The Boat On The Beach

Chapter Seventeen: Separation Anxiety

Where was he? Thomas looked around. It was dark, night in the scorch. He was alone, and the wind was sending chills down his spine. The boy whirled around, trying to find his bearings or his friends. He called their names once after the other, but to no reply. The american began to panic. He stumbled backwards and ran a clammy hand through his hair.

He felt a presence opposite him. A familiar presence that morphed into a blurry blond. Nothing was clear, it was all distorted, and although he couldn't see that it was Newt, he knew it was. The smell gave it away. The brit smelt unusual, of frypans stew, and of bonfires like the rest of the gladers, but also a sweet undertone that Thomas could only identify as strawberries. How the boy smelt like that Thomas had no idea, but he was certainly not complaining. He watched as the presence came closer to him, but he didn't feel threatened. Why would he, it was just Newt?

What did take him by surprise though, was the sudden light pressure on his lips. Newt tasted like freshly baked bread, with the same strawberry undertone that his scent possessed. His lips were soft and perfect and everything was perfect. The world stilled for a moment and Thomas found he was kissing the blond back. He didn't want this moment to end. Everything felt so pristine, as time had stopped at the very moment everything was just where it was supposed to be, and the second where no one on the planet was hurting or suffering. There was just him and his blond. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Thomas wondered when he'd started referring to Newt as his. Newt wasn't his. He was his friend, his second in command, but he wasn't his. Slowly the pressure parted, and Thomas looked up. He was met with lifeless, furious eyes. 

The american found the boy on top of him, clawing and groaning like a wild animal. Thomas could hear himself yelling at the brit to calm down, whilst a flurry of limbs got in the way of Thomas's attempt to pin Newt to the ground. Then the words were yelled. Over and over. The brit was screaming in Thomas's face, and he wouldn't stop.

"KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME."

Thomas awoke with a shuddering jolt, gasping for breath and shivering in his cold sweat. His head whipped around, observing the dark mounds of his sleeping friends. He gently touched his lips with his fingers as he tried to process what he'd just dreamed about.

He'd had dreams of Newt cranking out before, almost all the time. But never..the other thing. Thomas groaned and drew his knees up to his chest, before hiding his face in shame and embarrassment. He'd accepted his major crush on Newt long ago, but he seriously hadn't realised it was that bad. "What is wrong with me?" he grumbled and ran a hand through his matted hair.

"I wonder that on a daily basis." Gally smirked softly from where he was lying next to Thomas's hunched figure. Thomas jumped out of his skin, and put a hand on his chest, trying to quieten his pounding heart. "Must have been either a really clunk nightmare, or a really good dream to get that reaction" the boy couldn't stop smirking.

Thomas had, of course, been wary of Gally long after they arrived in the safe haven, but slowly, he had come to respect and trust the boy, after he proved over and over again that his intentions weren't malicious in any way. He just wanted a fresh start like everyone else. When Thomas had discovered the feelings of respect and trust were mutual, he was pleased, and Gally started to climb up his personal ladder of friendship. At the current moment, Thomas would consider the boy a suitable replacement of leader if he, Newt, Brenda and Minho weren't there. As they all seemed to suit the leader role better than the follower, there was often a conflict of opinions, but in the end, they did anything Thomas told them, and all looked up to Newt for reassurance. It was a good balance.

"Both" Thomas knew there was no point in lying to the boy, because Gally would just keep asking.

"About Newt?" The boy sounded so sure of himself, and Thomas's confusion at his accuracy must have shown on his face because Gally laughed quietly.

"Geez man, you act like you'll die without him." Thomas shot him a look. "Thomas, we're going to find him. Your pretty much guaranteed to live if Thomas cares about you." The boy settled back to sleep. His words stung slightly, as Thomas believed quite the opposite, but decided not to dwell on his inner demons. He pushed the odd dream to the corners of his mind and chalked it up to separation anxiety before drifting into uneasy sleep.

***

They walked. And they walked. The sweltering heat that bore down on the back of Thomas's neck was a constant reminder that WCKD was still out there, as he freed the stitches from glistening sweat for the twentieth time in half an hour. They'd past the demolished WCKD base that they originally thought Newt may have been taken too the day before, almost not even realising as they followed the trail of porridge. It was insane. Everything about the situation was insane. They were following a porridge trail. But still, Thomas knew this was right. It had to be the right way. 

Again he swallowed his helplessness, and took a deep breath. He looked down, and his heart dropped to his toes. The porridge trail had vanished.

"No. no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no" He whispered, his knees threatening to give way. Minho slumped in his peripheral. Thomas heard movement behind him, probably the group sitting down or possibly collapsing. The boy could feel the ringing in his ears, and all he could think about was how he'd failed Newt. He'd failed his Newt. He'd failed the boy who'd follow him anywhere. 

A noise ripped Thomas from his thoughts, and his eyes snapped upward as he heard a bellowing screech coming from all around the abandoned rubble, that Thomas could only guess used to be a city. He stumbled upwards, forming a tight circle with the others instinctually, facing outwards. Facing a pack of ravaged, hungry cranks. Whoever was here, they seriously wanted to keep the gladers out.