[Stiles doesn't want to do this, not really. Seeing a copy of Elliot on the network had been strange to the point of avoiding his copy, the guy called Newt, but he had seen how it bothered Elliot. It made sense, because Grant, and that was really all the explanation it took for him to understand why it bothered him so much. But for Stiles it's not the same disappointment of wishing someone could be what they're not. No, for him, this copy reminds him too much of what it had been like to see the Nogitsune using his body to hurt the people he loved.
But Elliot had mentioned talking to Thomas, right after he'd shown up and hugged Stiles so tightly he'd known something was wrong. He'd vaguely mentioned that he looked hurt, exhausted, maybe sick. It made Stiles even more hesitant to see it for himself, but it was better to get this over with, right? Elliot had talked to Newt, sort of, so he could man up and do it, too.]
This is uncomfortable. Since I've been here longer— [What, he should be the first to introduce himself? He runs a hand backwards through his hair, fingers pressing against the crown.] Guess we're sorta twins. I'm really, really hoping one of us doesn't have to be evil.
[He forces a smile that will definitely come across as forced. It doesn't help him calm down to think that Thomas is friends with Newt, and somehow his joke about knowing Elliot in an alternate dimension has come true.] So. If you want to talk. I'm Stiles.
[ seeing elliot was weird. seeing stiles - moving, talking, existing - is beyond bizarre, and it sends something creeping along thomas's skin, paranoia sneaking in his mind that he knows he shouldn't entertain. (how many times have you thought that and been wrong? how many times did you think something was too insane to be true, only to have it all confirmed? how can you trust this place any more than WICKED?)
for a moment, he thinks of not answering at all. just leaving it be and resolving to stay close to just the other two.
but newt is alive here, and even if there is something more sinister they want from him in this place, that alone is worth trying for. eventually, after a few minutes, he picks up the call, face at least cleaner now than the first day he'd showed up (when he'd talked to Elliot), cuts and scraps patched up, though fading, along with yellowing bruises. it hadn't been an easy fight, getting out of the compound, and past Jansen. ]
I'm Thomas. [ he starts, and abruptly realizes he doesn't know what else he should say here. there's a moment of awkward shifting. he isn't like Stiles in that he naturally fills in blank spaces in conversations with words and rambling. talking isn't his strong suit, even awkward talking. ] So... where'd you come from?
[ even as disturbing as this is, thomas can't say he isn't extremely curious (which is always the killer, with him) - some alternate dimension version of him? do they share anything else? personality? family? is stiles what thomas would've been without the Flare? or is it only DNA? some insane coincidence? that doesn't seem possible. ] I didn't have a brother. Pretty sure.
[He tells himself that he's prepared for it, that he looks in the mirror every day and deals with that just fine. But he knows this isn't a mirror, not only because the image isn't synchronized with him. Thomas is clearly a living, breathing entity of his own, from the way he moves and talks to the differences between them. Their hair is different, for one, Thomas' relatively tame compared to Stiles' own which sticks up more often than not. There are the injuries, too, but beneath them is a haunted look that Stiles knows he's worn several times throughout the last four years. It's the look of loss, and on some level a look of hopelessness.
Once he starts talking, it's in the same voice, but with a different mind behind it, one less rambling that Stiles' own.] California. Um, do you have California where you're from? You might be from space. I might have to fight you if you are. [His boyfriend has a thing for aliens. And Stiles/Thomas. He doesn't want to think about that.]
Me either. Totally sure. [He scratches the back of his neck.] Where're you from?
[ in the WICKED compound, thomas had finally hit the point of just giving up. just for a brief moment. he's lost so much, and everything he'd done to try to make up for it had just gotten things worse and worse. he'd known hopelessness in its deepest sense, and even if waking up to Ava's letters, killing Jansen and making it to the safe haven had restored it in him, there's something that doesn't quite leave you, after being there once. after all, not everyone made it. not even nearly. and that's why he's here. despite how unsettling it is to look and speak to Stiles, he'll be here, and he'll do it - for Alby, for Chuck, for Newt, for Teresa, and all the rest. ]
California... I dunno. Maybe. [ the word seems familiar, like he'd known it once, like he might be able to point it out on a map, if it were set in front of him. like if he saw it he'd think 'yeah, that's right', but just out of the blue, nothing put the vague sense of familiarity that he gets with so many things. Even still, he wouldn't want his memories back, from before. ] The last place I was in that had a name was Denver. Do you know that one?
[ a frown, with brows knit together, like he has to think hard on it, trying to place where it would be. like he needs Stiles to confirm for him that it's a real place. ]
Why would you have to fight me if I was from space? [ he doesn't get it. also, he's thomas, everything is taken too seriously. and if not that, then he's acting like it is for the sake of amusing himself. that latter is not the case here. but anyway, don't fight him, stiles, you'll lose. ]
[At least that's something that most people in the city have in common; the incentive to help others. Sure, there were people who came for their own gain, but they seemed to be less common that people trying to fix something other than themselves. Stiles' incentive to help his dad was selfish, but at least he wasn't pretending that it was't.
Elliot had told him about Newt not knowing England, and he again wonders what kind of screwed up world the two of them are from.] Yeah, Denver is a few states over. Unless it's a different Denver. But you're definitely in the US, right? You sound like an American.
[He laughs, the sound short because yeah he slipped up on that. How the hell do you tell your twin that you're dating his friend's twin? The alien obsession isn't even the focus of this conversation anymore.] Uh, have you met Elliot? Did Newt tell you about him?
Okay!!! Well! I'm going to teach you okay??? It'll help!!! I promise!!!
Hey 5 is better than 3!!! I promise your answers will be kept between you and me.
I'm just taking a poll...
Okay no I'm not.
I'm actually asking so if I ever have friends that need help holding hands or whatever I can just introduce them to each other. BUT I don't want to introduce incompatible people you know... like... guys that... like... only guys...? So I figured asking who you'd kiss and having you list three people would probably get a good mix if you were into one or both guys and girls so I could sneakily know without offending you and asking straight out... But I feel rude lying about it.
So there you have it.
It's caused me way more uhhh odd situations though so I'm just going to be really honest.
uh, no. im good. really. not a thing i've ever worried about learning.
[ wow clary you are. definitely a person. who does stuff. wow, okay, um. the entire thing feels way too awkward for thomas to want to be involved in, but clary's a friend, or, at least, someone he likes, who's been kind to them, so thomas humors it anyway. and just hopes she doesn't find him match-make-able. ]
its okay, i get why you were being sneaky. don't worry about it.
i've only ever kissed girls. [ in the, what, 3 months of memory he has? teresa once, brenda... twice? he was some kind of high for that first one. as for guys, uh. you know, he's never really felt inclined that way (unless you count minho's arms), but who knows??? lord, and the whole elliot and stiles thing has made that so much more confusing. so he'll just stick with that right now. ]
Because I'm so bloody angry I don't know what to say to you. What happened to not keeping secrets from each other? That's all you and Minho have been doing since you got here. And it's the only proof I need to know you're both from a different version of home. It was us against the world, but now it feels like me against the both of you. What the fuck do you care about Elliot and Stiles' business when it's ours too? They both told you and didn't think they'd want me knowing? You've known since your second bloody day in this bloody city. Good job telling the shank you keep saying is your best friend. Any other secrets you want to share? You're working for WCKD again? This is just another Trial? How I'm supposed to trust you from now on?
[ that alone is sent, after a long few minutes, reading over this. thomas is quick to find where Newt is on the balcony, first checking around to Minho in the apartment, and then walking through the sliding door, and sealing it shut behind him, looking something between panicked, angry, and despairing - about the same as he looked the first day he'd seen Newt in Eudio. ]
You wanna know everything, Newt? Shuck everything? Sit down, and don't talk for the next few minutes. [ Regardless of if Newt tries to interrupt or not, Thomas launches through it, railroading right over anything Newt attempts to interject, because that's the only way he'll get all of this out. And the only way he'll get to the part that's important, at the end. The reason he hasn't been saying anything. ] There is no cure, there isn't even a bandaid for the Flare. Of the sixty people we had in the Glade, about five made it through everything alive. A bunch of Immune made it out safe, about 200, but I failed everyone from the Glade. Plus the 300 more Vince killed with his damn bombs.
[ There's a vicious twist in that. Maybe the Vince in Newt's version of their world is actually the kind of man Thomas wanted to believe he was, but he'll never forgive him for what happened in the compound. ]
And I didn't start any kind of revolution. Teresa, Aris, Rachel and I all worked for WICKED, we had since we were about five, they carved into our heads and gave us all some kind of shucked up telepathy, and all of us had chips in our heads that they could use to make us do whatever they wanted. It made Gally kill Chuck, made Chuck step in front of me, made try to chop Minho's junk off once too. The plan always was to put me and Teresa into the Maze, to trigger the end.
They just expected me to still feel the same about helping them after they wiped all the brainwashing clean from my mind. By the way, our names aren't Thomas or Alby or Newt, not our real ones. They renamed us. Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Isaac Newton. Man, I've still got no freaking clue what name my mom gave me. [ And he doesn't want to know. He's Thomas now, not whoever that boy was, not Thomas Edison, just Thomas. And that's who he wants to be forever. ]
We lost about 20 fighting to the Griever hole in the Maze. Lost Chuck, lost Alby. They took us to a dorm, told us we were safe, and then we woke up in the middle of the night to Cranks banging on the shuck windows and dead bodies all over the halls. They branded us-- [ Thomas turns, tugging the collar of his shirt down in the back, to show Newt the tattoo that's still there. Subject A2 ] --Starved us for about three days, then gave us a feast that was infected with the Flare. It's not from a bite or a scratch where we come from, all you have to do is breathe it in, and it takes weeks, Newt. You watch people you love slowly go more and more insane. You watch them aware of it, lapsing in and out. And then they start tearing at themselves. Ripping their hair out, clawing at their skin, biting their damn fingers off.
[ It isn't just zombies. It's people, people living through this, people just being driven so mad, and experiencing that madness, having to have moments of sanity when they come back to themselves only to realize what they'd done. ]
They told us we had to go into the Scorch for two weeks, trek across it, and we'd get the cure at the end. Took Teresa, told her she had to trick me into thinking she was killing me to save me. The Scorch was hell, Newt. There were these things, in tunnels, that dropped onto your head like molten metal, leaked down, until it cut your head right off your neck. We had to run with bedsheets over our heads so the sun wouldn't fry us. The lightning storms... It was like the whole shuck cloud came down right on top of us, couldn't see three feet in front of your face. But just enough I saw Jack have his legs blown off. His eyes exploded inside the sockets. He was still screaming. [ and that's haunted him night after night after night. ] We left the Maze with 19. There were 11 when we came out of the storm.
[ So those moments when it rained or thundered over the last couple months, and Thomas looked like he wanted to burrow into a closet and hide? That's why. ]
The Underground, Cranks way past the Gone, I got shot, infected, WICKED had to come down and fix me, because I guess it wasn't time for me to die yet. [ Thomas tugs his shirt to the side, then, to show the bullet scar, made nastier looking by infection, that still lingers there. ] Lost a few more in the fight they left us where they said there'd be a cure. The guy who picked us up wanted me to choose between Brenda or Jorge, one lived and one got tossed back into the Scorch, so I took his gun and told him 'no one else dies'. You wanna guess how that turned out?
[ take a guess. what's the pattern here? ]
Twenty eight days in a padded cell. No clock, no showers, three meals at irregular hours, no contact, no idea if you guys were all dead, pretty certain I was going nuts with the Flare, because no one gave us the Immune talk yet, not until after they finally pulled me back out. Then we got the list of the few who weren't Immune, and WICKED wanted to give us our memories back so we could help them finish the cure. You were on that list, Newt. [ A pause, with a haunted look in his eyes, before he blinks rapidly, and continues on, redness rimming his eyes and his skin starting to get the splotchy, emotional color to it. ] Everyone took the offer to get their memories back, but you, me and Minho. We were the only ones each other could trust, and I did then, and I do now, but...
[ Then it got complicated, with that note. Because they couldn't tell Minho. He wouldn't allow it, not in the least, and as much as Thomas is disgusted with himself for being that person, he's the one Newt trusted to carry it out. And god, he wishes he hadn't. If he could've just gotten him here, he'd have been fine. Even if he could never leave. But carrying on with it, Thomas digs his hand into a pocket, fingertips tracing around the folded edges of the same note (because he still carries it with, every hour of every day), and carefully pulls it out. Just holding it up, not opening it yet. ]
When we were escaping the compound, and saw you starting to get symptoms, you gave me this. Told me not to read it until the time was right. Well I didn't know when the shuck time was supposed to be right, so when you ran off to a Crank Palace without us, and me and Minho went to get you back, you screamed at us to leave you alone and just let you die. You pointed a Launcher at Minho. [ Thomas pulls in a shaky breath, and the first of tears that'd been welling up in his eyes slips free, Thomas quickly jerking up a hand to wipe it away. Not now, god, not shucking now. ] A bunch of other klunk that doesn't matter anymore happened, I... read it. And I ran into you again, later.
[ Carefully, with a tremor in his hands, Thomas holds the note out to Newt. He can't read it out loud, and he won't be able to look at it without breaking down right now. Not with Newt right here in front of him, and not with what he's about to know about what Thomas did. He immediately starts to try to explain, a disaster of a waterfall of words coming from him. ]
I-- [ Even the first word, he chokes on, tears now falling freely, and Thomas struggling to get ] Newt, I didn't want to, man, I tried so hard to get you to just come with me, I tried so damn hard. You were screaming and raving and-- [ His voice hitches, like something wrapped tight sealed off his throat, and it takes a moment of breathing, and glancing up to the sky, before he can continue. ]
You... tackled me. And put the gun to your head, and said... [ His voices cracks with an abrupt sob that punches it's way out through gritted teeth, Thomas bowing his head into his hands, fingers pushing up into hair and curling into fists. The words come out quiet, aching, nearly as soft as when Newt had said them. ] "Please, Tommy, Please."
[ If it isn't obvious what happened after that, it isn't going to be said, because Thomas can't push the words out of his mouth. He's barely able to rasp these out as it is, tears streaking his cheeks, eyes red, hair a mess from his hands gripping in it. ]
Your world is better than ours, Newt. You've still got hope.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[video]
But Elliot had mentioned talking to Thomas, right after he'd shown up and hugged Stiles so tightly he'd known something was wrong. He'd vaguely mentioned that he looked hurt, exhausted, maybe sick. It made Stiles even more hesitant to see it for himself, but it was better to get this over with, right? Elliot had talked to Newt, sort of, so he could man up and do it, too.]
This is uncomfortable. Since I've been here longer— [What, he should be the first to introduce himself? He runs a hand backwards through his hair, fingers pressing against the crown.] Guess we're sorta twins. I'm really, really hoping one of us doesn't have to be evil.
[He forces a smile that will definitely come across as forced. It doesn't help him calm down to think that Thomas is friends with Newt, and somehow his joke about knowing Elliot in an alternate dimension has come true.] So. If you want to talk. I'm Stiles.
[video]
for a moment, he thinks of not answering at all. just leaving it be and resolving to stay close to just the other two.
but newt is alive here, and even if there is something more sinister they want from him in this place, that alone is worth trying for. eventually, after a few minutes, he picks up the call, face at least cleaner now than the first day he'd showed up (when he'd talked to Elliot), cuts and scraps patched up, though fading, along with yellowing bruises. it hadn't been an easy fight, getting out of the compound, and past Jansen. ]
I'm Thomas. [ he starts, and abruptly realizes he doesn't know what else he should say here. there's a moment of awkward shifting. he isn't like Stiles in that he naturally fills in blank spaces in conversations with words and rambling. talking isn't his strong suit, even awkward talking. ] So... where'd you come from?
[ even as disturbing as this is, thomas can't say he isn't extremely curious (which is always the killer, with him) - some alternate dimension version of him? do they share anything else? personality? family? is stiles what thomas would've been without the Flare? or is it only DNA? some insane coincidence? that doesn't seem possible. ] I didn't have a brother. Pretty sure.
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Once he starts talking, it's in the same voice, but with a different mind behind it, one less rambling that Stiles' own.] California. Um, do you have California where you're from? You might be from space. I might have to fight you if you are. [His boyfriend has a thing for aliens. And Stiles/Thomas. He doesn't want to think about that.]
Me either. Totally sure. [He scratches the back of his neck.] Where're you from?
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California... I dunno. Maybe. [ the word seems familiar, like he'd known it once, like he might be able to point it out on a map, if it were set in front of him. like if he saw it he'd think 'yeah, that's right', but just out of the blue, nothing put the vague sense of familiarity that he gets with so many things. Even still, he wouldn't want his memories back, from before. ] The last place I was in that had a name was Denver. Do you know that one?
[ a frown, with brows knit together, like he has to think hard on it, trying to place where it would be. like he needs Stiles to confirm for him that it's a real place. ]
Why would you have to fight me if I was from space? [ he doesn't get it. also, he's thomas, everything is taken too seriously. and if not that, then he's acting like it is for the sake of amusing himself. that latter is not the case here. but anyway, don't fight him, stiles, you'll lose. ]
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Elliot had told him about Newt not knowing England, and he again wonders what kind of screwed up world the two of them are from.] Yeah, Denver is a few states over. Unless it's a different Denver. But you're definitely in the US, right? You sound like an American.
[He laughs, the sound short because yeah he slipped up on that. How the hell do you tell your twin that you're dating his friend's twin? The alien obsession isn't even the focus of this conversation anymore.] Uh, have you met Elliot? Did Newt tell you about him?
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keywords
"whythis" could be a Thomas journal
cries i need to make an au journal or smth with that
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text » un: octavia
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[ which is a joke. he's like to see her there too, but everything he'd thought of to say that with sounded really dumb in his head. ]
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after talking to O
[ Yes, perfect way to make sure he likes girls. ]
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Hey 5 is better than 3!!! I promise your answers will be kept between you and me.
I'm just taking a poll...
Okay no I'm not.
I'm actually asking so if I ever have friends that need help holding hands or whatever I can just introduce them to each other. BUT I don't want to introduce incompatible people you know... like... guys that... like... only guys...? So I figured asking who you'd kiss and having you list three people would probably get a good mix if you were into one or both guys and girls so I could sneakily know without offending you and asking straight out... But I feel rude lying about it.
So there you have it.
It's caused me way more uhhh odd situations though so I'm just going to be really honest.
I'm sorry for trying to be sneaky.
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[ wow clary you are. definitely a person. who does stuff. wow, okay, um. the entire thing feels way too awkward for thomas to want to be involved in, but clary's a friend, or, at least, someone he likes, who's been kind to them, so thomas humors it anyway. and just hopes she doesn't find him match-make-able. ]
its okay, i get why you were being sneaky. don't worry about it.
i've only ever kissed girls. [ in the, what, 3 months of memory he has? teresa once, brenda... twice? he was some kind of high for that first one. as for guys, uh. you know, he's never really felt inclined that way (unless you count minho's arms), but who knows??? lord, and the whole elliot and stiles thing has made that so much more confusing. so he'll just stick with that right now. ]
sorry wrong box before
LOL I DIDNT EVEN NOTICE shit i need to put something that isn't placeholder here tho also 1/???
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actually yes
elliot told me
and then stiles also told me
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actually
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you know
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weird
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i mean
in case it was
not that theres a problem with that either
d o n e
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[ that alone is sent, after a long few minutes, reading over this. thomas is quick to find where Newt is on the balcony, first checking around to Minho in the apartment, and then walking through the sliding door, and sealing it shut behind him, looking something between panicked, angry, and despairing - about the same as he looked the first day he'd seen Newt in Eudio. ]
You wanna know everything, Newt? Shuck everything? Sit down, and don't talk for the next few minutes. [ Regardless of if Newt tries to interrupt or not, Thomas launches through it, railroading right over anything Newt attempts to interject, because that's the only way he'll get all of this out. And the only way he'll get to the part that's important, at the end. The reason he hasn't been saying anything. ] There is no cure, there isn't even a bandaid for the Flare. Of the sixty people we had in the Glade, about five made it through everything alive. A bunch of Immune made it out safe, about 200, but I failed everyone from the Glade. Plus the 300 more Vince killed with his damn bombs.
[ There's a vicious twist in that. Maybe the Vince in Newt's version of their world is actually the kind of man Thomas wanted to believe he was, but he'll never forgive him for what happened in the compound. ]
And I didn't start any kind of revolution. Teresa, Aris, Rachel and I all worked for WICKED, we had since we were about five, they carved into our heads and gave us all some kind of shucked up telepathy, and all of us had chips in our heads that they could use to make us do whatever they wanted. It made Gally kill Chuck, made Chuck step in front of me, made try to chop Minho's junk off once too. The plan always was to put me and Teresa into the Maze, to trigger the end.
They just expected me to still feel the same about helping them after they wiped all the brainwashing clean from my mind. By the way, our names aren't Thomas or Alby or Newt, not our real ones. They renamed us. Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Isaac Newton. Man, I've still got no freaking clue what name my mom gave me. [ And he doesn't want to know. He's Thomas now, not whoever that boy was, not Thomas Edison, just Thomas. And that's who he wants to be forever. ]
We lost about 20 fighting to the Griever hole in the Maze. Lost Chuck, lost Alby. They took us to a dorm, told us we were safe, and then we woke up in the middle of the night to Cranks banging on the shuck windows and dead bodies all over the halls. They branded us-- [ Thomas turns, tugging the collar of his shirt down in the back, to show Newt the tattoo that's still there. Subject A2 ] --Starved us for about three days, then gave us a feast that was infected with the Flare. It's not from a bite or a scratch where we come from, all you have to do is breathe it in, and it takes weeks, Newt. You watch people you love slowly go more and more insane. You watch them aware of it, lapsing in and out. And then they start tearing at themselves. Ripping their hair out, clawing at their skin, biting their damn fingers off.
[ It isn't just zombies. It's people, people living through this, people just being driven so mad, and experiencing that madness, having to have moments of sanity when they come back to themselves only to realize what they'd done. ]
They told us we had to go into the Scorch for two weeks, trek across it, and we'd get the cure at the end. Took Teresa, told her she had to trick me into thinking she was killing me to save me. The Scorch was hell, Newt. There were these things, in tunnels, that dropped onto your head like molten metal, leaked down, until it cut your head right off your neck. We had to run with bedsheets over our heads so the sun wouldn't fry us. The lightning storms... It was like the whole shuck cloud came down right on top of us, couldn't see three feet in front of your face. But just enough I saw Jack have his legs blown off. His eyes exploded inside the sockets. He was still screaming. [ and that's haunted him night after night after night. ] We left the Maze with 19. There were 11 when we came out of the storm.
[ So those moments when it rained or thundered over the last couple months, and Thomas looked like he wanted to burrow into a closet and hide? That's why. ]
The Underground, Cranks way past the Gone, I got shot, infected, WICKED had to come down and fix me, because I guess it wasn't time for me to die yet. [ Thomas tugs his shirt to the side, then, to show the bullet scar, made nastier looking by infection, that still lingers there. ] Lost a few more in the fight they left us where they said there'd be a cure. The guy who picked us up wanted me to choose between Brenda or Jorge, one lived and one got tossed back into the Scorch, so I took his gun and told him 'no one else dies'. You wanna guess how that turned out?
[ take a guess. what's the pattern here? ]
Twenty eight days in a padded cell. No clock, no showers, three meals at irregular hours, no contact, no idea if you guys were all dead, pretty certain I was going nuts with the Flare, because no one gave us the Immune talk yet, not until after they finally pulled me back out. Then we got the list of the few who weren't Immune, and WICKED wanted to give us our memories back so we could help them finish the cure. You were on that list, Newt. [ A pause, with a haunted look in his eyes, before he blinks rapidly, and continues on, redness rimming his eyes and his skin starting to get the splotchy, emotional color to it. ] Everyone took the offer to get their memories back, but you, me and Minho. We were the only ones each other could trust, and I did then, and I do now, but...
[ Then it got complicated, with that note. Because they couldn't tell Minho. He wouldn't allow it, not in the least, and as much as Thomas is disgusted with himself for being that person, he's the one Newt trusted to carry it out. And god, he wishes he hadn't. If he could've just gotten him here, he'd have been fine. Even if he could never leave. But carrying on with it, Thomas digs his hand into a pocket, fingertips tracing around the folded edges of the same note (because he still carries it with, every hour of every day), and carefully pulls it out. Just holding it up, not opening it yet. ]
When we were escaping the compound, and saw you starting to get symptoms, you gave me this. Told me not to read it until the time was right. Well I didn't know when the shuck time was supposed to be right, so when you ran off to a Crank Palace without us, and me and Minho went to get you back, you screamed at us to leave you alone and just let you die. You pointed a Launcher at Minho. [ Thomas pulls in a shaky breath, and the first of tears that'd been welling up in his eyes slips free, Thomas quickly jerking up a hand to wipe it away. Not now, god, not shucking now. ] A bunch of other klunk that doesn't matter anymore happened, I... read it. And I ran into you again, later.
[ Carefully, with a tremor in his hands, Thomas holds the note out to Newt. He can't read it out loud, and he won't be able to look at it without breaking down right now. Not with Newt right here in front of him, and not with what he's about to know about what Thomas did. He immediately starts to try to explain, a disaster of a waterfall of words coming from him. ]
I-- [ Even the first word, he chokes on, tears now falling freely, and Thomas struggling to get ] Newt, I didn't want to, man, I tried so hard to get you to just come with me, I tried so damn hard. You were screaming and raving and-- [ His voice hitches, like something wrapped tight sealed off his throat, and it takes a moment of breathing, and glancing up to the sky, before he can continue. ]
You... tackled me. And put the gun to your head, and said... [ His voices cracks with an abrupt sob that punches it's way out through gritted teeth, Thomas bowing his head into his hands, fingers pushing up into hair and curling into fists. The words come out quiet, aching, nearly as soft as when Newt had said them. ] "Please, Tommy, Please."
[ If it isn't obvious what happened after that, it isn't going to be said, because Thomas can't push the words out of his mouth. He's barely able to rasp these out as it is, tears streaking his cheeks, eyes red, hair a mess from his hands gripping in it. ]
Your world is better than ours, Newt. You've still got hope.
I wanted to let you keep that.
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everything is so gay it hurts jgkldsag
this is fine
yep. super fine.
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