Disclaimer:

Thomas: Is anyone else scared?

Newt: Not really. I've already lived longer than I expected.

-✼-

The Right Arm was many things, but courteous was not one of them. Instead of providing us with a new van, they had Lawrence drive the one we'd taken to the headquarters, even though it was missing a window and had too many dents in it to count. The splintering crack in the windshield seemed to be close to making the entire thing shatter. The one thing they did supply us with was my gun and a pilot who looked less than happy to come with us to the Berg hangar.

I recalled my goodbye with Brenda ("You're strong, so try not to die. Keep Thomas in line, too, while you're at it") and the hug she's unexpectedly pulled me into. We never really had time to establish any sort of friendship due to the fact that we always seemed to be running for our lives, but she was a decent person. She'd been kind to me when she didn't have to be. And I counted that as a score in my good books.

Now, we drove through Denver with Thomas and I sitting in the backseat of the van. It felt jarringly empty without Brenda's remarks to fill the heavy silence. The anxiety between the four of us was palpable, causing my throat to lock up and make me silent.

I hadn't gotten a chance to see the city in the daylight. It was heartbreakingly beautiful. Only parts of it were damaged— garbage cans carelessly tipped over with trash spilling onto the sidewalks, abandoned cars parked in the streets, some glass windows broken — but otherwise, the citizens had succeeded in preserving its beauty. Skyscrapers towered toward the cloudless sky with the sunlight glinting off of them.

I could almost imagine what this place was like before the Flare and before the world collapsed into utter turmoil. I envisioned families walking down the streets, children skipping alongside their parents and begging to enter every shop they passed. Buses full of people cruising by. But now, everything was empty. Only a sparse amount of figures roamed around, and Cranks lurked in various corners.

"Okay, remember the plan," Lawrence said to Thomas and I, effectively snapping the silence.

"What plan?" I asked, wondering if I'd missed out on anything during my daydream.

"Make it to the hangar without dying."

Ah. So I hadn't missed anything.

The van lapsed into a tense silence again. I reached over to Thomas worldlessly, nudging his fingers with my own. His palm opened and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. He seemed significantly less confident than he had been last night, which reassured me. At least I wasn't the only one worrying, now.

Lawrence pulled onto a highway that led to one of the gated edges of the walled city. Barricades lined either side of the road in order to keep the noise from disturbing nearby homes. Instead of appearing helpful, I only felt slightly caged in by the massive structures.

"This'll take us all the way," Lawrence informed us. "The hangar is probably our most protected facility, so all we have to do is make it there. An hour from now and we'll be up in the air, happy and safe."

"Good that," Thomas answered, voice steady, but another squeeze of my hand informed me that he wasn't as put-together as he seemed when he spoke. Since the rearview mirror was missing, Lawrence couldn't see the slight fear on my brother's face.

We rode the next three miles smoothly until our driver let out a, "What in the world?" and the remaining calm inside of me fled. I straightened up, releasing Thomas' hand to peer out of the window beside me.

The sight was a strange one. Several cars were driving in circles recklessly, swerving and nearly crashing into one another. The sound of their tires occasionally screeching caused me to wince at the sharp noise.

"I guess I'll just try to get past them," Lawrence murmured almost to himself. Even with the help of my hearing aid, it was difficult to understand him. He picked up his speed. "It'll take us forever to backtrack and try a different way. I'm just going to try to get through."

"Just don't do anything stupid," the pilot snapped, her mouth twisted sourly. "We certainly won't get there if we have to walk."

I continued staring out the window in order to see what was going on. A hoard of about twenty people was huddled in the center of the chaos, fighting over something I couldn't see. Their brawl was messy— they were throwing debris and various objects along with punches. The spinning cars continued their fun not too far away from them, apparently not caring that there were people nearby. They drove with a reckless abandon that brought a new fear to my chest.

"What are you planning?" Thomas asked as our driver continued to speed straight toward the scene.

"You need to stop!" the pilot commanded.

Lawrence shook his head, face set in determination. "No. I'm going through."

"You'll get us killed!"

"We'll be fine. Just shut up for a second!"

We neared them even more, and soon we were close enough for me to make out what they were fighting over. Ripped garbage bags littered trash on the asphalt. They were raiding them for any scrap of food they could find, but it was almost impossible for them to eat any of it before someone else ripped it out of their grasp. They fought each other without care. One man had a gash beneath his eye, blood dripping down his cheek. But still, he kept going.

Thomas was hovering behind me, barely perched on the edge of my seat. The van swerved enough for him to collapse back into his. We both turned our attention straight ahead to discover the cars lined up, facing toward us. Lawrence didn't hesitate. Instead, he gunned the engine even more, sending us flying so quickly he must have had the pedal to the floor. He turned the vehicle so we were aimed to shoot between the larger gap in the middle and right cars.

"Hold on!" Lawrence cried, and somehow, we were moving even faster.

Thomas made some sort of squeaking sound. When I looked at him, his mouth was open like he was trying to say something. But he never got the chance to.

Several things happened at once. The third car slammed into the side of the van, causing us to spin out of control and leaving a massive dent in the back. The pilot screamed. Lawrence attempted to grip the steering wheel tighter. Thomas and I flew out of our seats. He crashed into me, our limbs tangling together and making it worse as his elbow knocked into my cheek and caused my head to snap to the side. The force of us hitting the window caused it to shatter, pieces of glass showering us. I instinctively ducked my head down and covered Thomas' with my body. I wasn't wearing a jacket; stinging sensations rippled through my arms and the back of my neck as shards cut them. Finally, we hit the cement wall and came to a halt.

I straightened, wincing at the pain the movement brought about. One of my hands reached to the back of my neck and I plucked out a shard of glass from my skin. I could only imagine how many more were buried in my arms.

My cheek was aching from how hard Thomas had hit it. The boy in question sat up slowly, rubbing his head which had knocked into the armrest of my seat. But then, as he did, his eyes widened as he caught sight of something outside.

I turned to discover it was, in fact, someone. And the someone was Newt.

I had never seen him look so horrible. His blond hair, which used to be long and healthy, was now matted and torn out in patches, leaving red welts visible on his scalp. His face was covered with scratches and grime. The clothes from W.I.C.K.E.D were now torn to the point where they were barely clinging to his thin frame, blood splattered on his pants.

And everything stopped. I no longer felt the sting of the glass in my skin, nor the bruise forming on my cheek. The only thing I was able to process what Newt, in the flesh, somehow stumbling across us once again. And how there was such madness in his eyes. How much he had changed since we'd seen him last.

"We're okay," Lawrence was saying, apparently not realizing that the two of us were entranced. "She's shot to hell, but hopefully she'll get us another couple of miles to the hangar."

He shifted to gear into reverse and backed the van away from the wall, tires crunching over broken glass and plastic. Then we started to drive off. But words were stuck in my throat from the shock of seeing Newt again, and I couldn't form the word "Stop" even if I tried.

Luckily, Thomas could. "Stop! Stop the van! Now!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Just stop the freaking van!"

Thomas clambered to his feet as Lawrence slammed onto the breaks, gripping the back of the pilot's seat and my armrest tightly so he wouldn't lose his balance. His jaw was set in determination. Just as he went toward the door on his side, Lawrence reached over the seat and grabbed him by the back of his collar.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" our driver demanded harshly. His expression was dark enough from being forced to stop, but the idea of Thomas going out into a field of Cranks was enough to make his face almost hauntingly furious.

Thomas attempted to yank himself away and slipped his gun from the waistband of his jeans — when he put it there, I didn't know — then pointed it at Lawrence. "Let go of me. Let go of me!"

Lawrence obeyed and held his hands in the air. "Whoa, kid. Calm down! What is wrong with you?"

"I saw our friend out there— I want to see if he's okay," Thomas answered as he started to back away. "If any trouble starts, I'll run back to the van. Just be ready to get us out of here when I do."

"When you do?" Lawrence questioned, eyebrows creased in confusion. He pointed to me. "What about her?"

Thomas' eyes briefly met my shocked ones. Then he turned back toward the older man with his face set in determination. "Keep her in here."

It finally clicked. Just as he started to walk away, I shakily pushed myself to my feet and wobbled toward the open door. "Thomas! Thom—"

"Hey." Lawrence stopped me. "I already have the chance of losin' one of you dimwits. I ain't going all the way out here just for both of you to get mauled, got that?" He noticed my crestfallen expression, because he sighed and pointed to the mass chaos outside. "That - that thing out there? That's not your friend. It may look like him, but it ain't. Those Cranks are way past the Gone."

My mouth twisted into a scowl. "He was — is — more than a friend."

"Whatever he was, he's no better than an animal now."

I felt half-compelled to remove my hearing aid so I wouldn't have to listen to the words coming out of Lawrence's mouth, but instead focused back on my brother's retreating figure. Why did he always do this to himself?

"Thomas!" I called after him, desperation lacing my voice. "Thomas, please!"

But he ignored me. For whatever ungodly reason in his head, he continued making a beeline straight toward Newt, whose eyes were flickering between the two of us. At least a shred of recognition was in his eyes.

I winced as I brought my hand up to the volume dial on my hearing aid, turning it up as my brother approached him.

"Hey, Newt. It's me, Thomas. You still remember me, right?"

Another wince. Wrong move. Just as the first word of Newt's shouting reply came through, I removed the device from my ear altogether and shoved it into my pocket. Lawrence watched me with a perplexed expression. He didn't ask any questions though, so he must have figured it wasn't his business.

The pilot nudged him with the Launcher. She didn't say a word, but Lawrence accepted it. I swallowed nervously, understanding what she intended him to use it for.

Indistinct shouting caused my attention to snap back to the two boys. Newt's face was red with rage, feral growls behind his words. His slow steps toward Thomas were like an animal stalking its prey.

My heart leaped into my throat. "Oh my God."

I couldn't believe it. I'd known he was angry while in the Berg and at the Crank Palace, but this was something entirely different. He appeared like he really did want to hurt Thomas. I vainly searched the blond's figure from head to toe, desperate for a piece of the boy I'd fallen in love with, but found nothing. It was like looking at a stranger.

Lawrence raised the Launcher. "I'm gonna shoot him! Get out of the way!"

Thomas turned. "Don't! It's just me and him! Don't do anything!" He faced Newt again, his pleading words lost to the wind.

But Newt's next words were somehow loud and clear. "I hate you, Tommy!" I tensed, hands balling into fists to resist the temptation to jump out of the van and stop him before he did something awful.

"That's it," I grumbled beneath my breath so Lawrence couldn't hear. I ducked out of the pilot's grasp — she noticed me moving before Lawrence did — and avoided his desperate reach for me. Just as my feet touched the crooked asphalt, something hit me.

I felt my entire body seize, shuddering with electricity so intense that my vision went white at the corners. My legs locked together so I collapsed to the ground. I was barely able to catch myself, but the electric grenade rendered my limbs immobile soon after.

"Sorry, kid," Lawrence apologized from above me, though I couldn't see anything except the group of Cranks to my right.

It didn't take long for me to figure it out. He had shot me with the Launcher.

The power was strong, so strong I fought the blackness threatening to take over my vision with everything I had left in me. I could hardly hear Newt's enraged scream, Thomas' surprised shout, and the sound of Lawrence charging up the Launcher again as my fingers locked in awkwardly bent positions to keep my face from touching the dirt-dusted ground.

I attempted to say something, but my all that escaped was a gurgling noise in my throat. A pair of arms wrapped around my middle and heaved me off the ground. I was lifted up into the van, head bobbling from the movement.

"Get back in here!" Lawrence commanded to Thomas at the top of his lungs. I could barely recognize that Thomas had the barrel of the gun pressed against Newt's forehead, the blond shaking with rage.

I managed to gurgle a word out. "N — No."

Tears were gathering in my eyes, partly because of the pain that kept hitting me in waves, and partly from the despondence creeping up on me. I wished we would never have seen Newt. I wished he would never have come here so we could be halfway to the hangar already. I wish this would never have happened.

Part of me hoped it was a dream produced by the effects of the Launcher when Thomas tensed and pulled the trigger just as the electricity won and I was pulled into oblivion.

i think you know what the gif is

———-

hey guys....what's up....how ya doin?

i feel awful because i had all of these disclaimers pre-written from months ago and this chapter's just so happened to be at this part and it's really ironic

i've gotten many, many messages begging me not to kill newt because this is a newt fanfiction, but it isn't something i can just undo. if this didn't happen, thomas would be a completely different person at the end of the series. he has to live with the fact that he killed his best friend and it's vital to the storyline, as well as his later friendship with minho. i'm sorry if you don't agree with my choice.

another thing: i've also gotten requests for dylan to die with newt. that was never my plan because, even if i do love their relationship, dylan's character is more than a love interest. she is her own person and doesn't exist because of newt. therefore, her story will continue without him

i don't really know what else to say, so i guess i'll check out now

-kristyn