Thomas Sangster/ Newt Imagines& GIFs

168. Of Nightmares and cramps || NEWT x READER

Fair warning: this is absolutely unbeta’d.

“You’re strong enough to live… I trust you…”

My voice was weak and cracked every now and then from the sobs I grained down. Tears threaded to blur my vision as I ran a shaky hand over Newt’s hair. Usually it was fluffy and soft – but now it was all sweaty and stick to Newt’s forehead which was wrinkled by jolts of pain as Clint moved his ankle back to its place. I was grateful for it since the way a part of Newt looked that twisted and shucked made me wanna throw up. Newt, on the other hand, gone off the hooks – he had stopped screaming ‘let me die’ like he did when Alby dragged him back to the Glade but he wouldn’t stop mumbling it. It was almost like he was in some kind of trans – Clint said it may be because of the shock his body couldn’t take.

I was a Med-Jack. I had to be strong for those in need.

But as I watched that sweet boy twist in pain and cry violently and miserably nearly sent me over the edge of failing.

“ I wanna bloody die… Please, just let me… Let –ah!” Newt shrieked as Clint squeezed his lower leg.

“I think his bone is broken,” Clint murmured, drops of sweat oozing on his eyebrow, a frown of concentration on his face. He pressed again and Newt cried out loudly. “Yeah, it surely is… It’s disangled. I have to pop it back. (Y/N), take his arms and push him back! Jeff, help her!”

New-coming blow of energy spread through Newt’s body as Jeff stepped next to me and we tried to force him back to the bed.

“No! Let go of me! I wanna die, let me! Let me! LET ME!”

A sudden push woke me up and a silently muttered ‘bloody hell’. I turned around in the bed and under the covers to find Newt sitting up next to me, his arms touching something around his leg.

After his attempted suicide Newt had to stay at the Med-Jacks’ for around a month until he got well enough to walk by himself. I was the one watching over him through his recovering – despite me being the only girl there it was less awkward for me to help him dress and shower than it’d have been for a boy. For the first few days he refused to talk and just looked at the ceiling, not bothering to answer whether it was Nick, Alby, Minho or Frypan asking him how he felt.

I didn’t give up that easily however and every single time I’ve gone to him to change the sheets of get him food or just check on him I talked about everything and anything – the topic went from ‘one of the cows bit Winston on the butt’ all the way to ‘maybe I should chop my hair’.

On the second week he said he’s sorry. That he was being stupid. And how he would do the same again only climb higher to actually succeed – and I slapped him on the face, shouting things like ‘we’re all hating this place’, ‘what were you thinking’, ‘people love and need you’, basically all the things that have boiled up inside me through the mute days. It was drastic and a bit rude but it worked – Newt got himself together and, well, we got together.

Now, just wakened from that horrible hell of a memory-dream, fear rushed through my veins as I watched Newt inhaling through gritted teeth sharply.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, and pushed my torso up, leaning on my elbow.

Newt, who had just noticed I wasn’t sleeping, looked at me like a child caught in the act of stealing cookies. “Nothing, love. I’m fine, just – ah! – go back to aaah-to sleep!”

“You’re in pain!” It wasn’t a question, it was a strict statement as I kicked off the covers from both me and Newt and glanced at where his hand was – it was squeezing his lower leg, the exact same spot where his calf was needled by a thick bristle from the ivy.

“No, it’s nothin’, really. Ya just-“, he couldn’t finish his sentence because, I guess, he moved his leg too suddenly and it only made the aching worse.

“Newt, it’s probably a muscle cramp. Here, let me help you.” I moved closer and he finally didn’t try to resist just watched as I laid my palm against his skin. “Where does it hurt the most?”

“There.” He took my hand and put it on the right side of his calf.

I grabbed the muscle above and below the cramp which was factually sensible and started massaging it. I recalled everything what I’ve read in one of Clint’s medical books – pushing hands together, shortening and compressing the muscle and hold that way until the cramp goes away. It was usually fast, the remaining massaging was in order to make the pain and ache disappear.

After a few seconds I heard Newt letting out a big puff of air he’d kept in while in ache all over.

“Can you move it now?”

He slowly raised his leg and moved his ankle in a lazy circle. “Yes. Thanks.”

I, of course, didn’t see him in the dark of the night but I assumed he wasn’t feeling very comfortable about the situation – though the way he got his limp and all the cramps and pain he suffered on a daily round was also the reason we had time to get to know each other and eventually fall in love he didn’t like how he got reminded of his depression by his own body. And his hatred toward it rose exponentially with me seeing it.

I rolled over to the side of the bed and picked up a bottle of water I always kept beside in case I’d wake up in the middle of the night and wouldn’t want to go all the way to the kitchen to take care of my sore throat.  I gave the bottle to Newt who raised an eyebrow at me.

“Drink it. The cramp could’ve been caused by dehydration. The best to drink would be a cup of pickle juice, but…”

“The water will be just lovin’ fine.”

I laughed at his fast answer and watched him drink all the water in huge gulps, pouring a few drops on the undershirt he wore for bed. He tossed the empty bottle to the corner and dropped back to the mattress, pulling me with him. Newt pressed a sweet peck on my lips as I tucked him in carefully – he always said I’m too ‘bloody hang up’ on him kicking the sheets off of him during sleep and saying he wouldn’t get sick even if he tried to but I usually silenced him with a wave of my hand and a firm ‘I am the Med-Jack here’.

I snuggled up snuggled up close to him, nuzzling my nose into his chest. He smelled like soap and musk; the scent of his very own skin was the best if you ask me. Newt hugged me so close to his body I was nearly flat against him and I couldn’t help but giggle – the way he blew away some mop of my hair because they tickled his nose was simply adorable.

Eventually, we were both lying on our sides, my fists curled into balls and resting against Newt’s chest. One of Newt’s hands was under my head as a pillow and the other on my waist, his long fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin. A shiver of pleasure ran through my spine but I knew we were too tired for a heavier make-out session. My eyelids felt like lead already.

“I love you,” he whispered in the silence of the night, voice hoarse and sleepy.

“Yeah, love you too,” I muttered before falling asleep. Somehow, despite my memories from earlier, I sank into the fields of dreams without hesitating – with Newt warming me up I wasn’t afraid of nightmares.