the fact that you were not there with Fry, Thomas, and himself."
Minho frowns. "And I hate the fact that he's not here with us, either..." Looking at Newt before resting his head on his hands, Minho mumbles, "I wish it had been me rather than him..."
Licking my lips as my vision blurs with tears, I shift my eyes back to the body. "I think we all wish we could trade places with him..."
Further silence passes.
"At least we're taking him to the Safe Haven, where he can be at peace." Minho whispers, attempting to dig out a faint glimmer of optimism out of desperation.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slump my head back against the chair, the back of my head bursting with pain as if I had just slammed it against concrete. Speaking of which, my shoulder still feels as if Newt had just bit into it, tearing into my flesh. I guess that makes sense, though, given that they are horrific injuries. "I want him there, but not like this..."
My comment causes Minho to look at me, but I don't return the glance this time.
"I just... I thought he was going to make it, you know?" I choke out. "Like I was telling Gally earlier, I thought that, out of all of us, Newt would make it out alive. He's strong, brave, smart... He deserved to make it to the Safe Haven, but that doesn't shucking matter to the Flare." I clench my jaw. "And it's because of that shucking virus that Newt's going to be six feet under the free ground we take camp on."
It takes Minho a few moments to respond. "Well... At least he'll be there. Like you said, that's better than Newt getting buried beneath the ruins of a city built up by the very people that broke him."
Minho waits for a response, but I don't reply.
Sighing heavily, he turns his head back to Newt, staring at his old friend.
As the time passes on, I hear Minho begin to sniffle every once in a while; however, it slowly grows more frequent, so much so that, eventually, I see him beginning to wipe his eyes on his hoodie sleeve in my peripherals.
I don't know why, but, feeling the urge to comfort him or, at least, justify his crying, I mumble in a numb tone, "WICKED labelled him 'The Glue'..." I lift a brow slightly, keeping my stare on Newt's body.
Furrowing his brows together, Minho turns his head to me, once again, questioningly.
"I now understand why..." I admit as I slowly avert my eyes to his. Tears slowly roll down his cheeks, but he quickly brushes them away in attempt to hide them. "He was the glue that held us together... All of us..." I explain. "After we lost Winston, Newt was the first to pull the rest of us away, to keep going as a family, and, whenever someone was suffering, whether it was Thomas feeling responsible for the danger we were in or my shucking night terrors getting to me or anyone else in some sort of pain, he was the first one to try to gather their broken bits and build them back up. He mended each and every one of us through our own particular connections with him..." I whisper. "I mean, he definitely put my shattered parts together..."
Minho sniffles, eyebrows creasing together in a somber expression as he stares into my eyes.
"So you don't need to hide your grievance, Minho, because we're all broken now that Newt is gone..." I choke out, lip quivering. "That's just what happens when glue dries up and loses its hold: everything crumbles, falling apart..."
Although my vision begins to re-blur with tears, I can see the clear droplets rolling out of Minho's eyes and down his cheeks, but, this time, he does not wipe them away.
Sitting in silent mourning, the two of us break our stares, averting our eyes to the boy that held us all together.
As the minutes pass, they drag at a painfully slow rate, and yet the pain in my head and shoulder do not ease; they continue to throb with agonizing beats. I have to lean forward to get my back off of the backrest of the chair, my skin feeling warm and wet, as if I'm still in my blood-soaked cloths. "Minho?" I mumble, looking to him.
That breaks him out of his daze on Newt, and, brushing away his tears, he gives me a questioning expression. "Hm?"
"Has my blood seeped through my bandaging?" I ask, turning my back to him to show him my head bandaging.
Sitting upright to give the back of my head a good look, he mumbles, "There's a couple small blotches of blood, but nothing bad."
I turn back around to face him, placing my right hand on the wound in the crook of my neck before tugging down the left side of the collar of my hoodie. "What about here?" I ask, tilting my head to the right slightly.
He furrows his brows together as he examines the wrapping. "Same goes for there. Why do you ask?"
Releasing the collar of my shirt and rubbing my shoulder, I sigh heavily, shrugging slightly. "I... I don't really know." I say, drawing my brows together in concern. "It's just that- The wounds still hurt really, really badly. They feel like they're still opened."
"Well, they were really terrible injuries. They're bound to hurt."
Frowning slightly, I shake my head. "But it's been an hour, and I feel as if the blood is still all over my body..."
"Which is normal." He says reassuringly. "I mean, Vince and Jorge cleaned you up as much as they could, but that does not mean that they could get rid of all of the blood."
Pursing my lips tightly, I nod hesitantly as I huff a sigh, looking down at the floor.
Minho sighs heavily, folding his arms. "How much longer do you think we have until we arrive to your camp on the beach?"
Frowning as I rub my bandaged shoulder, I shrug. "No clue..." I admit.
Exhaling deeply, Minho presses his lip tightly together as he contemplates in silence. "Do you want to be around when we bury him?" He asks suddenly.
Although I am caught off guard for a moment, and a deep ache stabs at my heart, I nod slowly, not bothering to look at the boy. "Yes... I do..."
"Do you think you'll be able to handle it?"
I shake my head, scoffing softly. "Of course not, but I want to be there... I want to help lay him to rest..." I mutter weakly.
Inhaling through his nose as he sits a little taller, Minho nods. "Then, we'll support each other."
Furrowing my brows together in puzzlement, I shift my eyes to Minho.
He averts his somber eyes to me. "I won't be able to handle it, either, so we can hold each other together... Like his did for us..."
Staring into Minho's eyes, I bite my lip to keep it from quivering, nodding slightly as I return my eyes to Newt's peaceful state, unable to hold the somber eye contact without breaking down. Rubbing my shoulder, I cannot help but wince in pain. Shuck, why does it hurt so badly? So unbearably?
"NO, STOP! PLEASE!" A piercing scream suddenly outbreaks from somewhere outside of the room, causing me to jolt, looking back at the door with wide, panicked eyes.
"Wh-What?" I wheeze, breathing immediately picking up. "What the shu-"
"IF YOU COULD JUST LISTEN TO- NO! STOP!" Another scream, muffled by the closed door, rings in the air, making me jump again with a start.
Pain suddenly bursts in the back of my bandaged head, and, flinching, I clasp my hand over the wound on my skull, squeezing my eyes shut and hissing through clenched teeth. "Shuck..." I hiss, forcing myself to open my eyes as my head throbs in pain, squinting from the horrible internal blow. "What's going on?" I ask worriedly, looking to Minho, who's staring at Newt with somber eyes. "Minho?"
He doesn't respond.
"Minho." I repeat, waving my hand in front of his face, but he still does not reply. "Minho, do you hear me? There's screaming coming from outside!" I exclaim, shaking him by the shoulder.
No response.
Although an unsettling shiver shoots down my spine, I force myself to remain calm, clenching my jaw as I place my hand back onto my head. I look back at the door as another shrill cry is muffled from it.
"YOU JUST NEED TO FI-" The voice is cut off with a grunt, followed by a scream of torturous pain.
Trembling, I slowly rise to my feet, looking to Minho again. "I-I'll see what's going on." I tell him. Given that his deadpan stare on Newt remains, I add, "I'll get Vince to come help you, too..."
Just as I dread, he is not phased, seeming almost lifeless.
Gulping anxiously, I turn back to the steel door, staring at it as several screams begin to erupt. Horrific, blood-curdling screams mixed with cries of unfathomable, blinding rage.
My heart pounds against my chest rapidly, and the world spins from my throbbing head as my shoulder is waved with pang after pang of pain in sync with my heartbeat. My stomach ties tightly into knots, anxiety swelling up inside of me.
Fear entraps me in its snare so tightly that I feel as if I cannot move, too afraid to see what is on the other side of the door.
However, as soon as the voice screams, "HELP ME!" instinct takes over, and, without a moment more of hesitation, I take a deep breath before quickly striding to the door, swinging it open, and-
I jolt with a sudden start, every muscle in my body tensing up and rippling beneath my skin as I take in a massive gasp for air, lying flat on a cold, hard surface and staring at the dark night sky above me, faint sparks fluttering down over me from distant fires. "What the- What the shuck?" I wheeze, head throbbing with overwhelming pain, some black spots lingering in my vision.
With my right hand that is trembling and feeling unbearably heavy, I reach over to the bite in the left crook of my neck, only to feel gushing, hot blood running through my fingers. Gasping in shock, I turn my head to look at my shoulder, getting a glimpse of the pool of red blood beneath my shoulder on the concrete. "Wh- What...?" I whisper, disoriented.
"TOMMY, KILL ME!" A familiar voice screams between violent coughs.
I dart my eyes to the scene ahead: Along the long stretch of concrete that is illuminated by white beams of light, Thomas struggles to sit upright as a boy a mere four feet away from him sits on his hands and knees, coughing up black blood onto the cement.
Swallowing back the remainder of the rotting liquid, the vein-covered figure reaches to his side, taking out a glistening object: a dagger.
Newt.