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The sun hung low over the Safe Haven, casting golden light across the fields and worn buildings that had become home for the Gladers. The salty breeze off the ocean carried a sense of peace they hadn't felt in… ever. After all they’d been through—the Maze, WCKD, the scorch, the deaths—this should have been the moment they could breathe.
But Thomas wasn’t breathing.
Not really.
Not with the weight he carried.
He stood near the edge of the old dock that stretched into the sea, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching the others down on the sand. Frypan was grilling something, Minho and Brenda were racing across the beach, and Newt—his Newt—was laughing with Teresa and Jorge as he handed out glasses of water and made sure everyone had sunblock. Because of course he was.
They had a pack now. Not just a thrown-together group of survivors, but a real, functioning pack. And as far as everyone was concerned, Thomas was their alpha.
Their fearless leader.
Their authority.
Their protector.
And Newt? Their omega mom.
Kind, thoughtful, mothering Newt.
The irony was rich enough to choke on.
A soft hand settled against the small of his back. Thomas didn’t have to turn.
“You’re standing like you’re about to run back into a war zone,” Newt murmured beside him.
“I might prefer that,” Thomas said, forcing a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Over telling everyone that their ‘alpha’ is knocked up.”
Newt laughed softly. “You make it sound so scandalous.”
“I’m pregnant, Newt.”
“I know, love. I was there.”
Thomas huffed. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I know,” Newt said again, his voice patient and low and alpha, in a way only Thomas had ever heard. “But we’ve put this off long enough. You’re starting to show.”
Thomas glanced down. Beneath his loose sweatshirt, the bump had started to round, and lately, his back ached like hell. His scent had shifted too—less dominant, more mellow, laced with the faintest tinge of nesting instinct. He was sure Minho had noticed. Frypan had sniffed him twice this morning and looked like he was calculating equations in his head.
They weren’t dumb.
Just... willfully blind to the reality.
Because the roles Thomas and Newt had stepped into felt right to the others.
When someone got hurt? They went to Newt.
When someone needed to make a decision? They looked to Thomas.
Every time Minho wanted to go out scouting the edge of the mountains, he asked Thomas for permission.
Every time someone had a nightmare, they curled into Newt’s side.
It had been like that since the Glade.
Newt had been the one keeping track of rations and comforting the boys who woke up sobbing after the Box brought them.
Minho had been the first to start calling Thomas "Boss Man." Everyone else followed.
Even now, Frypan trotted up the beach toward them and addressed Thomas, not Newt, first.
“We’ve got a problem,” Frypan said, panting. “Jorge and Brenda want to expand the storage shed, but it’s gonna mean tearing down part of the fence. Just for a few hours, but…”
Thomas nodded. “No. That part of the fence faces the cliffside, right? Wind’s too strong. Too risky.”
Frypan exhaled. “Got it. I’ll tell them.”
He turned, then hesitated. “Also, uh... are you feeling okay, Thomas? You smell... different.”
Thomas’s spine stiffened, but he didn’t flinch. “I’m fine.”
Newt stepped in smoothly, rubbing a hand across Thomas’s back. “Just tired. He’s been doing too much lately.”
Frypan nodded like that explained everything. “Right. I’ll send up some of the stew when it’s done.”
And just like that, he left, utterly unaware of the powder keg he’d just walked through.
It got harder every day.
Thomas's body wasn’t hiding anything anymore. The bump was visible, no matter how loose his shirts were, and his scent—subtle, sure, but unmistakably omega—was starting to reach the others.
The whispers had started.
Confused glances.
Minho cornered him two days later.
“Okay, what the hell is going on with you, dude?”
Thomas arched an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
“You smell like—” Minho paused, grimaced, and glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Like an omega. You’ve been eating like five times a day. You’re snapping at people like a hormonal bear.”
Thomas stared at him.
Minho’s jaw dropped. “Holy shuck. Are you pregnant?!”
Before Thomas could answer, Minho grabbed his wrist and dragged him straight into the main hut, where Newt was folding blankets.
“What is this?” Minho demanded, pointing at Thomas. “Did you know?!”
Newt didn’t look up. “Yes.”
“So it’s true?!”
“Yes.”
“Okay, wait—what? Thomas is an omega? That means... that means you’re the alpha?!”
Newt finally glanced up. “Correct.”
Minho stood there, mouth agape. “No. No. No, that’s not possible. That’s not possible. Thomas is the alpha. He has to be.”
Newt chuckled. “Why?”
“Because everyone listens to him!”
Thomas sat heavily on the edge of the cot. “And no one listens to Newt?”
“Of course we do,” Minho said defensively. “But you’re—like” Minho turns to Newt, “you comfort people. You make tea when someone cries. You cuddle like a pro.”
“And that makes me an omega?” Newt asked, cocking his head.
Minho looked helplessly between them. “I—I don’t know, I guess?”
Newt gave an exaggerated gasp. “You mean I don’t look like an alpha, Minho? I’m wounded.”
Thomas rubbed his face. “We knew this would happen.”
Newt smiled gently and reached out, brushing a hand over Thomas’s belly. “We did.”
Minho stared at the motion like he’d been hit with a rock. “I still cannot get over the fact that Thomas is pregnant. Thomas. Our alpha.”
Minho sat down hard on the floor. “This is... this is a lot.”
Newt crouched beside him. “Does it change anything, Minho?”
Minho looked up. “You’re still Newt, still comforting.”
“And Thomas?”
Minho looked over at him.
He stared for a long second. “Still our alpha.”
Thomas exhaled.
Newt leaned over, pressing a kiss to Thomas’s temple. “Told you.”
It was chaos.
They told everyone that evening—calmly, in the common room, with Newt standing behind Thomas and Thomas sitting in his usual spot near the fire.
Minho had already warned a few others, but there were still gasps and confused stares.
Brenda straight-up laughed.
“Wait—seriously? You’re the omega?” she asked, pointing at Thomas like she didn’t believe it.
“Thanks,” Thomas said dryly.
“No, I mean—it makes sense now. You’ve been acting like a textbook pregnant omega for weeks. But we all thought Newt—” she turned to Newt and gestured vaguely. “You’re so omega-like!”
Newt smiled pleasantly. “Thank you.”
Frypan was more distressed. “I don’t—how did we all miss this?”
Teresa blinked like she was rebooting. “Your scent... it’s changed.”
“It’s the pregnancy,” Thomas admitted.
“You’re... how far along?” Jorge asked.
“Four months,” Newt said.
Everyone gawked.
“You hid that?!” Gally blurted.
“You all made it very easy,” Thomas muttered.
They descended into arguments then. How could they not have noticed? Why did it matter? Did it change anything? Who was going to help with the birth? Who had baby clothes?
Through it all, Newt stood behind Thomas like a silent shield.
Eventually, Thomas stood up and said in the sharpest voice he could manage, “I’m still your alpha. That hasn’t changed.”
Everyone shut up.
“Newt is my mate. I’m his omega. This is our pup. If any of you think that disqualifies me from leading, say so now.”
No one did.
“Didn’t think so.”
They adjusted, as all packs do.
The weirdness faded.
The pack didn’t stop going to Thomas to make the decisions.
They didn’t stop going to Newt when they needed comfort.
Gally once tried calling Thomas “Omega” during a meeting. He was pelted with two apples and a spoon.
Thomas kept leading.
Newt kept mothering.
The dynamic that had always worked didn’t stop working just because labels had been switched.
Eventually, they moved on.
Minho started teasing Thomas again.
Frypan began cooking extra for “the pup.”
Even Brenda and Teresa softened, offering to help with the nursery.
And on warm evenings, with the sea breeze rolling in and the sound of laughter filling the air, Thomas would rest his hand on the swell of his belly and watch his pack.
Their pack.
He might be an omega.
Newt might be an alpha.
But they had always known what they were to each other.
They didn’t need anyone else to understand it.
Though, it was nice—now that they finally did.