[ Once the second bolt nearly turns Thomas into a big slab of bacon, the hand against Newt's chest activates his ability, gradually urging his body to produce more serotonin, pumping the calming chemical through him in a high dose to combat the adrenaline and bring Newt down from his panic. At least to the point Thomas isn't about to die by hanging out in the room with him, would be nice. He won't use the ability on him for anything any less than life or death. It's clear through the mental link that he's doing it as well, so it isn't as if it's a surprise, and the moment Newt flops back to the mattress and stops trying to break his wrist, Thomas eases off it.

Letting out a slow sigh, his hand squeezes at Newt's shoulder, relaxing, but he doesn't move from where he's sitting on the edge of the bed. ]

Yeah. No problem. [ He huffs a wry laugh, dry as he typically tends to be. ] Thanks for not frying me.

[ Truly, it's nothing he feels like he should have gratitude for - Newt's his best friend, of course he'd run towards him rather than away if something crazy was going down. He has, despite being told not to. Because he's stubborn like that, but that line of thought he steers from quickly - their memories are different, and Newt doesn't need all that's in Thomas's head inside his too. Not that, anyway. ] I still have nightmares about it too, you know. The Scorch. The storms. The shuck Underground. Don't think those'll ever go away.