[ when he hears the voice, he's sure he's officially lost it. the flare is shucked up beyond belief, and newt wouldn't be surprised if he was actually seeing things instead of ripping tommy's throat out. but there's something different about this; the calm settles over him like a blanket, the self control and patience he'd had for so long returned to him as if the flare had never seized him.
he freezes when he comes closer, because it's not a dream.
alby's standing right in front of him, looking even like he did before the changing. like he did for the days they spent together, like he did when he sat at the bed while newt had his leg treated, when they made decisions together, worked together, fought together. he'd known he'd lost him when the walls nearly closed--when he tried to choke himself after, where newt had ripped him from a death he didn't want in the way that alby had done for the one newt did. he'd been so bloody terrified, and had sat at his hospital bed with his fingers thread into the bigger hand, not giving two klunks if he woke up and broke newt's fingers on accident. he'd been here, and then he'd been gone. just like that.
he wasn't sure if watching thomas hold chuck would have been worse.
the lump in his throat is so massive, he doesn't think he can speak, and he feels his hands clench into fists.there are really only two possibilities here, and he asks the first in a voice that quivers, like he's holding back tears. (he is.) ] This is a real shucking terrible trick.
[ Seeing that Newt has his clarity, his logic and problem solving, Alby just waits. Because he knows that Newt will get somewhere, has always known-- they supported each other that way, long before he'd lost his will with the Changing, had the Creators wrapping his own fingers around his throat. And of course his first conclusion, first clarification, is whether it's real or not.
He stays right where he is for a moment, before he draws closer to Newt. Tall, lithe, deceptive waif that Newt is. All in one piece, safe and sane even at the cost it'd been. His fingers itch to reach up, smooth out his ruffled hair as they'd always done in the morning, straighten his ruffled clothes. But instead, dark eyes scan his pale face, take in the familiar sight of him holding back tears.
How often has he seen that, over the years? Back when they all arrived, all of them in varying degrees on panic. Back when Newt had been confined to a bed in the Homestead, under Alby's constant vigil and care. Back when he'd been stund. When he'd brained himself in the Map Room. And here, now.
Finally, he reaches up. But instead of his hair, he cups his face and brushes his thumbs over unshed tear tracks. ]
Would be if it were one.
Edited (WILL I EVER NOT FIND PHONE TYPOS) 2014-04-06 22:32 (UTC)
[ maybe he doesn't realize it at first, but when alby's hands come up, newt holds his breath. there's something tremulous and tender in the moment, and one false move'll send him roaming the bloody earth again, stark mad until he starts to get hungry. there've been flashes of that, in and out, and he swore at thomas for not having had the courage the first time, because the second time, the first thing that crossed his mind on sight was the phrase "hunger".
he didn't want to become that, so he fought the rage, fought the way he wanted to rend and tear and make someone bleed, apologized to minho in his head and begged thomas to pull the trigger.
dying, that part had to be real, because newt, honestly, can't remember a time when he felt this calm, this at peace. he's been so bitter and jaded for so long that he can't just assume he found something safe, because he finally broke free after all.
and alby's right here with him. there's an irony to that that's not completely lost on him, and newt can't help it--the tears break free and he swallows until he's smiling, until a laugh bubbles out of his throat and he lifts his smaller hands, grabbing onto his forearms, his wrists, touching everything he can until he tips forward and their foreheads brush. he's not alive, no, but they're here together. The former keeper lights up completely, in a way it feels like he hasn't since the day they arrived in the Glade, and he chokes out ] Bloody--shucker, Alby. 'S really you?
[ But despite his words, and the way that he's had a permanent scowl creasing his brow for over two years, his tone is light and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. It takes Newt's laugh and touch to widen it until it's all teeth, happy and bright unlike it's been in a long, long time. With the fresh tears, he brushes them away, straightening so that the taller boy doesn't have to bow too far forward.
Everything is lighter, now. The pressing weight of hopelessness is gone. The walls of the Maze no longer loom over them, making them feel insignificant and caged. The apocalypse they'd forgotten, that Alby chooses to block from his mind even when, maybe, he could regain his memories here. Death and pain and hunger all fade.
And now he has Newt again.
His fingers trace along his jawline, gentle despite the rough callouses that cover the paleness of his palms. They drop down to his neck, his shoulders, and he let's out a shaky laugh as it all really hits him. They're dead, but they're. They're together again. His second in command, his other half. It's almost overwhelming, and soon he feels that warm burn of tears building a knot at the back of his throat. ]
Yeah. Yeah, s'me, Newt. [ His fingers squeeze tight against his slender shoulders, and he tries to keep from cracking. It's left over from his leadership, from trying to keep his composure. But it's threabare, in the face of feeling ironically alive again. ]
Slim it, shuckface. [ the response is immediate and practically automatic, and something in his chest seizes at the familiar interaction, like thousands they'd had in the glade. alby was one of the first people he'd properly spoken to, when he'd tried to be the adult and get the boys to stop panicking, to try and figure out what was going on. it was alby--albert, then--who had agreed with him, voice deep and booming and presence enough to settle the chaos. between the two of the,, plus minho and ben, they'd created something in the glade, functioned together. those boys had become his comrades, his friends. he watched so many of them die, including the one he'd been the most paralyzed to lose. every death hurt, deep and personal and two years worth of memories lost in the flash of a nightmare (jack with his leg blown off from the lightning, chuck bleeding as they ran) but alby had been the centrifugal force in his life since they arrived in that hell hole, his other half of a balancing act they had no idea they were starring in. they had been right to give minho the title of leader after, because newt couldn't lead when he was suddenly only half of a team.
he sacrificed himself to set them free. it was selfless and it reminded him so badly of when he'd jumped, because all he'd wanted to do was tell him, like he'd been whispering in his ear when he had the gash in his head "don't you die on me, you tosser, I need you". "I need you" had become their phrase, three words that meant a lot more than what they really said.
the tears keep coming, hot down his face, and when he does let go of his arms it's to wrap his own tight around him, fingers clutching in the back of a shirt he'd straightened a thousand times, a back he'd follow into the dark of the unknown because there were few more in the world he trusted. not even minho knew how he'd been hurt. he drops his head against alby's, the soft bristle of his hair, and hiccups, holding on like if he lets go, he's going to disappear. when he says something, there's anger, but it's affectionate instead of fierce, twisting warm knots in his gut instead of anything far worse. ] What--what did I tell you, you bloody shucking moron, bloody brilliant tosser--
[ he cuts himself off for a second, inhaling shakily, and holds on. ]
You better watch it, shank. Ain't had time to go lookin', but I'll find the closest thing to the Cliff here and give you a toss. [ There's no bite to his words, and never have been when it's come to Newt. Not in these small exchanges between them, so common that he's forgotten a time where it wasn't the norm. It was something that they'd shared, in a way, with those that had come with them-- and those that they had lost over the years-- but never to the same degree. They were always in step, synchronized in a way that no one else ever seemed to be (save for how he'd watched in a distracted, distant way how Minho suddenly ran in time with Thomas, like he'd been waiting for the thing that Alby and Newt had, and there it was when their world in the Glade ended).
As Newt's arms come around him, he shifts to put one around his waist, holding tight to him as close as he can. The other moves, so that he can bury his fingers in the familiar blond curls that he's run his fingers through time and time again. It's still just as soft as it was when Newt had been confined to the bed after his jump, as when nightmares struck, when it was just the two of them. Some giant part of him had never thought he'd feel it ever again, or the warmth of his touch. What had he done to deserve it? Sacrificed himself, certainly, in an attempt to buy the others a chance.
But he'd been trying to escape the hopelessness he'd felt since the Changing, more than anything else. So he didn't deserve it, and doesn't deserve Newt. Not after he'd given up when he told Newt so many times not to do the same. ]
I'm sorry. [ He bows his head forward a little, curls their bodies close together as he buries his face against the pale expanse of his neck. His fingers fist in his shirt and hair, and he finally lets the tears well and fall, hidden in the crook of his neck. ] I'm sorry, Newt. I'm so sorry.
[ For as much as he'd never wanted to leave him, not after everything they'd been through, it'd still happened. He'd still done it. Years of leadership, friendship, more-- all of it gone the moment he stepped amongst the Grievers. ]
Slint up--stoppit, stop that right now, you bloody shank, stop. [ a small hand comes to smack against his shoulder blade in an effort to get him to stop apologizing. being in the glade was the kind of thing that destroyed your hopes and dreams, killed your optimism in a way that you knew it was never coming back. you didn't live there, you survived.
but they had sort of, at least, turned it into a home. between minho's excellence as a runner and their strict schedules, the gladers thrived, until thomas and teresa came. he wouldn't hold it against them, especially not thomas, but that had been the beginning of the end for all of them.
when the depression had hit, crippling at times, they supported each other. all of them. this was no time to stop. so when he breaks the hug, finally, he catches his cheeks and lifts his head; his stern talking is sorely affected by the tears still sliding down his face, and newt shakes his head fiercely, until he can catch his gaze. ] I know why you did it. 'S nothing to apologize for. You helped save our klunk the only way you knew how.
[ they have a lot to talk about--the world that alby remembered during his changing and the one newt experienced, but at the moment, that can come later. for now, it feels like a hole's been filled, and when he sniffles, he manages a crooked smile, thumbing at his cheeks. because for as much as alby took care of him after the fall, he did everything he could to return the favor. ] You're still a right bloody moron, but a brave one.
[ Newt smacking at him has its desired effect, and Alby stops talking for a few minutes altogether. His apologies have been aired, though it doesn't alleviate all of the guilt that he's been feeling since he woke up here much like Newt had. It seems lighter, though, as everything does, now that he's gotten the words out. Like all things he's ever said, or done, he means them with every fiber of his being. Even when his optimism had been sucked out of him with the Changing, and he'd lost himself to his mind being torn apart as it left.
He's gone through the stages at this point, depression and anger and regret and acceptance all in bouts. For a while there, bitterness had set in. Maybe the Glade and the Maze had been hell for them, but it had been all they'd known. And it was where he'd met Newt, and Thomas and Teresa had torn it all down at the Creators' whims.
It had been easier to get through things back then, when all they had to worry about was Grievers every now and then, and keeping the other Gladers from getting into fights. But there's a sense of freedom here, and he meets Newt's gaze wetly, scanning his face. ] After all that klunk I said to you--
[ Telling him that he couldn't do that ever again, had to survive because Alby needed him, needed to be able to see his stupid face every day, hear his voice. His regret is quiet, but obvious, and he just drops his hands to his waist, fingers spread wide but gripping firm, holding him close. ] All that mattered was getting you out.
I got out. [ that comes out simply, because he did. newt gives a gentle shake to the face in his hands, like that could get his point across better, because he made it out alive, he did. watching alby go through the changing, watching him be eaten alive by those damn grievers--he's always been that way, willing to sacrifice everything for the rest of the gladers. it's evident in his movements, if less so in his voice, but between the two of them, they made a solid team in taking care of the gladers. they lost a few, but not as many as they could have. not as many as the outside took.
like him.
muttering a soft-- ] Fat lot of good it did me, considerin', but I can't really get all mad at you anyway. [ -- newt thumbs at his cheek again, shaking his head a little. he wanted this, he wanted to die. being reunited with alby hadn't been on his mind, not at the end, but at first, when he saw it coming, he considered suicide again. just a little, a fleeting dash of it, but he did. he shut down in the same way that he had before, when the glade became too much, when Running made him want to throw himself to a griever and end it like that.
so when he died, it was kind of a relief. and this, now? this was better than he could ask for.
his expression softens, and newt just shifts forward a little into his hands. ] That was all I wanted to happen, too. [ was to get you out. he smiles a little, snorts. ] We're a couple of shuckheads, huh.
[ If they'd all been more stupid about life in the Glade, if Newt hadn't harped about order and Alby hadn't maintained it, he thinks so many more people could've died. They lost a lot, over two years and the odd days weeks months, but they tripled their numbers. They didn't lose as many as they could've. But in the end, so many people had come through after Alby, and he knew there had to be others beyond the place where he Waited.
He'd meet them soon enough, of course. But Newt took precedent, even if part of him hoped it would be a long time before he came too. Here, it was okay for him to pass aside leadership for a while, when there was nothing to worry about that would need him to take the role. ]
Hasn't shucking stopped you before. [ Tipping a little into the touch against his cheek, he can't help the jab, natural as it is. But it's better than thinking of him in that place again, the ledge he'd talked him away from time and again when he'd been recovering from the first attempt he'd made. He couldn't be angry about it, just sad that he'd ever had the thought in the first place.
At least, in the end, they'd both done what they could for their Gladers. Paving the way for those that could rebuild everything somewhere else, away from the madness of the world and of the Creators, of WICKED.
Absently, his hands drag up and down his sides as he shifts forward, touching just for the sake of touching. ] Yeah, well. Always been the pair, ain't we.
[ alby used to give him looks when he'd bring up order, because--okay, he didn't say it that often, but everyone in the glade seemed to be convinced otherwise. for newt, their survival was dependent on how well they got their klunk together, and the gladers had, for the most part, pulled through with aplomb. it meant the loss of friends--his mind flashes to ben for a second, wonders if he'll meet him here--but it kept the majority of them safe. the outside world was chaos, and when they lost control, it was torn away from their hands for good.
the touch practically gives him goosebumps, if only because it's kind of surreal. in his last moments it felt like he was losing it, when he could hold onto little snatches of his memory, he tried for this. his best friend, his something more entirely, the person he shared a bed with and a job with, balancing life and duty in the little box that had been their calling as immunes. he wonders if alby would have been immune, considering they said newt himself had been the control; the flare was airborne and they must have kissed a hundred times from the first.
it didn't matter. the way he went out was painful, agonizing, and so was newt's. but now, it was done, and the guilt that comes with it sits on the shoulders of a man he hoped he'd watch succeed from somewhere up here in this kind of paradise, with alby at his side.
a soft chuff of a laugh escapes him, and he nods. ] Coupla shuckfaced morons.
[ when he leans in, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, because he's done it a thousand times, and the memories are something he clung to even when he could barely put his fingertips on his sanity, because no Creator could have forced this to happen, because newt hadn't wanted to live in a world without him, but he marched on anyway. it made the reunion just that much sweeter, and his fingers shift just a little before he closes the distance and kisses him, with all the desperation and warmth that he could muster. ]
[ For as much as he and the other Gladers teased Newt for order, for the lectures that he could get on sometimes, Alby missed the days where they could simply sit and talk about the things they needed to do to keep that order. Missed when he had the willpower and the energy and the lack of a crushing weight that let him maintain his ever important order, the very thing that kept the lot of them alive before control was taken from them.
The softness between them is just as surreal for him, too, when the last thing he felt was rubbery skin and cruel metal. But here Newt is again, touch gentle on his face, and he wants to just sink into it, thinks maybe that they have all the time in the world for him to be able to. There's no ruin, no rot, just fresh earth and wood and the one person that had come to mean more than anything in the world to him.
His other half, far from it all. ]
Can't say I've got a problem with that. [ So long as it's them, together.
When they'd started the theory that the Creators could control them-- hardly a theory, now-- there had been no doubt in his mind that this was real. Everything that had ever happened between he and Newt was real, would never be anything but. So it's easier than anything he's ever done to tip up and meet him in the kiss, soft and reassuring just as much as it's full of longing and relief. ]
[ this is where, was it fake, newt thinks things would break. this is hard to imitate--even when thomas met up with teresa before, she had kissed him to prove how real she was, or something. (as far as newt had been concerned, he was mostly with minho: she had turned out to be a bloody traitor, and he was starting to run out of second chances by the time they called him the control.) there's no faking this, no waking up, and he can't help it--
newt laughs. it's the first time in ages, and then he smiles and it's so big and wide that it takes up half of his face. when he pushes forward this time, it's to fling his arms around alby's shoulders, as tight as can be, tucking his face into the side of his neck. if they fall, they'll fall. (he doubts it.)
it's the first time in ages he hasn't hurt, either, the first time in a week that his mind didn't feel like something he was watching from the sidelines, the first time since the fall that he really felt something solid lift from his chest for a little while. he's his own person again.
figures it'd take till he died. but you know what? newt'll take it.
if the tears are coming again, he figures he'll probably playfully get called a wuss or something, and he doesn't even care. it feels like, with memories no longer floating around like balloons and death shrouding over his shoulders, that he might be home. and with alby by his side, he couldn't imagine it any other way. ]
[ Something lights itself in his chest, warm and bright like the sun was supposed to be but hadn't been in a long time. True, Newt has laughed many times since they'd met, but Alby hasn't heard it like this in a very, very long time. It's almost overwhelming, the level of fierce affection that strikes him that he very nearly does fall as Newt throws strong arms around him. But like always-- or, well, like he once had-- he keeps steady if only to keep Newt the same way.
A bark of a laugh startles out of him, and he winds his arms around his middle, lifts him off his feet effortlessly. He's always been taller than Alby, but he's also always been scrawny in contrast, easy for him to manhandle. ]
You crying on me again, ya shank? [ But there's no heat to his voice, and he's practically a hypocrite as he tucks his nose into his shoulder. They're both whole again, real people instead of lab rats running in a maze that spanned beyond their hidden corner out into the world beyond. The one that he hadn't wanted to be a part of, even with Newt. That's what the Changing had done to him.
But it's all gone now. The suffering, the hopelessness. And they're here, now. Yeah, it took dying-- but in the end, knowing that they have this now? It's all worth it, and he can't help but squeeze his arms around him, as if he's afraid for just a second that it's all going to be taken away again.
Alby could barely handle being broken once. Not again. ]
[ there's so much to talk about, so much he has to tell alby about that happened--he doesn't know what he knows, or what he could possibly know. it's the right thing to do, but newt figures he made it to some kind of paradise, he bloody well deserves the chance to be selfish for a few minutes.
so he breathes in the familiarity, the fact that alby's with him like he'd been for the past two years. a part of him thinks that he could just reach back and grab the memories that WICKED had swiped from him now, easy as anything, but he doesn't want to. whatever life there was before the maze, it doesn't matter now.
he had a family. it was there in that little glade. they lost so many parts of it, but it was still there. still here. it lived on in thomas, and he'd watch over it until years and years and years from now, maybe he could join them.
he rolls his eyes, but it's stupidly good natured, and the taller of the two basically curls over when he's picked up, complaining loudly (and only half for show) -- ] Put me down, you klunkhead, I just got my buggin' leg back!
[ any squirming is pretty much halfhearted, and if the slightly squinted smile he gets is any sign, newt is anything but complaining. in fact, his hands shift a little to rest on his shoulders again, and he lets alby do his manhandling, because, well, he'd probably do it anyway. (and because he likes it. ) it's such a little, trivial thing, but it hits him like a punch to the gut how much he missed it, and he gives the broad shoulders under his palm a squeeze. ] This is the cleanest I've ever seen you. You got real skin under there.
You can go runnin' as you please when I put you back down, quit your complaints. [ Alby knows better than to know he means his complaints, but there's just something thrilling about the knowledge that Newt actually can run again without it aching so much that it was in his whole body and not just his bum leg. But even if he can run and jump and even simply walk without trouble now, it's never going to stop him from lifting him up whenever he can.
It was one of his favorite things to do, just because of the (often half-hearted) protests and the way that something like this genuine laughter would be startled out of the younger boy. The Glade might have been a cage, but it was their home and the Gladers were their family, and roughhousing was no stranger amongst them all. Least of all the two of them, alone or otherwise. ]
And your hair's actually blond-- never thought I'd see the day it wasn't all ruddy. [ Which is a lie, but it's a good enough remark to throw back at him. While the feeling in his chest feels like a sunburst, something that could very well burn everything away if given the chance, Newt's hair might as well be the shucking color of it.
One arm secures around his waist to hold him against his chest, letting him curl and fit to the shape of his body as naturally as it always does, while the other reaches up so that he can slip his fingers into his hair. He thumbs at his temple, and he turns in a quick circle, just for the unbridled and stupid joy of it.
There's no one here to stop them, no one to keep up serious appearances for most of the time. They've either gone ahead of them or will come long after them, but there's no better people to do it. Minho, Thomas. He figures the world is in good hands without them, and he and Newt have earned their well deserved vacation. ]
Pfff-- [ and then they're moving in a circle, and newt basically yelps as he cracks up laughing again, practically falling over his head in an attempt to stay upright and keep his balance. everything feels so much lighter, and for a minute, he's kind of--well, it's not for a minute. it's a little sobering to think about, but he'd wanted-- he'd been ready. he'd been ready to die for ages. losing alby, losing so many members of their group, then becoming infected so quickly. it was like they knew, and hell, they probably did. newt had wanted nothing more than to die, and he paid the price for it.
somewhere, a small part of him was thankful, like he'd been released proper.
the rest of him felt at peace, like some gaping wound was stitched up, and a lot of it had to do that with the person who was currently making him dizzy in the best and worst way possible, if not with how they'd left the world in good hands. so maybe dying had turned out to be the right decision, after all.
despite the "surprise" that comes out of his mouth, the sarcasm doesn't quite match the grin, huge and toothy and making his cheeks hurt, and when he shifts up to basically koala around him, putting that healthy leg to good use, he puffs out a pleased noise. ] Guess Paradise has showers. Fancy buggin place they got here. 's it just me and you?
[ there's an unspoken "for now" there. he doesn't really mind. ]
[ There's some sort of benefit in Alby being so much shorter than Newt, but so much bigger in general. As he curls over his head, he can't help the booming laugh that leaves him as he holds him steady. He doesn't want to drop him, but at the same time he'd love to just fall over and roll through the grass that's spread out across the soft earth beneath them. Even the Glade wasn't as soft as this place feels, all hard walls and packed earth. He slows his movements so neither of them wind up tumbling over from dizziness, and he lets the easiness settle over him again.
It's so much better than the dread, the hollowness. The very thing that had propelled him into that group of Grievers, with the smallest trace of hope that his sacrifice would see them through beneath it all. He was holding them back, after all. He couldn't make the choices anymore, call the shots. That was for Newt, for Minho and Thomas, to do. That was what he'd set them up for, over their time together.
And he knew they wouldn't fail. For as many people that had come past him as he waited, they wouldn't stop.
Newt's legs around him are welcome, and he adjusts his hold so that he can slide the arm around him down underneath him as support. The other he sets on his side, the temptation to skirt his fingers up his ribs there-- but he resists, for now. ] Few people've gone by, but I was waiting for you. Dunno where they've gone ahead to, but figured we'd get there eventually.
Waited for me, huh? [ he could make another remark if he was more insensitive, but it doesn't have to be said--of course alby knew he'd be coming soon. newt didn't need to kid either of them, because alby was the only person in the world (well--tommy knew, now) who knew what had happened when he fell off the wall, and more importantly, why he'd done it. newt had hated every day in that maze, and when all of it had finally gotten to him, he'd simply tried to end it the only way he knew how. his survival had been literally contingent on alby saving him, pulling him through the doors before they closed for good and he became glader food.
like alby did.
their circumstances ended up being bone-chillingly similar, and it seemed kind of ironic, if not even planned. newt was supposed to die, he thinks, because he'd been a shucking test subject from day one, part of the control, the one who got all of his non-immune friends sick. in a way, he was glad that alby died when he did, if only because he didn't have to suffer the flare.
all of those thoughts feel kind of far away, now, with strong arms supporting him underneath his thighs, and he eventually softens his smile, to something full of warmth and affection as he rests his arms on the other glader, looking down at him. ] Fine by me.
[ they earned a little alone time. newt adds, something familiar and nostalgic in the tone-- ] Like sneaking off to the Deadheads off past curfew, remember? T'get some bloody alone time.
Mm. [ There's a lot behind him waiting here for Newt to show, but Alby had a small hope that Newt would have taken longer to get here. It had been unlikely, and he knew it, but he'd still hoped. Here, at least, they have that sense of happiness that they had only small tastes of in the Glade. The walls of the Maze didn't loom over them, and the strain of it all didn't weigh on Newt anymore. That was all that mattered-- he didn't have a reason to think about what he'd done except as a memory, no temptation for it bubbling up in that way that he'd caught in his eyes before.
And there wasn't any reason for him to think about how his mind had fallen apart after the Changing, willpower gone. His apologies have been given, and now they're together again. It doesn't matter anymore.
It helps that he's had enough time to think about what'd happened and how they'd mirrored each other so well. Maybe that was WICKED's plan all along, he doesn't know. Maybe they'd forced their hands and pushed them over that edge, but they'd never really know the truth of it beyond what they've experienced. Alby just knows that their lives were destroyed, but at least there are others that will survive on to rebuild their own because of the things they did to help.
A smile, soft around the edges, widens a little at the nostalgia as Newt looks down at him. In a crapsack place for two years, those moments alone-- and Newt himself-- had been a bright spot. ]
Only shuckin' place in a Glade full of twenty to fifty on the regular. Sure we can find something like it here.
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death gurgle
he freezes when he comes closer, because it's not a dream.
alby's standing right in front of him, looking even like he did before the changing. like he did for the days they spent together, like he did when he sat at the bed while newt had his leg treated, when they made decisions together, worked together, fought together. he'd known he'd lost him when the walls nearly closed--when he tried to choke himself after, where newt had ripped him from a death he didn't want in the way that alby had done for the one newt did. he'd been so bloody terrified, and had sat at his hospital bed with his fingers thread into the bigger hand, not giving two klunks if he woke up and broke newt's fingers on accident. he'd been here, and then he'd been gone. just like that.
he wasn't sure if watching thomas hold chuck would have been worse.
the lump in his throat is so massive, he doesn't think he can speak, and he feels his hands clench into fists.there are really only two possibilities here, and he asks the first in a voice that quivers, like he's holding back tears. (he is.) ] This is a real shucking terrible trick.
someday i'll have icons to make it worse
He stays right where he is for a moment, before he draws closer to Newt. Tall, lithe, deceptive waif that Newt is. All in one piece, safe and sane even at the cost it'd been. His fingers itch to reach up, smooth out his ruffled hair as they'd always done in the morning, straighten his ruffled clothes. But instead, dark eyes scan his pale face, take in the familiar sight of him holding back tears.
How often has he seen that, over the years? Back when they all arrived, all of them in varying degrees on panic. Back when Newt had been confined to a bed in the Homestead, under Alby's constant vigil and care. Back when he'd been stund. When he'd brained himself in the Map Room. And here, now.
Finally, he reaches up. But instead of his hair, he cups his face and brushes his thumbs over unshed tear tracks. ]
Would be if it were one.
September get here sooner.
he didn't want to become that, so he fought the rage, fought the way he wanted to rend and tear and make someone bleed, apologized to minho in his head and begged thomas to pull the trigger.
dying, that part had to be real, because newt, honestly, can't remember a time when he felt this calm, this at peace. he's been so bitter and jaded for so long that he can't just assume he found something safe, because he finally broke free after all.
and alby's right here with him. there's an irony to that that's not completely lost on him, and newt can't help it--the tears break free and he swallows until he's smiling, until a laugh bubbles out of his throat and he lifts his smaller hands, grabbing onto his forearms, his wrists, touching everything he can until he tips forward and their foreheads brush. he's not alive, no, but they're here together. The former keeper lights up completely, in a way it feels like he hasn't since the day they arrived in the Glade, and he chokes out ] Bloody--shucker, Alby. 'S really you?
BURBLES ANGRILY
[ But despite his words, and the way that he's had a permanent scowl creasing his brow for over two years, his tone is light and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. It takes Newt's laugh and touch to widen it until it's all teeth, happy and bright unlike it's been in a long, long time. With the fresh tears, he brushes them away, straightening so that the taller boy doesn't have to bow too far forward.
Everything is lighter, now. The pressing weight of hopelessness is gone. The walls of the Maze no longer loom over them, making them feel insignificant and caged. The apocalypse they'd forgotten, that Alby chooses to block from his mind even when, maybe, he could regain his memories here. Death and pain and hunger all fade.
And now he has Newt again.
His fingers trace along his jawline, gentle despite the rough callouses that cover the paleness of his palms. They drop down to his neck, his shoulders, and he let's out a shaky laugh as it all really hits him. They're dead, but they're. They're together again. His second in command, his other half. It's almost overwhelming, and soon he feels that warm burn of tears building a knot at the back of his throat. ]
Yeah. Yeah, s'me, Newt. [ His fingers squeeze tight against his slender shoulders, and he tries to keep from cracking. It's left over from his leadership, from trying to keep his composure. But it's threabare, in the face of feeling ironically alive again. ]
SOON.
he sacrificed himself to set them free. it was selfless and it reminded him so badly of when he'd jumped, because all he'd wanted to do was tell him, like he'd been whispering in his ear when he had the gash in his head "don't you die on me, you tosser, I need you". "I need you" had become their phrase, three words that meant a lot more than what they really said.
the tears keep coming, hot down his face, and when he does let go of his arms it's to wrap his own tight around him, fingers clutching in the back of a shirt he'd straightened a thousand times, a back he'd follow into the dark of the unknown because there were few more in the world he trusted. not even minho knew how he'd been hurt. he drops his head against alby's, the soft bristle of his hair, and hiccups, holding on like if he lets go, he's going to disappear. when he says something, there's anger, but it's affectionate instead of fierce, twisting warm knots in his gut instead of anything far worse. ] What--what did I tell you, you bloody shucking moron, bloody brilliant tosser--
[ he cuts himself off for a second, inhaling shakily, and holds on. ]
CRIES IN MEANTIME
As Newt's arms come around him, he shifts to put one around his waist, holding tight to him as close as he can. The other moves, so that he can bury his fingers in the familiar blond curls that he's run his fingers through time and time again. It's still just as soft as it was when Newt had been confined to the bed after his jump, as when nightmares struck, when it was just the two of them. Some giant part of him had never thought he'd feel it ever again, or the warmth of his touch. What had he done to deserve it? Sacrificed himself, certainly, in an attempt to buy the others a chance.
But he'd been trying to escape the hopelessness he'd felt since the Changing, more than anything else. So he didn't deserve it, and doesn't deserve Newt. Not after he'd given up when he told Newt so many times not to do the same. ]
I'm sorry. [ He bows his head forward a little, curls their bodies close together as he buries his face against the pale expanse of his neck. His fingers fist in his shirt and hair, and he finally lets the tears well and fall, hidden in the crook of his neck. ] I'm sorry, Newt. I'm so sorry.
[ For as much as he'd never wanted to leave him, not after everything they'd been through, it'd still happened. He'd still done it. Years of leadership, friendship, more-- all of it gone the moment he stepped amongst the Grievers. ]
I hate them so much ;___;
but they had sort of, at least, turned it into a home. between minho's excellence as a runner and their strict schedules, the gladers thrived, until thomas and teresa came. he wouldn't hold it against them, especially not thomas, but that had been the beginning of the end for all of them.
when the depression had hit, crippling at times, they supported each other. all of them. this was no time to stop. so when he breaks the hug, finally, he catches his cheeks and lifts his head; his stern talking is sorely affected by the tears still sliding down his face, and newt shakes his head fiercely, until he can catch his gaze. ] I know why you did it. 'S nothing to apologize for. You helped save our klunk the only way you knew how.
[ they have a lot to talk about--the world that alby remembered during his changing and the one newt experienced, but at the moment, that can come later. for now, it feels like a hole's been filled, and when he sniffles, he manages a crooked smile, thumbing at his cheeks. because for as much as alby took care of him after the fall, he did everything he could to return the favor. ] You're still a right bloody moron, but a brave one.
no you don't.
He's gone through the stages at this point, depression and anger and regret and acceptance all in bouts. For a while there, bitterness had set in. Maybe the Glade and the Maze had been hell for them, but it had been all they'd known. And it was where he'd met Newt, and Thomas and Teresa had torn it all down at the Creators' whims.
It had been easier to get through things back then, when all they had to worry about was Grievers every now and then, and keeping the other Gladers from getting into fights. But there's a sense of freedom here, and he meets Newt's gaze wetly, scanning his face. ] After all that klunk I said to you--
[ Telling him that he couldn't do that ever again, had to survive because Alby needed him, needed to be able to see his stupid face every day, hear his voice. His regret is quiet, but obvious, and he just drops his hands to his waist, fingers spread wide but gripping firm, holding him close. ] All that mattered was getting you out.
i do though they give me pain
like him.
muttering a soft-- ] Fat lot of good it did me, considerin', but I can't really get all mad at you anyway. [ -- newt thumbs at his cheek again, shaking his head a little. he wanted this, he wanted to die. being reunited with alby hadn't been on his mind, not at the end, but at first, when he saw it coming, he considered suicide again. just a little, a fleeting dash of it, but he did. he shut down in the same way that he had before, when the glade became too much, when Running made him want to throw himself to a griever and end it like that.
so when he died, it was kind of a relief. and this, now? this was better than he could ask for.
his expression softens, and newt just shifts forward a little into his hands. ] That was all I wanted to happen, too. [ was to get you out. he smiles a little, snorts. ] We're a couple of shuckheads, huh.
So do all our other ships.
He'd meet them soon enough, of course. But Newt took precedent, even if part of him hoped it would be a long time before he came too. Here, it was okay for him to pass aside leadership for a while, when there was nothing to worry about that would need him to take the role. ]
Hasn't shucking stopped you before. [ Tipping a little into the touch against his cheek, he can't help the jab, natural as it is. But it's better than thinking of him in that place again, the ledge he'd talked him away from time and again when he'd been recovering from the first attempt he'd made. He couldn't be angry about it, just sad that he'd ever had the thought in the first place.
At least, in the end, they'd both done what they could for their Gladers. Paving the way for those that could rebuild everything somewhere else, away from the madness of the world and of the Creators, of WICKED.
Absently, his hands drag up and down his sides as he shifts forward, touching just for the sake of touching. ] Yeah, well. Always been the pair, ain't we.
i also hate them
the touch practically gives him goosebumps, if only because it's kind of surreal. in his last moments it felt like he was losing it, when he could hold onto little snatches of his memory, he tried for this. his best friend, his something more entirely, the person he shared a bed with and a job with, balancing life and duty in the little box that had been their calling as immunes. he wonders if alby would have been immune, considering they said newt himself had been the control; the flare was airborne and they must have kissed a hundred times from the first.
it didn't matter. the way he went out was painful, agonizing, and so was newt's. but now, it was done, and the guilt that comes with it sits on the shoulders of a man he hoped he'd watch succeed from somewhere up here in this kind of paradise, with alby at his side.
a soft chuff of a laugh escapes him, and he nods. ] Coupla shuckfaced morons.
[ when he leans in, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, because he's done it a thousand times, and the memories are something he clung to even when he could barely put his fingertips on his sanity, because no Creator could have forced this to happen, because newt hadn't wanted to live in a world without him, but he marched on anyway. it made the reunion just that much sweeter, and his fingers shift just a little before he closes the distance and kisses him, with all the desperation and warmth that he could muster. ]
You hate everything now.
The softness between them is just as surreal for him, too, when the last thing he felt was rubbery skin and cruel metal. But here Newt is again, touch gentle on his face, and he wants to just sink into it, thinks maybe that they have all the time in the world for him to be able to. There's no ruin, no rot, just fresh earth and wood and the one person that had come to mean more than anything in the world to him.
His other half, far from it all. ]
Can't say I've got a problem with that. [ So long as it's them, together.
When they'd started the theory that the Creators could control them-- hardly a theory, now-- there had been no doubt in his mind that this was real. Everything that had ever happened between he and Newt was real, would never be anything but. So it's easier than anything he's ever done to tip up and meet him in the kiss, soft and reassuring just as much as it's full of longing and relief. ]
i do a lil bit [melting cat]
newt laughs. it's the first time in ages, and then he smiles and it's so big and wide that it takes up half of his face. when he pushes forward this time, it's to fling his arms around alby's shoulders, as tight as can be, tucking his face into the side of his neck. if they fall, they'll fall. (he doubts it.)
it's the first time in ages he hasn't hurt, either, the first time in a week that his mind didn't feel like something he was watching from the sidelines, the first time since the fall that he really felt something solid lift from his chest for a little while. he's his own person again.
figures it'd take till he died. but you know what? newt'll take it.
if the tears are coming again, he figures he'll probably playfully get called a wuss or something, and he doesn't even care. it feels like, with memories no longer floating around like balloons and death shrouding over his shoulders, that he might be home. and with alby by his side, he couldn't imagine it any other way. ]
[glee]
A bark of a laugh startles out of him, and he winds his arms around his middle, lifts him off his feet effortlessly. He's always been taller than Alby, but he's also always been scrawny in contrast, easy for him to manhandle. ]
You crying on me again, ya shank? [ But there's no heat to his voice, and he's practically a hypocrite as he tucks his nose into his shoulder. They're both whole again, real people instead of lab rats running in a maze that spanned beyond their hidden corner out into the world beyond. The one that he hadn't wanted to be a part of, even with Newt. That's what the Changing had done to him.
But it's all gone now. The suffering, the hopelessness. And they're here, now. Yeah, it took dying-- but in the end, knowing that they have this now? It's all worth it, and he can't help but squeeze his arms around him, as if he's afraid for just a second that it's all going to be taken away again.
Alby could barely handle being broken once. Not again. ]
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so he breathes in the familiarity, the fact that alby's with him like he'd been for the past two years. a part of him thinks that he could just reach back and grab the memories that WICKED had swiped from him now, easy as anything, but he doesn't want to. whatever life there was before the maze, it doesn't matter now.
he had a family. it was there in that little glade. they lost so many parts of it, but it was still there. still here. it lived on in thomas, and he'd watch over it until years and years and years from now, maybe he could join them.
he rolls his eyes, but it's stupidly good natured, and the taller of the two basically curls over when he's picked up, complaining loudly (and only half for show) -- ] Put me down, you klunkhead, I just got my buggin' leg back!
[ any squirming is pretty much halfhearted, and if the slightly squinted smile he gets is any sign, newt is anything but complaining. in fact, his hands shift a little to rest on his shoulders again, and he lets alby do his manhandling, because, well, he'd probably do it anyway. (and because he likes it. ) it's such a little, trivial thing, but it hits him like a punch to the gut how much he missed it, and he gives the broad shoulders under his palm a squeeze. ] This is the cleanest I've ever seen you. You got real skin under there.
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It was one of his favorite things to do, just because of the (often half-hearted) protests and the way that something like this genuine laughter would be startled out of the younger boy. The Glade might have been a cage, but it was their home and the Gladers were their family, and roughhousing was no stranger amongst them all. Least of all the two of them, alone or otherwise. ]
And your hair's actually blond-- never thought I'd see the day it wasn't all ruddy. [ Which is a lie, but it's a good enough remark to throw back at him. While the feeling in his chest feels like a sunburst, something that could very well burn everything away if given the chance, Newt's hair might as well be the shucking color of it.
One arm secures around his waist to hold him against his chest, letting him curl and fit to the shape of his body as naturally as it always does, while the other reaches up so that he can slip his fingers into his hair. He thumbs at his temple, and he turns in a quick circle, just for the unbridled and stupid joy of it.
There's no one here to stop them, no one to keep up serious appearances for most of the time. They've either gone ahead of them or will come long after them, but there's no better people to do it. Minho, Thomas. He figures the world is in good hands without them, and he and Newt have earned their well deserved vacation. ]
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somewhere, a small part of him was thankful, like he'd been released proper.
the rest of him felt at peace, like some gaping wound was stitched up, and a lot of it had to do that with the person who was currently making him dizzy in the best and worst way possible, if not with how they'd left the world in good hands. so maybe dying had turned out to be the right decision, after all.
despite the "surprise" that comes out of his mouth, the sarcasm doesn't quite match the grin, huge and toothy and making his cheeks hurt, and when he shifts up to basically koala around him, putting that healthy leg to good use, he puffs out a pleased noise. ] Guess Paradise has showers. Fancy buggin place they got here. 's it just me and you?
[ there's an unspoken "for now" there. he doesn't really mind. ]
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It's so much better than the dread, the hollowness. The very thing that had propelled him into that group of Grievers, with the smallest trace of hope that his sacrifice would see them through beneath it all. He was holding them back, after all. He couldn't make the choices anymore, call the shots. That was for Newt, for Minho and Thomas, to do. That was what he'd set them up for, over their time together.
And he knew they wouldn't fail. For as many people that had come past him as he waited, they wouldn't stop.
Newt's legs around him are welcome, and he adjusts his hold so that he can slide the arm around him down underneath him as support. The other he sets on his side, the temptation to skirt his fingers up his ribs there-- but he resists, for now. ] Few people've gone by, but I was waiting for you. Dunno where they've gone ahead to, but figured we'd get there eventually.
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like alby did.
their circumstances ended up being bone-chillingly similar, and it seemed kind of ironic, if not even planned. newt was supposed to die, he thinks, because he'd been a shucking test subject from day one, part of the control, the one who got all of his non-immune friends sick. in a way, he was glad that alby died when he did, if only because he didn't have to suffer the flare.
all of those thoughts feel kind of far away, now, with strong arms supporting him underneath his thighs, and he eventually softens his smile, to something full of warmth and affection as he rests his arms on the other glader, looking down at him. ] Fine by me.
[ they earned a little alone time. newt adds, something familiar and nostalgic in the tone-- ] Like sneaking off to the Deadheads off past curfew, remember? T'get some bloody alone time.
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And there wasn't any reason for him to think about how his mind had fallen apart after the Changing, willpower gone. His apologies have been given, and now they're together again. It doesn't matter anymore.
It helps that he's had enough time to think about what'd happened and how they'd mirrored each other so well. Maybe that was WICKED's plan all along, he doesn't know. Maybe they'd forced their hands and pushed them over that edge, but they'd never really know the truth of it beyond what they've experienced. Alby just knows that their lives were destroyed, but at least there are others that will survive on to rebuild their own because of the things they did to help.
A smile, soft around the edges, widens a little at the nostalgia as Newt looks down at him. In a crapsack place for two years, those moments alone-- and Newt himself-- had been a bright spot. ]
Only shuckin' place in a Glade full of twenty to fifty on the regular. Sure we can find something like it here.