Chapter Text
Newt woke up to the sound of the quiet whispers. It was dark, too dark, his head buzzed with pain and dizziness. Somewhere far away he heard the barely audible screams and laughter, as if through the water or a very thick glass.
He tried to move but realized that he couldn't. Then the darkness made sense: he hadn't opened his eyes yet. He felt weak and exhausted to the point of almost falling asleep again, but the noise and pain kept him awake as he tried to grasp the reality. The whispers were close enough to bother Newt but still too blurry for him to understand anything.
It was a male voice, voices even, probably some kind of conversation. It didn't make any sense to Newt. Not the conversation itself, not the bothering and slightly irritating noises somewhere far away, not the inability to even open his eyes. It was the fact that Newt was hearing it at all, sensing something soft under his body, thinking and feeling… alive.
Newt gathered all his strength in his arms before pushing himself up on his elbows. It was a shaky attempt but surprisingly successful, though the pain in his skull that followed immediately after was a very unpleasant addition, making his head spin.
The room went quiet, confirming Newt's suspicion. He wasn't delusional and hallucinating and there was someone in the dark, who certainly wasn't alone. Newt's best shot would have been to just continue being still and pretending to be asleep, but he hated the unknown. It made him scared, even after everything.
His eyes finally gave up to his attempts to open them, revealing the dim light of the room. It was small, having only a window, that was still somehow intact, a table in the corner and a small bed, on which Newt was laying, now half-sitting. And of course, there were people.
Newt's heart jumped as a man who was sitting the closest to him met his eyes. The limited light made it hard to see, but he could recognize this man even in the complete darkness, at least when Newt was still in a good shape. His throat felt dry as he stared at the man in front of him, his vision blurry and unfocused as he tried to make sure he was seeing the right thing. The words came out from his mouth faster than his mind preceded the blue tint of the man's eyes:
«Tommy?» he asked, cringing at his own screechy, weak voice that sounded not at all how he remember it to be.
The man in front of him, with short brown hair and a weary look in his blue eyes, fidgeted before answering, «I'm not. Sorry,» his voice did sound a bit apologetic, but also rather strict. Maybe like he was bracing himself for a tantrum of the teenager in front of him. «My name is Ice,» he continued, probably to make Newt more at ease, what he appreciated a small bit.
Newt took a couple of more seconds to adjust to the light, or rather, almost the lack of it. It was dark outside, and although it wasn't a deep night yet, the sun had already set behind the horizon. At least that was what was visible from the window, covered with a semi-transparent fabric for an unknown reason.
Then his eyes shifted around, taking in the sight of the three men, Ice and the other nameless two, sitting in the limited free space slightly away from the bed and looking at Newt. The guy with a Launcher in his hands made Newt's skin crawl but he didn't show it, at least he hoped it wasn't as visible as it felt to him. The blonde, who wasn't older than thirty, was smiling at him strangely, as if trying to look friendly but actually doing the exact opposite. He was definitely infected, as probably everyone in this bloody room.
The sudden pain in his temple made Newt hiss and grimace, his hand automatically reaching out to touch his head, only to discover it was covered in a bandage. His brows furrowed, now more in confusion than discomfort.
«Smooth Tooth accidentally shot you with a Launcher when he tried to stop the man who was trying to kill you from… well, killing you,» the man, Ice, explained, pointing with his thumb behind his back at the man with a Launcher who barely waved his hand in greeting, looking very guilty and hiding his gray eyes as soon as the eye contact with Newt remained for a bit too long. «Sorry about that. We thought you died, but if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have double-checked,» Ice continued explaining, while the older man beside him who still hadn't introduced himself observed Newt with a sharp, almost medical expression. «My friend noticed you were still breathing, albeit weakly, so we dragged you here to patch you up.»
Newt was still processing the information about some dude trying to shoot Thomas with a bloody Launcher, which very much made Newt's heart clench uncomfortably, when the man who hadn't spoken yet finally took a step closer.
«Are you alright, kid? I tried my best to be gentle while treating your wound but it was a hard work to do, with the bullet and…» the man shot a glance at Ice, who did the same in return, before finishing what he wanted to say, «the other thing in your head.»
Newt's heart did a dangerous thing again when the oldest, as it seemed, man said about 'the other thing in his head' what sounded a bit too much like the implant which was still located somewhere in his head. His dry throat made itself known again and he coughed roughly, making some incomprehensible gestures with his hands in hopes to get some water. Ice quickly understood the message and gladly offered him a bottle of the much needed liquid, uncapping it for Newt. He immediately grabbed the bottle, giving the brown-haired man a quick nod, before taking long, almost greedy sips, letting the water soothe his throat, which felt like a sandpaper every time he said something, and he had said only one word since waking up. What didn't make it any less unpleasant.
After finally feeling a bit better than a plant that hadn't seen a drop of bloody water for half a year, Newt sighed heavily and handed the bottle back. Ice took it without a word, looking at the teenager with an expectant expression. Right, 'the other thing in his head' was still a mystery to these people and they probably wanted an answer. Although they didn't look like a bad people, Newt was still vulnerable and twice of that cautious, so he shook his head, looking down and hoping he looked like a traumatised kid who was deeply hurt by any mention of his hard past. It wasn't that far from the truth though.
«Where am I?» Newt asked instead, what he probably should have done in the very beginning. His voice was better now but he still didn't like the sound of it, although it was certainly better than having none at all.
Ice was the one to answer again, surprisingly not sounding angry at the lack of answer at his friend's unspoken question, «We're not far away from where we found you. You had been sleeping for a little over a day before you woke up. Hope you had a nice dream,» he chuckled, and for some reason it was enough for Newt to crack a small smile. If a pitch black darkness was considered a nice dream, then yeah, he had one. He didn't say it out loud though, not wanting to ruin this atmosphere with his dry humour and sarcasm.
Then Newt thought about what Ice had just said. A little over a day. Was this really how much time had passed since his last meeting with Thomas? And thinking about Thomas…
«Where… did the guy who shot me dissappear?» he sounded too sad saying that, his breath hitched at the thought that Smooth Tooth, what a ridiculous name, had shot Thomas after his unsuccessful first shot. At least Newt guessed that when Smooth Tooth had shot him it was his first try, considering he hadn't hear any sound of a Launcher back then. Maybe it was because he had been too bothered begging his best friend to kill him.
«Borry,» Ice mumbled with a nod to his friend, whose name seemed to be Borry, signaling him to take his turn in giving the situation some light, before retreating to Smooth Tooth, whose grip on the Launcher got a bit too tight for Newt's liking. He didn't know if it was the mention of the shot that triggered the blond man in some way. He definitely was a Crank, Newt could see that from his behaviour, so the chance of an unpredictable antics from that guy was too high for Newt's anxiety to stay low. He knew what it was like to feel strong anger and frustration, when you can barely see or hear anything other than what bothered you just in the moment, when every thought that flooded your mind consisted of different ways of taking out your anger. And when the bloody Flare had already made you insane enough, killing someone didn't sound like a bad idea.
Newt gulped, hoping that the leader of the group, Ice definitely gave off this aura, was capable enough of calming down his nervy friend. In the meantime, Borry came close enough for Newt to take a closer look at him. The man definitely was the oldest one out of them all, with wrinkles already pulling at his skin around his eyes and forehead, which was covered with light brown hair that reached his jaw, covered with a short beard. Newt made a mental remark about him looking a bit too similar to Jesus, and judging by his words about treating his head injury, the man was likely a doctor. Newt remembered Clint and Jeff with a bitter, heavy feeling in his stomach. Smooth Tooth's mental problems already forgotten.
«I'm Borry, as Ice had already said, and yes, I'm a doctor,» he probably read Newt's face that screamed about questions, although it was just Newt suddenly feeling out of space and thinking about the Gladers. «To answer your question, we assume they headed to the walls,» Newt bitterly remembered the large walls he had seen through the Berg's windows, watching his friends dissappear behind them and leaving him all alone, «as there is a hangar where the Bergs are located. It's almost the most protected part of the city, I dare to say, and that boy looked important enough to have an opportunity to go in there.»
«That place belongs to the Right Arm,» Newt jumped on his sitting spot when the woman who he hadn't seen this whole time spoke, sitting in the corner where the light barely reached her. Her black hair fell on her chest as she leaned forward to light up a cigarette, revealing some scratches on her pale, yellowish face that contrasted with her dark, almost black eyes. In the light her hair turn out to actually be a very dark brown, but it wasn't what caught Newt's attention the most. It was the fact that she had 'Borry's' written on her forehead, with 'g' and 'f' lower on each cheek, already smudged but still readable enough. It didn't take to be a genius to understand her connection with the Jesus-wannabe man. It was also not hard to guess that her condition was closer to that of Smooth Tooth than to that of a recently infected person. What a weird company, but Newt didn't have a lot of options. She didn't seem bothered by his intense look, continuing on her thought, «as does the van your precious friend rode off in,» she puffed a cloud of smoke to the side, hitting Smooth Tooth right in the face. The young man glared at her, snatching the burning paper out of her mouth and taking a breath himself, before doing the same she did to him, sending the smoke to the woman's face.
While his new friends were bothered getting on each other's nerves, Newt thought about those he had left behind. Tommy. Minho. Brenda and Jorge. Keisha and Dante, the ones who were there with him on his lowest. Sonya…
Newt flinched at the thought of her, a cold sweat on the back of his neck. Sonya… He was told she was his sister. But told by who? His head started to hurt again as he tried to recall the last words he had heard before passing out. He hadn't thought about any of this until this moment and now it made him more confused than ever.
He remembered himself thinking it was an angel talking to him. What a stupid thought, if somewhere out there existed at least one of those divine creatures, the Sun wouldn't have burned half of the planet, the Flare wouldn't have killed so many people and Newt wouldn't have been the only one able to get infected by this stupid virus. He gritted his teeth so hard it hurt so he forced himself to relax, having no desire to attract attention to himself.
He returned with his thoughts to the voice in his head. It could be telepathy, something Tommy and Teresa could do, but as far as he knew, Thomas didn't have the voice of an old woman, and after the implant remover, Teresa shouldn't be able to do that as well. His thoughts started to become stupider and stupider before he caught himself.
The implants. Right.
A wave of anger went through Newt's body again, making his fingers twitch slightly. He was almost certain now, this voice had been far away from an angel's one. Bloody WICKED could still do things with him, without his consent and a bit of control. That was what had happened the day before.
He had been told about Sonya, something about protecting her better than they had managed to do with Newt, some other bullshit including the message that he was dying. And… And the journal. His precious journal that he had planned to use to leave a trace of himself in this bloody hole called world.
Newt's heart stopped for a second as he jolted on the bed, groping around in a search of his journal. He knew he had had it in his pocket, but Paige, he was certain it was her voice, now disgusting rather than soothing as it had felt back then, had said she had had it, which meant only one thing.
«Some mechanical fast-moving thing took it away,» Ice finally spoke, reminding Newt that he had four other people in this room. Four people that had no idea who he was, except for the fact that he was certainly a Crank. The brown-haired man's face turned sheepish and compassionate, but Newt could easily see the hidden caution behind his blue, like a rainy day's sky, eyes. «I saw the initials of WICKED on it,» with this words spoken aloud, all of them looked at Newt, except for Smooth Tooth, who was smiling strangely at his own boots. It didn't ease Newt's spiking nervousness and he fidgeted, his eyes darting around and certainly giving away his involvement with WICKED.
Then Borry stepped closer, catching Newt's full attention, the doctor's calloused hands lifted up, just barely enough to make the teenager less guarded. The man's voice turned soft, at least that was what Newt wanted it to be, «We know about WICKED,» when these words didn't do any progress, he continued, «and that they were doing bad, terrible things to the kids. At least that's what the rumours say, and somehow they are all circling around this fact, so we have no choice but to believe them. Although the one about them finding the cure soon sounds…» Borry didn't finish his thought, but he didn't have to. Newt found himself laughing quietly, bitterness and absurdity of the words the older man had just said made him want to scream and cry simultaneously. He could go anywhere, but WICKED would find him even there, literally or not. They wouldn't get him probably only in heaven, where the mad scientists definitely weren't allowed, although his own chances of getting there while being non-immune were close to those the people of WICKED had.
When Newt's self-loathing train of thoughts came to stop, Ice was the one who spoke next, «Are you one of them?» he certainly didn't mean to sound so roughly, but it seemed he was having a hard time thinking calmly about things that WICKED had done. At least these people didn't have the vibes of those who were ready to do anything to get WICKED's money.
Newt just nodded weakly, and despite being just a control object, he certainly had suffered from WICKED, probably even more than the others had. It was a bad thought, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of cruel injustice at the thought of going past the Gone. And although he had somehow missed the fact that he was feeling strangely better than he had before, the Flare was still a bloody stick in his arse.
It was silent for a short while before Borry finally sighed, breaking the tense and unpleasant atmosphere with his almost grandfather-like voice, even if the man didn't look like past his forty, «Denver is in chaos, the Cranks are everywhere, those who are past the Gone as well,» the way he said it certainly meant to mean that all of them are Cranks as well. While Smooth Tooth and Borry's girlfriend didn't leave any doubt about that, Ice and Borry behaved quite decently as for the infected. «We had been planning to leave before we picked you up.»
The doc certainly meant to say something more, but the woman interrupted him, «You're just a teenager, still a kid… you shouldn't have gone through all of this. You should not have. Poor kid…» her reaction was a bit slow, as she continued the topic that had already been left behind but Newt almost appreciated it.
Those words made him remember Keisha and her insistence on helping each other, sticking together until the very end, her obsession with her kids' safety. Newt sadly realized that he had left her behind not even two days ago. Maybe if they were fast enough, they still had a chance to caught up with her and her family. His raising hopes were broken with Borry's speech again.
«You need to rest. I treated your injury but it didn't make you suddenly completely healthy,» Newt couldn't understand why these people were so kind to him. Was it really just because he happened to be younger than them? Or was it his awful past? «You had a lot of luck with… everything, to be honest. I don't know how you're still alive, so to celebrate this miracle, we should stay in the city for a day or two. We won't have a nice company at nights, but at least we have food and water.»
Newt nodded silently, but at the mention of food his body suddenly remembered he hadn't eaten since… a long time ago. He had the blurry memory of everything from the moment they had escaped the Crank Palace and it had been getting worse and worse moving to this very moment, with some minor exceptions. For example Tommy's face right before Newt had made him do the most awful thing in the world.
His stomach growled again and he cringed, mentally beating himself up for getting lost in his thoughts again. He was about to open his mouth to ask for some food when the woman appeared right before him, with something like a soup in a hand-painted wooden bowl. It was handed to him along with a spoon and he couldn't help but nod thankfully a bit too much times.
«I'm Ash, in case you were wondering,» she sounded almost offended with the fact that Newt hadn't asked for her name yet. He felt a pang of guilt at the look on her face.
«Thank you, Ash. Thank you a lot. I'm… Newt,» he mumbled, letting his name be finally known to the people who helped him in one way or another before stuffing his mouth with a spoon full of the deliciously smelling soup. Maybe he was just happy it wasn't something canned but an actual food, made recently and not a decade ago that made it so tasty, but he was having it both ways.
The others in the room didn't eat, which probably would've made Newt embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that he was dying to finish every bit of his portion, enjoying it like never before.
Then he remembered Tommy and finally slowed down. His appetite of a hyena was still there, but now slightly dulled with an uncomfortable sense of unknown.
«What is the Right Arm?» Newt asked, no one in particular, and Borry was first to answer.
«It's the group of people that are, as rumors say, are searching for a way to bring WICKED down. They're rather secretive about their own existence but people in Denver talk a lot. Especially the patients who were given drugs,» the man smiled a little, probably to make Newt more comfortable with the conversation, but the only thing that bothered Newt was a hope that Borry had meant the medication and not the drugging-drugs-drugs.
Soon Newt's thoughts returned to Borry's previous words, about the Right Arm trying to destroy WICKED, and then to Ash's words too, about Thomas being in one of their trucks. His heartbeat accelerated and suddenly the meal wasn't as delicious as it had been two minutes ago. The lump formed in his throat as he thought about his friends, Tommy, doing something reckless and dangerous as they always tended to do. This time, without him. Because he was sitting there, with these strangers surrounding him like they were the old friends of his, like they were in the same boat together.
Newt fortunately finished his meal right before his thoughts started to get a dangerous turn, allowing him to free his hands without the food being wasted with his fidgeting. He tried to sit up, now more confident in his own body, but this time it wasn't exhaustion that prevented him from moving. It was the shining barrel of the Launcher pointing at him that made him sit as still as a statue.
«Borry told you to rest! Rest! Lay down, lay down! Go to sleep and rest!» it was the first time that Newt had heard Smooth Tooth talk and he wouldn't say that it was a nice experience.
Newt lay back on the bed as smoothly as a vampire in a coffin, while Ice and Borry were busy playing a personal psychologist for the Crank, who was grinning creepily enough for Newt to think of him as such without any remorse.
«Ka- Smooth Tooth is very protective of the Cranks. Especially the young ones like yourself,» Ash explained, taking the empty bowl from the bed and placing it on the table, before returning to the bed, avoiding Ice and Borry who were almost fighting with Smooth Tooth who was trying to protect his Launcher from being taken away. The scene made Newt tense. «You look younger than twenty-six, so I will take it you pass his 'youth compass'. Congrats, I guess,» Ash made a grimace that suggested Smooth Tooth's overprotectiveness was rather a bad thing. Right in that moment, Newt missed Jonesy more that anyone else.
«I need to meet with my friends…» Newt murmured quietly, feeling sick in his stomach at the thought of Tommy somewhere out there doing something stupid as his ideas always had turned to be. Well, most of them. Probably. Newt couldn't really remember anymore, feeling only deep, old concern that he had felt in the moments when his friends were in danger. Always, that was. Since the day one in the Glade. That one day Newt could still recall properly as if it had happened yesterday.
But it really had been a long time ago. And, right now, Tommy was in a real disaster that WICKED was.
Newt felt anger again, and then irritation at not feeling enough hatred towards those people. The Flare had messed up with his emotions, senses and feelings, but somehow, everything was different from how he remembered it to be the day before. He had almost yelled at Keisha, and maybe he actually had, when they parted their ways, he had certainly yelled at Tommy and definitely said a lot of awful things. His conversation with him had been in a fog for all the time he had been functioning up to this moment, and now that Newt strained to remember it, he actually managed to dig some of the memories out.
It was terrible. Horrifying, even. The Flare had made Newt say that but he was sure as hell it hadn't hurt Thomas any less than if it had been his conscious, well-thought words. It was the reason why Newt had insisted to the bloody end to go through this alone. But fate had a funny way of making his life more complicated than he wished it to be.
He wanted to be immune. He wanted to see his friends again. He wanted to forget the look on Tommy's face when he had sat on his chest, forcing his best friend to pull the bloody trigger.
Maybe Newt even wished he had never woken up again. So that that angel's voice remained the last thing he had heard, so that his last thought had been about his home. About Tommy, about him receiving that bloody journal with all of Newt's thoughts and fears, the last moments of his happiness, knowing Tommy would read it and remember him even when Newt was already gone…
But fate left him among the living, made him suffer far away from his friends.
Something wet and hot rolled down Newt's cheek and soon he realized that he wasn't alone. But his new companions paid him no attention, the fight had already stopped, all of them intact and the scary weapon put away in the corner.
He let himself be weak, allowing his tears to flow as he turned onto his side, pulling the blanket he had completely ignored before over his face. It was cozy. It made his sadness and sorrow dig deeper into his chest.
Tommy was somewhere far away, thinking Newt had said all that crap seriously. And even if not, Newt needed to make sure Thomas knew he hadn't meant it.
Before Newt had fallen asleep he promised himself that he would apologize to Tommy personally. He would find Tommy at any cost. He had ran away too many times from the one who mattered the most.
And if Tommy wasn't as heartbroken as Newt felt right now, then Newt certainly knew where to look for him. Somewhere where his life was on a board.
WICKED lay north. And if north was Newt's new direction, he would get there even on his own.
North. From this moment on, Newt goes only north.