Work Text:
tick tick tick tick
newt was sleeping. he was laying horizontally with his eyes closed, breathing softly. that's what sleeping was. he knew that. he was smart. but for some reason he didn't feel like he was asleep. why didn't he feel like he was asleep? he was doing what you did when you wanted to sleep. he wanted to sleep. he really did. it's not like there was anything to be doing. and sleeping was good for this thing inside of him. this sickness. the virus. the flare. whatever you wanted to call it.
he was getting nowhere. he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
suddenly his eyes twitched. the pressure of his eyes against his eyelids was itchy. it'd be really nice to just reach his fingers into his eye sockets and rip them out. the wet feeling of the eyes and blood. the vison of darkness. he could crush them into his palm. feel the goop ooze between his fingers. his body would be nice and cool. no pressure pushing into his face. maybe then he could sleep. then he could just be content.
he snapped out of it. his hands had made their way to his cheeks, slowly creeping towards his eyes. he pulled them away in shock. what the fuck was that. it was like he'd spaced out but he could remember everything. was this the flare's doing? or was he fucked up?
tick tick tick tick
he stood up. maybe staying still for too long was actually making it worse, allowing him time to think, use his brain. walking to the front of the berg, he caught a glimpse of himself in the window. he stopped and fully faced it. wow. he looked fucking awful. his hair was stuck against his sweaty forehead. when had he started sweating? now that he thought about it, it was really hot in here. when had it got so hot? he was fine a little while ago. he made quick work of pulling off his sweater. haphazardly throwing it somewhere. his hands went to the edge of his shirt and pulled it halfway up before he paused, looking up to the window. his stomach was gross. too skinny. small cuts and bruises and scars from fights in the scorch and in the glade. he pulled his shirt back down, shivering. why was it cold now? he looked around in a frenzied state, searching for his sweater that had been discarded. he grabbed it and pulled it back on as he walked over to the couch again and pulled all the blankets around him. it was like there was nothing there.
the coldness was coming from inside him. he needed to get it out. his hands flew to his thighs, scratching, pulling, picking, trying to get whatever it was out of him. he moved to his arms, his chest, his stomach, his neck, everywhere, just trying to pull whatever it was out. he didn't even feel cold anymore, but there was something inside of him. he needed it out. now.
tick tick tick tick
where the hell was that ticking sound coming from? there was no clock here last time he checked. he bolted up, forgetting about whatever he was doing before. it didn't matter. he needed to find the ticking sound. he needed to find the ticking sound. he needed to find the ticking sound. he needed to find the ticking sound.
tick tick tick tick
he pulled up all the couch cushions. nothing. under the couch? no. he raced to the front of the ship and looked under all the seats. the sound stayed the same. where was it? where was it? where was it? where was it?
tick tick tick tick
as he raced back to the living area he spotted himself in he window again. no. no. no. no. he punched the window. looking at himself was unbearable. he looked awful, eyes wide and manic. skin scratched and bloody. his hair even worse than before. the short blonde hair was now stained with red at the base from where he pulled and picked and scratched. the glass tore his skin as he pulled his hand from the now shattered window. newt stared at the cuts. one of the ones on his knuckles was deep enough to see his bone. he pressed his finger to it. he knew that should've hurt, but instead it felt nice. he pulled the cut open a bit, letting the blood flow out. yes. yes. yes. yes. it was like a pressure was being taken from his body. he pulled lightly at the other cuts along his hands and arms.
tick tick tick tick
he spotted a small pocket watch on the coffee table. there! he grabbed it.
tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick
tick tick tick tick
the door to the berg suddenly opened. he hid. he say black, steel-toed boots walk in. they were talking. something about hearing something shatter? oh fuck. he must've made a loud noise when he punched the window. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.
tick tick tick tick
suddenly a hand grabbed him by the back of his sweater and pulled him up to a standing position. the man was talking to him. he couldn't hear the man. he was talking so why couldn't newt hear him? he briefly made out the words "kid" "maybe 18" "think" and "immune". oh. did they think he was immune? he looked down at himself. he looked like a god damn mess. someone immune probably wouldn't do something like this when left alone. then they put a weird thing to his face. air puffed his eyes and wires pricked his neck. he stumbled back as his vision turned white. why did they shoot air into his eyes? his vision cleared and he felt hands on him. they were talking again. something about a palace? they pulled him forward.
wait he needed to tell his friends what was happening. right. that's what was happening. he was going insane. these men were trying to protect other people. he needed to be locked up before he hurt someone. suddenly his mind cleared. like he had been processed a few minutes prior. he could hear everything and his skin was burning from the cuts and scratches.
"wait." he winced at how bad his voice sounded. "can i leave a note for my friends? they'll come back looking for me."
the guards looked as shocked as he was by his sudden clarity but allowed him a moment to write down a letter to the others. maybe if they came for him then thomas would kill him like he asked. god he hoped they wouldn't come for him though. he didn't need them seeing him like this. especially minho. newt had hurt him enough. seeing him turn into a crank? that'd break him. and what if newt tried to hurt him? what if minho tried to stay behind. he couldn't let them see him. thomas should've kill him before he left him on the berg. now he could live out his days with a bunch of other crazies.
tick tick tick tick
he put the note on the couch with the pocket watch and followed the guards out. he hoped minho'd find the pocket watch and carry it with him. then he'd remember newt as a normal person. not a crank. because he was going to do everything he could so make sure they wouldn't see him until he was dead and had no say in it. he wished that thomas would understand and not try to be the hero. he wouldn't himself hurt them. the ticking stopped as he walked off the ship.
the next time he heard it was in a bowling ally in the crank place. and he knew that his wishes had been denied.