these-assholes

ok well anyway Sebastian Stan showed up to a con even though he was sick and talked about wanting to make people happy and gave away 3 free photo ops to people that couldn’t afford them and stood and did whatever pose anyone asked of him for 2 days in photo ops despite being ill bc he wanted the experience to be good for people like what a gift tbh

Title: some die young
Rating: General Audiences. 
Pairing: Newtmas. Technically Tommy’s in a relationship with Brenda but he’s talking about Newt so y’know.
For: @simbas-infinity You wanted me to write, so here you go. A big steaming serving of pain.
Notes: Unbetaed and rough. Gotta get back in the game, this is just a load of feels tbh. Set in Paradise. Thomas has a child with Brenda that wants to hear the story about two boys and the world she was spared of knowing.


He’s told the story more times than he can remember. Maybe the little girl in his lap can tell, instinctively, as it tends to be the way with small children, that somewhere in his story she will find key to why her father always seems so sad.

“Tell it again, Daddy,” she begs, her soft fingers in his shirt as though with urgency, as though the story will disappear if he does not tell it to her straight away. As though the story isn’t edged inside his brain, every excruciating moment.

“Once upon a time, long before this, there was a boy. One day he woke up, found himself where he knew no one and nothing, only his own name. He was scared and confused, he couldn’t make sense of anything,” as always, when he tells the story, he feels himself drifting off into the land of memories, the pain fresh and sharp as ever, but the words feeling strange on his lips, as though he’s wording another person’s memories. “There was two people that helped him through, that showed him kindness from the very first day. Chuck and Newt,” the words still sting on his lips, and it’s only for the sake of that little, amber-eyed wonder, that he prevents his throat from closing up.

Her eyes are locked fast on his face, and it’s been a long time since he tried hiding the way his eyes grow misty from her. She needs to know that it’s okay. That if you love someone and they’re taken away, it’s okay to be sad.

The story has its tweaks, of course. He could never bear to tell her of the Grievers, of the stinging, but he makes his way through, slowly, the burning in his eyes and his throat a punishment he will never stop inflicting on himself. 

I should have saved them.

The mantra of this miserable life that has ironically been dubbed Paradise. Thomas has a family. He has Brenda, he has Teresa, his last nod to his best friend and first love, the tiny child that looks at him as though he’s a hero, and not just a guy that huddled through everything on the backs of the people he should have protected, the people whose deaths will always weigh on his shoulders.

“He would always lend a hand, Newt, pick the boy up when his legs wouldn’t work, comfort him when he felt bad, tell him to stay courageous when all the boy wanted to do was give up. He was the boy’s light, his strength,” for a second he buries his face in the little girl’s hair, inhales and steadies himself. “Then they found out Newt was sick,” 

She makes a wounded noise, as though she’d known Newt herself, and Thomas wants to mimic it. She always makes the noise, and Thomas always thinks to himself that she would have loved Newt. Of course that would be an entirely different world. He tightens his grip around his daughter and swallows thickly around the lump in his throat.

“They did what they could. They spent weeks trying to find a solution, a way to save him,” he says, words rushing over his lips, because that’s the only thing he has left to hold onto. 

I tried. I tried. I tried. I failed. I know I failed, but I tried, Newt, I did what I could to save you. I would’ve dragged you here, Crank or not, if you’d let me. 

“And in the end Newt got too sick. He didn’t want to keep going. He asked the boy to help him out of his misery even if it meant he’d never see his friends again. The boy didn’t want to leave him, but in the end he had to for Newt’s own sake even though it broke his heart.” 

A soft hand pats his hand. “It’s okay, dad, maybe he found Newt again someday.” 

Thomas forces a smile. “Yes. Maybe he did.” 

“Or maybe he will.”

“Yes. Perhaps.”

Seconds stretch into a minute with the two of them silent, Teresa in deep thought, Thomas caught up in his own desperate emotions. “Daddy?”

He blinks and meets eyes that are so alike his own. “Yes, angel?”

She purses her lips, thoughtfully, furrowing her brows and cocking her head, just like her mother. “Daddy? They were in love, weren’t they? Newt and the boy?”

And it’s like something breaks inside him. She’s never asked him this before, this tiny miracle, his reason to keep going, and for a second he just holds her tight, his face once again burrowed in her hair.

“Yeah. Yeah they were,” he murmurs, tears spilling hotly onto the dark hair.

“Why were they just friends?” the sense of wonder in her voice makes his heart ache even worse. 

A comforting hand finds his shoulder. Brenda. Her presence eternally comforting.

He clears his throat and slowly sits up. “It was too hard, I suppose. They didn’t see clearly. They didn’t know what was important until it was too late. Maybe if the world had been different,”

Brenda slowly takes the girl from his arms, easily sensing he needs his space, needs time to delve into his emotions without having to hold himself together. “Time for bed, baby,” she declares, and Teresa waves at her father, a soft smile on her face and reaches over to pat his cheek, “Don’t cry, Daddy. I still think the boy found Newt.”

If Morpheus really is the Rumbaby . . .

then I’m going to abandon canon and pretend that the real Rumbaby will show up and deck Morpheus and tell him to stay the fuck away from his/her parents.