Disclaimer:

Thomas: CHUCK? CHUCK!

Chuck:

Thomas:

Thomas: Oh my fuckin' God he fuckin' dead

-✼-

"You know, I would help, but making fun of you is so much more satisfying."

I groaned as I pushed myself up from the ground, attempting to ignore the ache blossoming from my kneecaps and palms from where I'd hit the floor hard. My eyes glared at the ground instead of the person in question.

"Seriously," Minho continued with a laugh. "How do you fall off a treadmill?"

"Apparently, it's easier than you'd think," Newt joked.

"Shut up, both of you," I grumbled lowly, a frown pulling down my lips. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment at falling in front of the blond. Not being able to catch up was bad enough, and then my legs had failed me as well, making it worse. I hoped they assumed I was flustered because of the running.

I was twelve. Newt and Minho were thirteen. They'd suddenly decided that since they were teenagers, they were so much older and mature than I was. Older? Slightly. Mature? Not so much.

Four of us were training at once. Along with Minho, Newt, and I, a boy named Winston was running at the far end, next to the blond. He didn't say much. Instead, he focused hard on his score, eyes staring at the monitor in front of him intently. He hadn't even bothered to see if I was okay when I'd fallen off the machine.

As the Trials became closer, W.I.C.K.E.D was starting to have us endure physical training as well as mental. I didn't know what the other boys had been put up to, but my 'mental preparation' didn't stray that much from my normal routine. Maybe I'd experience more once I hit their age.

Minho ran easily to my right. Newt was to my left, his long legs working in his favor as he increased the speed. The translucent monitor in front of his face displayed his vitals as well as his distance, agility, and resistance. The score, which was written in bold numbers in the top left corner, added all of those components into one. The higher the score, the better you were doing.

I glanced at my screen. The total was two hundred. Minho's was well over a thousand.

"Aw, don't worry," Minho sympathized once he noticed my discouraged expression. "Maybe running isn't your strong suit."

"Be quiet," I muttered as I climbed back onto the treadmill, preparing to start my session again.

"I'm serious," he said. His concentration didn't break even as he spoke to me. The stupid boy didn't even sound out of breath— he was built for running, it seemed. "There's gotta be something you're better at."

I thought back to my training sessions with Brent and Sonya. How, with every lesson, I was improving and growing stronger. He had just recently taught me how to flip a fully-grown person over and I'd mastered it quicker than I thought I would. Maybe that was my strong suit.

But, still. I needed to not-suck at running.

I pressed the RESUME button and began lightly jogging with the moving belt. My lungs were slightly burning from the previous trial, but I was determined to do better at this one. I wouldn't try to keep up with Minho and fall off this time. For now, I'd go at my own pace.

"If you make it past five hundred, I'll give you my cookie at lunch," Newt encouraged with a grin.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach. I glanced at the score, which had moved up to two since I started. It was a long way to go.

-/-

My eyelids felt like heavy weights. I tried to lift them, but was only met with blurred colors before they closed again. The second time, I was able to make out the back of the pilot's chair. The third, I forced my eyes to stay open.

A pained groan escaped my lips as I pushed myself upright. My head had been leaning against the wall uncomfortably for who-knew-how-long, and my neck was aching because of it. Everything hurt. The Launcher had caused my body to seize even after I stopped responding. The strain of it drained my body of its energy.

The last thing I saw before I'd passed out hit me like a hard slap in the face. Please let it have been a dream, please let it have been a dream—

But my eyes swept around the van to discover Thomas in the seat next to me, the pistol in his lap and eyes staring blankly at it. Dried salt tracks ran down his cheeks from tears.

"He's gone."

I didn't realize Thomas was the one who spoke until I blinked to find his jaw trembling. The words sent a fresh, stabbing pain to my heart once I recognized the parallel between us. I'd said those exact words to Minho when Newt had been taken to the Crank Palace. Only now, he was gone for good.

"He's gone because I killed him."

I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it again. Nothing I could say would suffice. I had known since the Berg that Newt wouldn't make it, but for me to have witnessed it and for Thomas to have killed him was too much for my brain to compute. I simply sat in silence and tried to cease the cracking of my heart.

"He — he told me that you deserved better than him," he continued quietly. When I closed my eyes, a tear rolled down my cheek and I had to open my mouth in order to breathe through the lump in my throat. "I tried to explain that it wasn't true, but he started spouting off something about how you were better off with Minho."

I recalled one of my first memories that had returned to me in the Glade, of mine and Newt's last one-on-one interaction before he was sent there.

"What if when I go up there, I'll be attracted to, like, Minho or something?"

"I won't let that happen. I'll woo you over with my charm a second time."

I wondered if that was what he was referring to — a harmless joke that turned into something more within his collapsing mind. I never thought he'd actually believe it.

"He...he gave me this note a while back—"

"Thomas?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Please shut up."

"Okay."

Silence. I managed to breathe through my mouth, the back of my hand under my nose because it was running. There was so much pain in my chest. It felt like my heart was going to burst, to crack open my ribs with the force of it. The lump was growing in my throat and it was getting harder to put air into my lungs. Soon, I was sobbing into my hand, tears cascading down my cheeks and if only I could just breathe—

I couldn't calm down, even as we passed through the walls of the city and approached the hangar. Nobody asked questions. I didn't even attempt to disguise the never-ending river of tears flowing from my eyes, much like Thomas didn't mask his haunted expression. The Right Arm employees simply guided us toward the Berg, which we boarded in an awful, tense silence.

The two of us immediately flopped down on opposite ends of a couch in the common room of the aircraft. Lawrence had disappeared, the pilot was beginning to fly the Berg, and we were alone.

I glanced at my brother to see him beginning to fall asleep. He was obviously giving me space, thinking I might resent him for what he'd done. But how could I? I'd seen Newt's downward spiral firsthand, knew about his contempt toward the two of us for being special, heard him scream that he hated my brother. I'd seen the madness in his eyes.

It was a mercy kill, just like what I had done to Theo. Which, I realized, Thomas might not have even known about. Had he merely assumed that we'd lost him to Cranks? That we'd had to leave him behind? Or did someone tell him?

I knew we'd both be haunted for the rest of our days by the choices we'd made. It wouldn't be an easy ride for Thomas. He'd always see Newt in his nightmares, his final words never forgotten. Whatever they had been. After all, I could still hear Theo's pleas for me to shoot him every time I fell asleep.

Standing up, I grabbed a blanket from the side of one of the chairs in the room and unfolded it as I walked back toward Thomas. His eyes were firmly shut in exhaustion. Whether or not he was actually sleeping, I didn't know. I merely spread the blanket across him and went to go sit back down on my end of the sofa.

About half an hour later, I accepted that I wouldn't be able to sleep and uncurled my legs. Thomas was passed out. Good. He needed it, especially before what we were about to face.

"You should shower, kid," Lawrence's voice whispered to me. I looked in the direction of the noise to see him leaning in the doorway, no detectable emotion on his face. "Won't be long till we get there, and I don't want to be rushing. Some clothes are in the lockers."

"Thanks," I said weakly, my voice hoarse from the amount of crying I'd done. He pretended not to notice. I cleared my throat, then continued, "Thank you, really. For doing this. I know you don't want to be flying two kids to W.I.C.K.E.D."

He managed to crack a smile that said, You got that right. "Shower before your brother gets up and hogs all the water."

As it turned out, all of the Bergs were crafted identically to one another, so finding the bathroom wasn't a difficult task at all. In the small cabinet above the toilet was a neat stack of old towels that had seen better days. However, I wasn't going to complain about being clean.

I wasn't sure when the last time I had showered was. Was it in W.I.C.K.E.D's facilities, right after Phase Three? Or had I done it when I was in my trance after Newt was taken? I couldn't remember. The days I was alone in the Berg were a hazy mess I didn't want to recall.

Newt. Even the thought of his name brought a stabbing pain to my heart again, so I quickly turned on the water, undressed, and hopped inside the modest shower before I allowed myself to cry. The dam broke once the steaming water hit me. It started out small, my mouth pinching as I turned my back to the spray. And then came the sobs again. They wracked my body until I couldn't tell what were tears or what was from the showerhead. It hurt so badly that I wasn't sure I'd ever recover from it.

I wished I could run out of tears. I wished the intense agony in my chest would stop. But above all, I hoped that wherever Newt was now, he was happier than he was while on Earth.

I ended up having to force myself to regain my composure and actually begin to use the products to clean myself. There were two boxes containing scentless bars of blue soap, small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and a washcloth. I decided to just lather the bar onto my body itself, furiously scrubbing off layers of grime that had accumulated over the week. I discovered small bits of glass from the broken window embedded in my skin. The cuts stung as I cleaned them, dropping the tiny shards on the edge of the tub to throw away later. The water below me quickly turned red.

Afterward, I found the clothes Lawrence had mentioned. They mostly looked as if they were for men, but I managed to dig up a woman's black quarter-sleeve and plain jeans. The bottoms were way too long, so I had to roll them several times. A fresh pair of socks were like a miracle on my feet. Lastly, I put on the same boots I had been wearing before and tried my best to towel off my hair. Now that it was shorter, that meant I couldn't put it up out of my face. In short, I slightly resembled a drowned rat.

Thomas was waiting for me when I emerged from the bathroom. He avoided my gaze as he went inside, like he was still ashamed. I tried my best to dismiss the wave of sadness at his lack of eye contact— it might take a while, but soon he'd be able to do it again.

I sat silently until he was finished. Thomas walked out wearing an outfit as plain as mine— a white shirt with basic jeans and black shoes, though his clothes seemed to fit him much better than mine. His raven hair was still slightly damp, and some of the strands plastered to his forehead while others stuck up randomly. He must have just aggressively rubbed a towel on his head and left it at that.

"Your coats and backpacks are waiting for you at the cargo door," Lawrence informed us from the doorway of the common room. Judging by the expression on my brother's face, he had already been told this information. "We land in a few minutes, so you may want to get ready."

I stood from the sagging couch, reluctantly letting the blanket fall from my fingers. I could feel anxiety already beginning to churn my stomach into knots. However, I tried my best to shove it down. I had to think positively, not psych myself out before we even reached our final destination.

"Okay," I said as a slightly delayed response. The man nodded and retreated.

Once he left, I turned to Thomas and opened my mouth to speak. There were so many words that I wanted to say, but nothing would come out. The result was me standing there with my lips parted but no sound escaping. Thomas appeared like he was bracing himself for whatever I would say, but Lawrence's voice came from another room and interrupted it.

"Come on!"

I sighed and followed the general direction of his voice to a small area where the cargo door was located. Sure enough, two parka coats were shoved against the wall — one army green and the other dark blue — along with identical backpacks. I hurriedly grabbed the blue one, which was smaller, and tugged it on, relishing in the warmth it brought. Thomas copied my actions.

As I grabbed a bag, the door began to hiss open. It moved out in a downward motion, releasing icy blasts of wind in my direction that made my hair fly in a thousand different directions. The engine became louder the more it opened. A forest clearing became visible, and I could see the tops of pine trees, meaning we were still at least a hundred feet in the air. There wasn't enough space to land. We were going to jump.

"Let the girl go second!" Lawrence shouted to us over the roaring sounds of the wind and the Berg's machinery. "That way, if you land on top of one another, it won't hurt as bad. Good luck." He nodded toward the ground. "I'd tell you to be careful, but you aren't idiots, so I won't."

I gave him a salute, while Thomas smiled at him, which was a strange sight considering his overall mood since we got there. "Okay, then. We'll get the device planted as soon as we get in. I'm sure everything will go down with no problems, right?"

"I'll have little lizards flying out of my nose if we have no problems," Lawrence responded with kindness in his tone, which was an interesting way of saying things, instead of the customary, When pigs fly. "Now get. Once you're out there, go that way." He pointed to the left.

"Thank you," I shouted, to which he gave a nod.

Thomas, as instructed, went first. He carefully balanced himself as he walked down the metal ramp that the door had turned into and held onto the support beam as he did so. Once he reached the edge, he braced himself, let go of the beam, and jumped.

We couldn't waste much more time. I copied his action of using the metal pole for support, leaning my weight on my heels so I wouldn't tumble forward. The icy air nipped at my exposed skin. I peered over the edge and spotted a green smudge in the otherwise impeccable snow, meaning Thomas had just landed.

I didn't allow myself to be afraid. Once I saw he was safe, I let go of the support beam and jumped.

gif is dylan when she wakes up

____

GUYS. DID YOU KNOW THAT THE NAME THOMAS LITERALLY MEANS 'TWIN'? I CAN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP.

i'm sorry for the late update! it was a terrible chapter to leave you guys on, really. i became super busy and just had a lack of inspiration for writing in general. i hope to regain it soon!

questions:

-who do you picture as lawrence, if anyone at all? (to me, he's a faceless blob because he wasn't given any physical description whatsoever)

-what do you think will happen while they're at wicked?

-is thomas avoiding speaking to dylan because he thinks she's mad at him, or for another reason?

i hope you all have had a great start to 2018!

-kristyn