The Transfers of Dauntless | Newt x Reader

3 | Former Home

I can feel my body shaking with the thoughts of the choices I have to make as I exit the testing room. I look to my left and see the blond-haired Amity boy from this morning - Newt - sweating, wiping his palms on his red jeans. His face is pale and his hair sticks to his forehead. His eyes flicker to mine, and I can see the stress there.

"Are you okay?" I ask him, even though it feels wrong to be talking to someone of another faction this casually - though it is selfless to help someone else, right?

"Fine," the boy replies, and he runs a finger across his bottom lip. Of course, even if he isn't fine, it'd still be a requirement to say he is. In Amity, you're expected to be consistently happy, and if you're not, it's almost a betrayal of the faction manifesto.

I brush my fingers through my hair and take a seat at the Abnegation table. Names continue to be called out from all five factions, but I don't pay attention to any of them. Dauntless.

I belong in Dauntless.

•••

"How was your day, Chuck?" I ask my brother, as casually as possible, as we walk together towards the bus. He squints at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Good," he replies, shrugging as we step onto the hard floor of the bus. I adjust the grey-coloured satchel on his shoulder and ruffle his curly hair. "How was yours?"

I think about the Amity boy named Newt and my Dauntless test result and the choices I'm going to have to make, then promptly lie through my teeth. "It was good."

Chuck nods and his head comes to a rest on my shoulder as the bus jolts and stops. A few Dauntless men and women walk in, tattoos covering their bodies and metal piercings on their ears, noses, lips and skin. I stand up automatically to give a young man - he must only be seventeen or eighteen - a seat, and he winks at me. I look down to my toes while turning red with frustration and embarrassment. Is it possible that I might belong with these people?

The bus jerks to a start again and I examine the Dauntless man who now sits next to Chuck. What do metal rings and tattoo ink have to do with bravery, anyway? And why did I feel the need to volunteer my seat to him? Is it because of my faction, my upbringing, or is it part of my desire to stay in Abnegation, where I feel safest?

I can feel Chuck pulling at my hand numbly, and I let him drag me towards the front of the bus. I nod my thanks to the bus driver, as usual, and follow the other school-aged Abnegation out of the vehicle, just behind our neighbour Jack.

"Are you going to talk about your test results?" Chuck asks as we walk towards our home.

I shake my head and bite my lip. "Chuck, you're not supposed to ask, and I'm not supposed to say, buddy."

"I know," he replies, "but you seemed stressed about something, and I wanted to h-"

I cease biting my lip. "And thanks, Chuckie, but I can't tell you," I interrupt my brother. "I'm sorry."

Chuck looks at me sadly. "I know, (y/n), but I wanted to say that whatever you choose, I want you to be happy."

I can feel myself choking up, and a lump builds in my throat as I try to smile and wave goodbye to Jack. He gives me a grin and a wave back while I pull Chuck into a side hug. "Thanks, buddy." I swing the door to our grey cement house open and take my jacket off at the door. I hang it up on a rack on the wall and then put my satchel up, too. Chuck does the same and we head into the kitchen.

"Need help making dinner?" my brother offers, and I nod, knowing full well that it's the last time we could ever have dinner together. He begins to cut up the carrots into chunks and I cook potatoes over the stove. Soon enough, I hear the door swing open. It's my father, coming home from his work. He started working for the government after my mother died, and takes jobs training the initiates and helping the factionless.

My brother embraces Chuck and then me in turn, without saying a word. He doesn't talk as much as he used to, not after my mother died when I was twelve. A knife in the chest, her hand still clasped around the handle. No one mentions her anymore. The Abnegation view the way she died as selfish, unspeakable. I don't. Maybe that's why I don't belong with these people.

I finish serving the plates on the table and place a knife and fork on three sides of the table, leaving one end painfully empty. My father holds a chair out for me and I take a seat, scraping the legs of the wooden chair on the floor as my father begins to tell us about his day. Usually, Abnegation children aren't allowed to speak at the table unless spoken to, but since there's only three of us, we never really follow this rule.

However, I still remain silent for the rest of the meal, spearing carrot with the end of my fork and missing my mouth with it several times. I can't stop thinking about the fact that this place, where I've lived, been raised for my entire life, is not where I belong. No, instead, I belong in a faction of bravery and courage, of nose-piercings and ink-covered bodies.

I help Chuck clear away the plates while my father reads the newspaper, squinting at the small black print. He needs glasses, but only the Erudite like to wear them. People whisper that they only wear them to look smarter, out of vanity.

I look over at my small family. My brother, humming a tune as he stacks dishes and my father's hand ruffling his hair at the same time, silent but not as unhappy as he sometimes is. The air of contentment, and small amounts of selfless happiness.

I feel bad for not belonging, and worse for wanting to leave.

The Abnegation life seems perfect. Reliable, trustworthy, simple. But, somehow, too perfect for me. I don't fit in with the faction manifesto, the natural selflessness of these people, with their bowed heads and subdued words.

The Dauntless life has its appeal. The reckless bravery of the faction, their freedom and courage. Their imperfections that make them relaxed and yet fiercely intense at the same time.

Their imperfections that make them perfect for me.

•••

I help Chuck put the plates away and scrub the table clean of any crumbs, wiping my hands on my grey pants. I check the time on my watch, the only adornment that the Abnegation allow me to wear. It's getting late, and I kiss my brother and father on the cheek.

"Goodnight," I say as I walk towards the stairs and place my hand on the rail. "I'll see you both in the morning."

"'Night," they both respond, and I survey the scene once more. My brother slouches on the couch and my father sips a coffee that Chuck made for him.

My heart stops for a second and a wave of guilt washes over me as I think about what I'm going to do.