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There are days when it hurts too much to get out of bed. Which sucks, because Newt has never been the type to sit back and let other people do the work. He wants to help, to do something, but on bad days it’s all he can do not to curl up in bed and cry.
The other boys never talk about it too much. They know how much Newt hates feeling useless, hates feeling like he’s a burden to his friends. They never complain when Newt lies in bed late into the morning, massaging his leg when they aren’t looking and trying to hide the tear streaks on his face.
Minho can always tell when it’s going to be a Bad Day. He’s sensitive to that sort of thing, under all his sass and bravado. On Bad Days Minho is the one to silently signal to the others not to bug Newt, which he appreciates. Newt knows the others don’t think he’s a burden, but it still feels awful having to admit that he can’t contribute to society because of something stupid he did years ago. Minho takes that responsibility away from him, with a subtle shake of his head when Thomas goes to wake Newt up, or a firm glare when Vince comes in to assign chores for the day. (He doesn’t have to glare, of course. Vince understands. But Minho is protective of his friends to a fault.) It’s a little thing, but Newt appreciates it.
On Bad Days Frypan will bring him breakfast, without a word about how Newt couldn’t go and get it himself. He’ll load up an extra plate with all of Newt’s favorites, which he knows due to having been the one to keep Newt fed for so long. The Gladers will all come back to their cabin to eat, sitting in a semicircle on the floor making sure Newt’s not alone. Frypan will sit next to Newt on the bed, pass him his plate, and make sure he eats enough. It would be a little overbearing if that wasn’t something Frypan did every day, with every body. He’ll call Minho out for taking too much bacon. He’ll criticize the toppings Thomas puts on his pancakes. He won’t let Gally get away with eating four biscuits and nothing else. It’s just how Frypan is, and the fact that he treats Newt no differently on Bad Days is almost comforting, if not a little annoying. (Newt can eat as many goddamn peaches as he wants, damn it. It’s fruit. It’s good for you.)
On Bad Days, Gally is the one that brings him stuff to do. Books, clothes to mend, a bowl of peas to take out of their pods. Sometimes he’ll plop down on the bed and talk about a project that’s frustrating him, and bounce ideas off Newt to fix it. It’s Newt and Gally that solve the issue with the brand new water pump, Newt and Gally who figure how to seal the roofs better for storms. They work well together, despite their complicated pasts, and it gives Newt a sense of accomplishment he sometimes doesn’t even get on good days. It lets him feel helpful, important, despite his inability to walk five feet without feeling like sitting down and crying. Gally gets it. After all, Gally has Bad Days, too. (Days when he coughs and coughs and can’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tries, days when he has to sit down and take breaks from his chores because the pain in his chest is insistent and loud.) Gally understands Newt’s need to feel useful, and finds ways to let him help without hurting himself. It keeps Newt from spiraling, keeps the pain in his leg from creeping into his thoughts and condemning him as useless and depressed.
On Bad Days, Thomas is the one that tries to help to ease the pain. He’ll heat up hot water bottles and come up with excuses to drop by the cabin. The excuses are always pathetic, but at least that adds some amusement to Bad Days. (Once Thomas claimed he thought he saw a raccoon run into the cabin. Newt isn’t even sure if raccoons live on the island, and if they did, Thomas still had no explanation for how the raccoon would have opened the door.) Thomas is the one that will just happen to have gone by the med tent and just happened to have picked up some painkillers. He’s the one that will casually mention that he doesn’t need his pillow right now, if someone would like to prop up their leg with it. He’s not subtle, though Newt suspects he’s trying to be. Not that he minds. That’s just Tommy. Good fighter, great leader, absolute shit at subtlety. (No one can be good at everything. It’s only fair.) Though not all his attempts to help are hidden. When Newt is alone on Bad Days, Thomas will sit with him and ask quietly if he needs anything. Thomas has even dropped by the med tent enough times to have learned exactly which of Newt’s muscles to press to help ease the tension in his leg, talking to him the whole time as if nothing were going on, telling stories about their dumb shank friends doing dumb shank things and being dumb shanks. Newt’s leg always feels somewhat better afterwards, and Tommy always manages to make him laugh. Their friends are dumb shanks, after all. It’s hard not to laugh at them.
Everyone does little things. Brenda will join the Gladers for breakfast in the cabin on Bad Days. Sonya and Harriet burst in with some story that urgently needs to be told. Jorge will just happen to be in the mood for a complicated philosophical discussion. Even Vince never fails to come up with some reason to visit Newt, always claiming that the weather is terrible and Newt wouldn’t want to be outside anyway.
They’re little things, Newt knows, but they’re big at the same time. They’re proof that the people he cares about care about him, too. And with his family always there to lift him up, Newt thinks, maybe Bad Days aren’t so bad after all.