[ 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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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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.