"I listen to our blood run side by side / I throw my hands to you"
Prompt: "I listen to our blood run side by side / I throw my hands to you"
Fandom: The Maze Runner
Ship: vaguely Thomas/Newt
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It was harder than it looked to be alive - or at least to stay alive. Newt would know: he felt like he wasn’t alive most of the times and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been alive for a while. Life was… It was hunger, pain, sleep, rinse up and repeat all over again. It was the grinding of work in face of the uselessness of it all. It was the fleeting feelings of connection, the love, care, yearning and craving, up until it was all gone. Newt closed his eyes, the burning sun blurring his vision, the lack of water making his throat feel like sandpaper, where swallowing was an experience in agony. Pain was something familiar at this point, a lone companion he carried with him everywhere he went to the point where it absence was stanger than it presence. Lizzie’s voice pierce through the fogginess, clear like a bell, sharp like a knife.
“For fuck sake Thomas just stop freaking out and get your ass here!”
Harriet. Calm like a frozen lake in this storm. There was something like pride in Newt’s mind for even recognizing her. He felt it for the first time, his blood flowing out of his side. Strange, how he didn’t even feel scared. He died once already, maybe that was why he couldn’t bother to be scared this time around. They were hands around him, his sister’s voice was higher than usual, calling out his name, frantic hands around his face, trying to catch his gaze. Thomas hands were on the wound, trembling, and Harriet was pushing Thomas away, or trying to at least. The shank wasn’t moving.
“I’m fine.” He tried to say, choking on his own blood as he opened his mouth, gathering a bunch of glare in his direction as he tried.
Thomas shook himself out of his trance, wide eyed and frantically raising his sleeve has Val was coming in fast, her black, black eyes on him with only a little bit of worry in them. Probably good. If she wasn’t panicking he would likely make it. At least that was the hope.
“Newt please…” someone whispered, but he couldn’t tell if it was Liz, Thomas or Minho, too lost in the dissociation of it all. Pain was distant now, and he knew too much to kid himself into thinking it was a good thing. Thomas swore briefly as a needle went through his arm, and Newt eyes zeroed in on it immediately, as if the simple sound of pain out of Thomas’s mouth was something he was genetically engineered to notice. But Thomas didn’t seem to even care, his entire focus on Newt as another needle pierced through Newt’s arm, the sting barely noticeable.
“You’re going to be fine.” Someone said. It sounded like Lizzie. Newt felt the ghost of lips on his hand, Thomas’s fingers intertwining with his and the push of something in his veins that felt like fire.
Then someone started to stitch up his side and he blissfully blacked out.
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Fandom: The Maze Runner
Ship: vaguely Thomas/Newt
***
***
It was harder than it looked to be alive - or at least to stay alive. Newt would know: he felt like he wasn’t alive most of the times and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been alive for a while. Life was… It was hunger, pain, sleep, rinse up and repeat all over again. It was the grinding of work in face of the uselessness of it all. It was the fleeting feelings of connection, the love, care, yearning and craving, up until it was all gone. Newt closed his eyes, the burning sun blurring his vision, the lack of water making his throat feel like sandpaper, where swallowing was an experience in agony. Pain was something familiar at this point, a lone companion he carried with him everywhere he went to the point where it absence was stanger than it presence. Lizzie’s voice pierce through the fogginess, clear like a bell, sharp like a knife.
“For fuck sake Thomas just stop freaking out and get your ass here!”
Harriet. Calm like a frozen lake in this storm. There was something like pride in Newt’s mind for even recognizing her. He felt it for the first time, his blood flowing out of his side. Strange, how he didn’t even feel scared. He died once already, maybe that was why he couldn’t bother to be scared this time around. They were hands around him, his sister’s voice was higher than usual, calling out his name, frantic hands around his face, trying to catch his gaze. Thomas hands were on the wound, trembling, and Harriet was pushing Thomas away, or trying to at least. The shank wasn’t moving.
“I’m fine.” He tried to say, choking on his own blood as he opened his mouth, gathering a bunch of glare in his direction as he tried.
Thomas shook himself out of his trance, wide eyed and frantically raising his sleeve has Val was coming in fast, her black, black eyes on him with only a little bit of worry in them. Probably good. If she wasn’t panicking he would likely make it. At least that was the hope.
“Newt please…” someone whispered, but he couldn’t tell if it was Liz, Thomas or Minho, too lost in the dissociation of it all. Pain was distant now, and he knew too much to kid himself into thinking it was a good thing. Thomas swore briefly as a needle went through his arm, and Newt eyes zeroed in on it immediately, as if the simple sound of pain out of Thomas’s mouth was something he was genetically engineered to notice. But Thomas didn’t seem to even care, his entire focus on Newt as another needle pierced through Newt’s arm, the sting barely noticeable.
“You’re going to be fine.” Someone said. It sounded like Lizzie. Newt felt the ghost of lips on his hand, Thomas’s fingers intertwining with his and the push of something in his veins that felt like fire.
Then someone started to stitch up his side and he blissfully blacked out.
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