Chapter Text
Newt quietly opened the door to the maintenance room, as indicated on the map given to him by the chancellor. It was quiet dark and dusty, and smelled of mildew.
He carefully found his way to the back of the room, where the FlatTrans would be. He spotted it, like a door frame without a door. Next to the FlatTrans was a small orange backpack with a sticky-note stuck to the front.
It said: "I hope these supplies meet the needs for your short time alone in the Safe haven.”
He grabbed the back pack and slung his arms through the straps without looking at the contents, too eager to leave.
Not knowing quite well how to use the machine, he reluctantly took a step through it, starting with one foot and following it with the other.
He suddenly emerged into a dark wooden shed. In front of him was a door, and he pushed it open with a hand, surprised at how light it felt. The door swung open, revealing a breathtaking sight before him.
A field of green grass and wildflowers, a hill, and further, the ocean.
He stepped out of the shed, a cool breeze immediately brushing across his face. Newt took a deep breath, filling his lungs with pure, fresh air. It made goosebumps rise on his arms.
Newt laughed dryly.
This was... was this a dream? Was this one of those hallucinations that doctor told him he'd experience? Probably.
With all the crap that Newt had gone through in his life, he wouldn't be surprised. It would just be the bloody icing on the cake. Either way, he didn't care. He didn't care at all. But if this was a dream, he wanted to sleep forever.
He laughed again, this time as loud as he could, and with his whole chest.
°°°
Thomas sat with Brenda on the edge of a cliff, looking out over at the ocean. The sound of waves crashing in the distance filled the air.
They sat in silence.
Thomas was still thinking about everything that had happened over the past few months. All the pain he had endured, all the friends he had lost. He thought of Teresa. And Chuck, and Alby. And Newt. He thought of Newt, especially.
How the boy had tried so hard to defeat WICKED, only to die at the hands of his own best friend. The scene was fresh in Thomas’ mind. He would never forget that dreadful day. Never.
But he was grateful for the friends he still had. Without them, Thomas would have died long ago.
Suddenly, a voice broke him out of his thoughts. It was Minho.
“Thomas! Hey!” Minho approached him and Brenda. “What is it Minho?” Thomas asked.
Minho was bent over, hands on his knees, panting from running. He looked exhausted from being out in the forest all day, gathering food and supplies.
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, still trying to catch his breath. Even though he looked tired, there was a small smile on his face, a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that sent a strange feeling through Thomas.
“It’s…. You should just come look,” he said, motioning for Thomas to follow.
Thomas quickly got up, brushing off his pants.
“You coming?” he asked Brenda, who still sat in her spot. She shook her head, a smile on her face.
“You go. I’ll find you later.”
Thomas nodded and followed Minho. Why was everyone acting strange suddenly? He was beginning to feel a bit nervous, an itchy kind of sweat breaking out on his neck and shoulders.
Minho led him down the rocky cliff.
“Can’t you just tell me?” Thomas asked impatiently.
"Just shut it and follow me, ya shank.”
Minho’s response could have been an insult, but his tone was so full of happiness that Thomas did as he was told. He was becoming so curious now, he wanted to scream.
After a couple minutes of walking, they approached the forest that they had decided to call home.
People bustled about, starting small campfires and chatting.
He spotted Gally close by, instructing a group of teenagers on how to build shelter with the wood they had gathered. To Thomas, Gally would always be the Keeper of the Builders, Glade or no Glade.
He focused his attention back on where Minho was leading him.
“Just a little further,” Minho said.
Thomas was suddenly taken back to that first day that him and Minho ran the Maze together. Back then he had been completely oblivious to the horrors that they would face later on.
Thomas shook his head, brushing the thought away.
As they went deeper into the forest, they approached a small area in between two trees that looked like someone had been exploring and sat down to take a brake there.
A small pack sat against one of the trees, some of it’s contents spread on the floor.
Thomas looked at Minho, confused.
“What’s this?”
Minho put his hand on Thomas' shoulder, his expression soft. He motioned with his head to a spot behind Thomas.
Thomas suddenly heard leaves rustling and turned around to see Newt standing there, a smile on his face.
Thomas's stomach jumped to his throat. His heart raced. Is this real? He thought.
But that grin on Newt's face sent a wave of reassurance through Thomas, as if he were finding out the whole world was okay again.
Newt looked a little disheveled, his hair being held in funny positions due to a bandage wrapped around his head, but he looked happy. And alive.
Thomas couldn't believe his eyes. This couldn't be real. He couldn't be.
“N…Newt?” Thomas breathed.
“Hey there, Tommy,” Newt replied softly.
“I’ll leave you guys to talk,” Minho said quietly, a wide smile on his face as he turned and walked back.
Thomas was at a loss for words. He walked closer.
“Are… are you real?” He asked, reaching out to touch Newt’s arm.
Newt nodded and continued to smile softly, eyes brimming with tears.
“Of course I’m real,” Newt whispered back. Thomas suddenly let out a laugh and threw his body toward Newt, pulling him into a fierce hug.
“How… how are you alive? I thought….” His words were cut off, his throat constricting with a sob that escaped his lips. Newt squeezed him back, his own tears falling onto Thomas’ shirt.
They stood like that for a long time, neither of them saying a word.
They eventually pulled away, both wiping away the tears, though more quickly came in place of the others.
“It’s good to see you buddy,” Newt said, voice cracking.
“How… are you alive?” Thomas asked again when he could catch his breath. He was utterly shocked. He could barely think straight.
Newt shook his head.
“WICKED found me after… you know. Then they took me in a berg to WICKED's headquarters. Apparently, they said the bullet didn't reach my brain, which explains why I’m still alive. The chancellor left me a note saying that I’ve developed an immunity to the Flare, and that the disease I had was only a version of it that WICKED themselves had curated to use for a Variable. She told me to come here, through that Flat Trans, and to wait for you. They gave it to me, Tommy. They gave me that sickness. It was all a trick. From the very beginning. Just another test to measure our brain functions, to see what our reactions would be. Just one last Variable.”
Newt fell silent. They both stared at each other.
Did WICKED really lie to them about all that too? If Newt had developed an immunity, did that mean that others could as well? Was Newt the cure somehow? Thomas’ mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and scenarios.
This could really be something big. Then he remembered his pledge earlier to let the rest of the world deal with it's problems.
“Thomas, are you okay? You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Newt asked, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts.
“Oh, sorry man, I just… I can’t believe it. You were…” he couldn’t finish.
He suddenly felt all the guilt crash down on him like a bucket of icy water. Here Newt was, finally out of harm’s way, and Thomas was thinking about the cure.
“So, are you in any pain? Your head kinda seems bad,” Thomas said, motioning to the bandage around Newt's head.
“Ah no, not really. The WICKED doctor that I spoke to said that I would be weak for a little while, but not for too long. It more just tingles at times,” Newt answered.
Thomas just hummed, eyes downcast. It was quiet for a moment before Newt spoke again.
“Hey, Tommy. How about we go and get some food, yeah? I’m really craving some of Frypan’s stew right about now,” he said, softly resting his hand on Thomas’ shoulder.
He could tell that Thomas was feeling guilty, he could see it in his eyes.
“Good that,” Thomas replied, smiling and sliding his arm around Newt’s shoulder.
They walked toward the area where hundreds of people sat talking and laughing. Everyone looked so happy and content, and Newt had a sudden and foreign feeling of peace.
So this was their life now. Newt still couldn't believe it. It was so unreal.
But then again, Newt thought, what in his life had ever felt real? A virus that turned people into zombies? An evil group that took over the world and killed innocent people? A big giant maze that contained kids and was surrounded by man-eating balls of slime that rolled around like giant boogers? Definitely not any of those things.
But a peaceful valley with wildflowers and butterflies and grass greener than green itself? It was the realest thing he'd ever experienced, yet he still didn't believe it.
He'd just have to get used to it.
It's not like he was complaining.
°°°
Through the years, the Gladers never took for granted the things they'd been given.
Of course, they were left with scars that would never heal, wounds that would never close, but they learned to live with them.
For Newt, his nightmares never truly went away. He was grateful though, for his friends who helped him get through them.
The nightmares lived on in his mind like a virus, and they got a little tedious after all those years.
But there were much worse viruses to catch.
°°°