Back Home Again

It Was W.I.C.K.E.D.

Newt POV: 

Sister? He'd barely ever exchanged two words with this girl, but here Tommy was calling her his sister? And how did Thomas even know about this? 

Newt took a step back. He'd practically just come back from the dead. Now he had a sister. The love of his life was Thomas. And he just couldn't process this much right now. 

Yet as he looked into those deep brown eyes of his so-called sister he couldn't help but let all of his doubts diminish. Something about this felt right. Something felt real- like home. And that was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Newt sighed, taking the correct steps that followed, walking over to his sister. He stopped right in front of her, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. Sonya may not have felt the same feeling of home as he did, so he wanted her to be the one to make the decision. 

All of his worries flew away and they were replaced by happiness. What was the name for this feeling? 

Storge love.

The familial feeling of love and affection that captivated even the weakest of the human soul. It's like the love between parent and offspring, or, in this case, sibling and sibling.

As Sonya hugged him, Newt couldn't help but close his eyes, wanting this moment to last forever. Sonya started shaking and Newt couldn't help but smile at his sister's innocent emotions. 

Newt pulled back to see the tears dripping down Sonya's face, like raindrops dancing down a car window. He brought his coarse fingers up to her face and delicately wiped at the wetness making patterns on her cheeks.

Newt smiled and pulled Sonya back into an embrace whispering, "Even though I hadn't remembered you, I always knew you were missing. You don't know how good it is to have you back," into her hair.

Sonya managed a chuckle. "Says the person who just came back from the dead."

Newt laughed along with her, feeling the familiar sting of liquid filling his tear ducts as his vision started to go blurry. 

Newt and Sonya fell to the ground, simple holding each other, sitting in that position. That long-forgotten position that reminded Newt of a certain night in a certain basement, holding one another, each trying to be brave for the other, with blissful snow dancing outside their abode.

-𝖘-

Thomas POV:

Thomas smiled, turning around to give his friends a moment to themselves. 

He walked back to his shifty, uncomfortable hammock, and lied back down, satisfied with giving his friends the reunion they needed.

Turns out there was more than one reunion after all.

Thomas couldn't help but let the smile fall from his face as he thought about Stiles. About the boy he used to be. Most of his memories had come back to him, yet he still felt that the boy he used to be was exactly that. A boy. Even though the scrawny, spastic kid had grown into a taller, more muscular man, Thomas still pondered over what his life may have been like if he hadn't been taken by W.I.C.K.E.D.

He would definitely not be captain of the lacrosse team. He would probably still be five inches shorter. But maybe he would still have a brother. Sure, Minho and Newt were very close with him, but he hadn't known them for 16 years of his life. They didn't have inside jokes and special pranks. They had shared trauma, if that was some sort of bonding experience.