Archive of Our Own

He’s on a train. It’s dark, but there are bright streamers of light pouring in through cracks in the wall. It’s suffocatingly hot, packed into this poorly-ventilated moving vehicle with about a hundred other people. He can smell the anxiety and unease oozing out of their pores, stinking up the already-stifling air. A few people whisper in tense, aborted phrases to their neighbors, but mostly they are covered by an oppressive silence. A chain connects the handcuffs on his wrists to a metal bar running overhead, and it dangles in front of his face, swaying occasionally with the movement of the train.

Suddenly they all jerk forward, carried by momentum as the train stops unexpectedly - now there’s more noise, people asking each other what’s going on, why have they stopped, is this supposed to happen? Moments later, a banging on the side of the traincar and a muffled yelling, and he could swear he hears... his own name, shouted by someone on the outside?

A memory stirs. He knows that voice, knows the person it belongs to - and he screams his answer with all his might, daring to allow the tiniest sliver of hope, maybe his friends have come back for him, maybe they haven’t forgotten him, maybe they haven’t abandoned him as lost - he screams, and he screams, and he screams until his throat is raw -

And now it’s night. He didn’t notice when the light left, but now the only lights are artificial, shone by guards in WCKD uniforms holding flashlights in his face while they scan the tag on the back of his neck. He’s forced to his knees in the dirt, next to all the other kids as they’re scanned one by one on their way out of the train car.

He looks up to see - him. That man. He hates him so much, if he got the chance he might actually kill him. Instead, helpless, he glares, trying to communicate all the acrimony and venom in his heart through his face alone. The man is sneering at him, saying something he can’t quite make out, but it’s not directed at him anyway. For a while he loses himself in a fantasy of charging him, breaking through the guards and tackling him, pummeling him in the face until he can’t make that stupid smirk anymore.

He blinks, and now he’s at a new facility - they’ve been moved around a lot recently, that one kid, Aris, had remarked on it, and his friend, what was her name? Sonya - she thought it meant there was something big coming, they had worried about it and Minho had tried to reassure them - now that he thought about it, when had he last seen them? Aris and Sonya? He can’t remember how long it’s been since he’s seen them, was it before or after the train? Did something happen to them? Maybe WCKD decided they were more useful dead than alive? People, or test subjects, just went missing sometimes. It was hard to keep track unless you knew them, and he avoided getting to know anyone because it was easier that way - everyone he cared about was on the outside, and with any luck they would stay that way. He didn’t want them to have to go through this.

He’s in some kind of lab - when did he get here? There are doctors and nurses all around, with syringes full of sinister-looking liquid. A current of dread runs through him, what are they going to do to him now, what are they planning, what - ?

He wakes up lying in the grass. He stands up, looks around to realize - somehow, impossibly, he’s back in the Glade. It looks just like they never left. All their buildings and structures are still standing, and there’s no sign of the Griever attack, but no one is here. He walks around, looking for any signs of life.

He sees movement through the trees - there are three figures, a long way off, by the name wall, but - is that… aren’t they… dead? They all died, right? But maybe they didn’t, maybe WCKD only made him think they did…?

He hears a noise, much closer than the distant figures, and turns in fear, but - it’s just a kid. And then his brain catches up with his eyes and he realizes - that kid is him. How is that possible? He doesn’t even remember being that young, much less what he looked like at that age, but somehow he’s absolutely positive - that child is him, that is his past self, and he feels like if he can just catch him, he can warn him about what’s coming, what he’ll have to do, what he’ll have to witness, and if he can warn him maybe he can change it, maybe his younger self can make better choices and stop it from happening. But baby Minho is too fast, he can’t catch him, he runs into the map room and Minho follows -

And he’s in yet another facility. He doesn’t remember getting here either, and baby Minho is nowhere to be seen, but it feels strangely familiar, like he’s been here before but he just can’t quite remember…?

Then a noise that he knows all too well, a noise that has haunted his nightmares, issues from the dark, yawning cavern at the end of the dimly-lit hallway, and he doesn’t have time to stop and question whether or not this is real because if he stops for a second it will catch him - he’s only seen them once, that time with Thomas, but he’s seen the results of what they do to people more times than he wants to count, and he can’t let it catch him, he can’t, but he doesn’t have a choice because suddenly he can’t move, so maybe this is a dream? Just a horrible nightmare and he’ll wake up and be safe? But it feels so real, even though he’s stuck fast like in a dream, he can see the Griever right in front of him with its dripping maw and stinking breath, he can feel its metallic claws digging into the concrete at his back, piercing it and grinding it to dust the same way it will pierce him and grind his bones to dust, he can hear its furious roar as it bellows inches away from his face and he screams in terror, again and again and again -

He’s lying on the bottom bed of a bunk bed. They’re similar to the bunk beds WCKD kept them in at the other facilities - but he doesn’t know anyone here; he hasn’t seen Aris or Sonya in what feels like days, or maybe it’s just hours - was the train journey this morning? Or last month? The blue light shining in narrow strips mounted on the walls is the only light in this place, they might as well be underground, there’s no way of knowing what time of day it is, how much time has passed.

A door opens and more guards are here, they’re taking him back to the lab, where - maybe the train wasn’t real? Didn’t he hear Thomas’s voice on the train? That wouldn’t have happened in real life, Thomas was long gone by now, even though he had promised Minho he wouldn’t let him end up like those kids strung up and draining - so he couldn’t have heard Thomas’s voice on the train, but did that mean the entire train journey was a hallucination? Or just the part with Thomas’s voice? Are they messing with his real memories, here in this lab, or just making him see things that aren’t real? And how will he know the difference?

“Is there a difference?”

Minho opened his eyes. When did he close them? He couldn’t remember.

He was in a large building - the stained glass windows would suggest a church - and Newt was lying across one of the wooden pews on his stomach with his chin in his hands, watching Minho unblinkingly.

Minho coughed self-consciously, and looked around. “Did you say something?”

“Yes,” Newt answered matter-of-factly. “You were wondering how to tell the difference between an altered memory or a hallucination and something that really happened, and I was pointing out that reality is subjective and perception is all in the mind anyway.”

“What?”

“Well, if you experience a hallucination, but it’s so vivid that you can feel and hear and taste everything as if it were real, and it leaves a lasting impact on your psyche, who’s to say that it’s less ‘real’ than something that happened to you physically?”

“Huh?”

“For that matter, maybe what we perceive as ‘reality’ is all a simulation - but if it’s programmed so thoroughly that we can’t tell, and our experiences within this false reality are meaningful to us, then does it really make a difference if it’s ‘real’ or not?” Every time he used air-quotes, he brought both hands out from under his chin to mark the air on either side of his head in a decidedly un-Newt-like gesture.

“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Newt rolled onto his back and lolled his head back to look upside-down at Minho. “I don’t know, I’m just a figment of your subconscious mind here to torture you.”

“Wait, what? The fuck?”

“Just think about it.”

Minho thought about it. His brain hurt.

“Do you remember getting here?” Maybe-fake-Newt asked.

“No…” Minho answered slowly, thinking. It was true he didn’t remember getting there, but he didn’t remember getting most places these days.

“Does it make sense that I would really be here?” Probably-fake-Newt continued. “Where even are we?” He sat up and looked around. “Have you ever been here before?”

“If this is from my subconscious mind, shouldn’t it take me places I’ve been before?”

“Not necessarily,” Probably-fake-Newt waved his imaginary hand in dismissal. “Have more faith in your imagination than that.”

“What - it’s not - what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m here to torture you,” Probably-fake-Newt answered cheerfully.

“Why?”

“Because, the scientists need more of your enzyme, and they can only get it by torturing you.”

“But why are you here?”

Probably-fake-Newt shrugged. “I guess your subconscious mind thinks I would make very effective torture for you.”

Minho grabbed one of Newt’s imaginary hands. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said, starting to lean in, then stopped. “Wait, can they see everything I’m seeing?”

Newt tilted his head, considering. “I don’t think so. I think they just give you some hallucinatory drug that magnifies your fear response and then feed you subliminal suggestions for torture. They don’t need to see exactly what the torture is.”

“Are you sure you’re from my subconscious? That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

“I’ve always said you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Minho kissed him. “Are you sure this isn’t real?” He dragged a thumb down Newt’s lower lip, feeling the delicate catch of friction, feeling the soft warmth of Newt’s breath on his skin. “It feels pretty real to me.”

“I already told you, reality is subjective - ”

Minho kissed him again to shut him up.

It had been so long since he’d been able to touch Newt, to hold him, that Minho desperately wanted this to be real - but Newt, or fake-Newt, was probably right; it didn’t make any sense and he couldn’t remember coming here and how would Newt have gotten here anyway? But for a few seconds he didn’t even care, he just wanted to let himself believe it was true and that Newt had come back to him.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t last long. Newt pulled back. “They sent me here to torture you, not to make out with you.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Minho asked, trying to catch Newt’s face between his hands and hold him still. “I thought you said you’re from my subconscious mind. So doesn’t that mean you do whatever I want you to?” Newt turned his face away, so Minho kissed the side of his neck instead.

“Potato, pa-tah-to,” Newt answered. He put his hands on Minho’s shoulders and pushed him back.

“What if I said that the worst torture possible would be for us to have sex right now in this imaginary church building?”

“I’d say you’re a rotten liar.”

“Maybe we should do it anyway, just to be sure.”

“We can’t,” fake-Newt protested. “I’m supposed to torture you. For real.”

Minho sighed and stepped back, letting his arms drop away from fake-Newt. “So what now?”

“Hmm.” Fake-Newt put an imaginary hand to his imaginary chin. “Let me see… I could talk about the subjective nature of reality some more?”

“You’re really bad at this, you know?”

Fake-Newt pouted. “That’s not very nice.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Real Newt would never torture me, so this isn’t going to be very convincing.”

Suddenly fake-Newt got an unsettling gleam in his eye. “Oh? Wouldn’t he?”

“No.” Minho shook his head. “The real Newt loves me.”

“But sometimes the people who love us the most end up hurting us the most, don’t they?”

Minho did not like where this was going. He didn’t answer.

“In fact…” fake-Newt continued, looking more and more sinister, “the real Newt has hurt you very badly before, hasn’t he?”

“No,” Minho answered immediately, but then paused. Newt had never hurt him, right? Then why did fake-Newt look so smug?

“Oh, you’re a liar, Minho,” fake-Newt hissed. He was sounding less like the real Newt with every word. “You’re a dirty rotten liar. Newt has hurt you more than anyone has ever hurt you.” He advanced on Minho, arms out, fingers like claws. Minho backed away, backed into another pew and fell heavily onto it, tumbling over the wooden arm and landing on his back on the cushioned seat.

Minho shook his head desperately as fake-Newt towered over him, leaning in to fasten his wicked hands around Minho’s throat. Had he grown taller, somehow? He seemed much bigger than he had only seconds ago. “Newt wouldn’t hurt me,” Minho repeated hoarsely. He was having a hard time forcing the air out of his lungs.

Fake-Newt bared his teeth in an evil grin, and there was something off about him that hadn’t been a moment ago. Sharp teeth gleamed in a too-wide mouth, red eyes shone out of his shadowy, featureless face. His movements were sharp and unnatural, his limbs bent in a way that wasn’t quite human. His voice was a harsh, grating hiss. “Let’s give you a little reminder, shall we?” He lifted one of his clawed hands from Minho’s neck and raised it in the air, snapped his fingers, and then -

The church disappeared, everything was gone. Minho couldn’t tell where his own body was, if he had a body, everything was just darkness, and then a light appeared, far off in the distance but growing closer and closer -

Minho watches as Newt climbs the maze walls, and suddenly he remembers, he realizes what the fake Newt was getting at, but it’s too late, all he can do is watch as Newt tumbles down and shatters upon the paved floor. He screams but he doesn’t think Newt can hear him, if this is a memory - or an imagination of a memory, since he didn’t actually see it the first time around - he screams and screams but Newt doesn’t wake up, doesn’t move at all, he looks like he’s really - like he’s - but that isn’t how it happened, Minho saved him, Newt survived, so this can’t be real, it isn’t real, it isn’t -

He sees Newt slumped over, blood dripping down his fingers. He sees Newt hanging from a tree. He sees Newt’s mangled body, torn apart by Grievers. He sees Newt die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Each time he tells himself it’s not real, Newt is alive and safe, but it’s been months since he’s seen Newt and for all he knows Newt really is dead. Maybe he died painfully, screaming for help that never came. Maybe he died by his own hand, succumbing to despair. Maybe -

Minho jolts back to himself. His throat feels raw, like he really was screaming, but there’s no one around. He’s in the bunk bed again, staring into space, the blue lights shining as always, blurring the line between dreaming and waking.

How many days has it been since the train? Was the train even real? Where did Aris and Sonya go?

He falls into an uneasy sleep, plagued by nightmares.

He’s with Thomas, Newt, Frypan, Brenda, and Jorge again. Teresa isn’t there, and he feels relieved without stopping to wonder why.

Jorge has a map partially unfolded, and he’s studying it closely as Brenda peers over his shoulder. “We’re making good time,” he says, tracing one of the lines on the map with his finger. “We’ll be there by nightfall if we keep it up.”

Minho doesn’t know where they are right now or where they’re going, but he doesn’t ask. When he needs to know, he’ll find out.

They pile into the car, Bertha, and Jorge takes off again. This time Minho is squished into the back seat between Thomas and Newt, and Brenda sits in Frypan’s lap in the passenger seat.

“How ya doin’, Minho?” Thomas asks him, grinning broadly. Minho can’t help but grin back at him. It’s nice to see him again.

“Watch it,” Brenda warns suddenly.

“I see it,” Jorge replies, just before braking hard and swerving sharply to the side. Minho is thrown sideways into Newt, who’s crushed between him and the inside of the car door. On his other side, Minho can feel Thomas leaning against him too.

When they come to a stop, Minho finally sees what made Jorge brake. It’s a berg, and it has the WCKD insignia stamped on its side.

Newt managed to open the car door, and they stumbled out one after the other, practically falling on top of each other. Brenda and Frypan didn’t fare much better from the front passenger seat, and on the other side Jorge was also getting out, though in a slightly more dignified manner.

The berg hovered lower and lower, the wind from the rotors gusting in their faces and blowing their hair and clothes back. It finally touched down and Minho watched, rooted to the spot, as Janson walked out, flanked by guards carrying large, scary-looking weapons.

“Leave the Cranks,” Janson told the guards as they stormed towards them. “We don’t need them.”

Brenda and Jorge did their best to fight back, but they were quickly overwhelmed. Thomas screamed in horror as Brenda was kicked viciously in the face by a guard’s booted foot. Jorge went crazy trying to get to her, but he was gunned down in seconds. Thomas and Frypan fought to reach Brenda but it was no use; the guard planted a boot to her chest to keep her down and shot her at point-blank range.

Minho clung to Newt’s arm, trying to keep himself between Newt and the guards. They probably wouldn’t hurt him on purpose because he was valuable to them, but Minho didn’t want to take any chances. He spared another glance for Brenda and Jorge’s corpses, but the sight was too grisly to look at for long - most of Brenda’s face was missing.

“Take the rest of them alive,” Janson continued, trademark smirk on his face, “but there’s no need to be too gentle with them.”

Minho, Newt, Thomas, and Frypan were ripped apart from each other and held captive. Minho tried desperately to keep the others in his line of sight but it was like the guards were purposely trying to keep them separated. He could hear Newt crying out in pain, and he struggled uselessly against his captors, calling Newt’s name.

“What’s that?” Janson was listening to someone on a radio held in his hand. “Are you sure?” He paused to listen again. Minho strained to make out the voice on the other end but couldn’t distinguish any words.

“Change of plans,” Janson told the guards. “We only need subject A7. The rest can be disposed of.”

The guards holding Minho continued to drag him along towards the berg, while the guards holding the others stopped and pushed their captives to the ground. Minho could hear his friends gasping and grunting behind him as they were pinned down, just like Brenda had been.

“Wait.” Janson stepped forward with his hands out, and for a brief, shining moment, Minho thought maybe they had been lucky for once. Maybe they had been granted a reprieve.

“Make him watch.” At his words, the guards holding Minho shuffled him around so he was facing the others, now able to see in perfect clarity as they were moments away from execution.

“NO!” Minho screamed, thrashing violently. He needed to reach his friends. He had to help them. But the guards overpowered him. They held him tightly, practically immobilized, and he felt Janson step up behind him and hold his head steady so he couldn’t look away.

“Don’t worry, Minho,” Janson whispered into his ear. “We’re not going to hurt you, at least not yet. But I’m afraid your friends have been very troublesome, and they’re going to have to pay for all the time and resources they’ve cost us.”

The guard pinning Newt down holstered his gun, and pulled out a knife instead. He leaned down and put it to the side of Newt’s face, cutting a long, angry gash that oozed bright red. Newt tried to suppress a yell, but he couldn’t stop the harsh noises of pain hissing between his gritted teeth. The guard holding Thomas had also pulled out a knife, and was using it to hack off the smallest finger of Thomas’s right hand. Thomas was screaming, a sound that made Minho’s blood run cold. The guard holding Frypan reared back and used the butt of his rifle to club Frypan’s face until it was a bloody pulp.

Minho had never felt so powerless. He wanted to scream and cry, he wanted to protect his friends, but he couldn’t move a muscle.

“We’re saving you for last,” Janson told him softly. “Once we’ve drained you of every last drop that we need, then maybe we’ll let you die. Although I’m sure your mind will have long since gone by then.”

Minho woke up screaming, realized he was in a WCKD lab strapped to a gurney, and kept screaming.

“Should we give him another sedative?”

“That might interfere with the hallucinations.”

“But if he keeps thrashing like this, he’s going to yank something out.”

“Just make sure he’s tied down securely, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Jesus, will you put a sock in it already?”

The last voice surprised Minho so much he stopped screaming and turned his head towards the source of it so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

Newt was lying on the gurney next to him. “Screaming isn’t going to do any good, you know. You might as well just stop. You’re wasting energy.”

Minho couldn’t believe his eyes. “Is this real? Are you really here?”

“Of course I’m really here. Where else would I be?”

“But… how did you get here?”

“How do any of us get where we are?”

Minho frowned. “You’re not real, are you? This is my subconscious mind again.”

Newt looked around curiously. “Is it? It looks like a lab in a WCKD facility to me.”

“Not that, I mean - wait, does that mean this place isn’t real either?”

Newt just shrugged, looking for all the world like he was simply relaxing on a regular bed somewhere.

“You’re acting like you were last time - all calm and philosophical,” Minho said. “And that wasn’t real then. So this probably isn’t real now.”

“Hm. That’s an interesting theory,” Newt replied. “Is this not how I usually act?”

“I mean, you can be kind of an asshole,” Minho floundered, “but not in, like, serious situations, like this. This isn’t how you would act in this situation.”

“How do you know?” Newt countered. “Have we been in this exact situation before?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” Minho admitted, “but we’ve been in similar situations, and you’re always all business.”

“Maybe I simply decided to surrender to the inevitability of it all.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Minho snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because, it sounds fatalistic.”

“And that’s not how I would sound?” Newt was grinning impishly, knowing he had backed Minho into a corner. That was the problem, after all: it was entirely too much how Newt could sound. But he hadn’t sounded like that in a while, and Minho had been hoping -

Somewhere behind him, one of the doctors started up what sounded like a buzz saw. “We’re ready to start the procedure,” an unfamiliar voice shouted, and he felt the cold metallic bite against the skin on the back of his head.

Ava Paige appeared before him, seemingly materializing out of thin air. “We need to study your brain,” she told him. “I’m sorry. But this is for the greater good. We’ll leave you half. A person can function very well with only half a brain.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Minho said thickly through the haze of pain and sedation. The buzzing of the saw stopped, and he felt a horrible cold poking sensation inside his own head.

“Got it,” someone said, and there was a wet squelch as they lifted something large and squishy out of his head, dropped it into a vat of liquid, and brought it around so he could see.

A bloody, gray mass was floating in a clear liquid quickly becoming clouded with excess blood and viscera. It bobbed around and Minho could see it was half of a human brain. His brain.

“They took mine, too,” Thomas said. He walked in between Newt and Minho and stood there aimlessly, looking around with a vague, blank look on his face. The entire top half of his head was swathed in bandages. “Don’t worry. It’s not so bad.” He walked past them and Minho could see a great, gaping hole in the back of his head, revealing an empty dark space where his brain should have been.

“No, I don’t want this,” Newt said. He sounded completely different than before, panicked and agitated. He sounded exactly how Minho would have expected Newt to sound in this situation. “I don’t want this, don’t let them do this to me, please Minho!”

Minho was confused. He had already decided this wasn’t real, right? But then why did Newt sound so worried? And anyway, what could he do? They had already taken half his brain, and he was tied down. What did Newt expect him to be able to do like this?

“Please, Minho! Don’t let them hurt me!” The screaming went on and on. It went on so long that Minho guiltily wondered why it wasn’t affecting him more. Normally, hearing Newt scream like that would be enough to make him lose his mind. Well, maybe it was because he had already lost his mind? Or at least half of it, anyway. He chuckled to himself. He would have to remember that one to tell Newt, once he’d calmed down. He thought Newt would like that.

Newt was still screaming. Minho wondered again why he didn’t care more. Normally he would do anything to stop Newt being hurt. Maybe they had taken out the part of his brain that felt compassion and empathy. Minho opened his mouth to ask Newt to please stop screaming since it was starting to make his head hurt, when he realized that it wasn’t Newt screaming. It was him.

“Minho?”

Minho looks up. He’s not screaming anymore, but he doesn’t remember when he stopped. He’s sitting in a metal chair, at a table across from -

“Can you hear me?” She’s watching him with her large blue eyes. Those innocent-looking eyes disguise a demon.

“There’s a little girl here. Her name’s Shaian.” She speaks in a soft, guileless voice, like she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Minho knows better. “She’s been infected for three weeks now. But, Minho, you’re going to save her. And you can save so many others. Everything we’re doing here, it’s working. Do you understand? That’s why this is so important.” All this is said in a gentle, slightly patronizing way that clearly indicates she believes she’s bestowing some great gift upon him. As if he asked for any of this. As if he cares about saving the lives of strangers at the expense of his friends.

When he doesn’t answer, she sighs and gets up from the table. Before turning to leave, she fixes him with a look and offers one more parting shot: “I just wanted you to know.”

Is it his imagination, or does she look sort of annoyed with him? Was she actually expecting him to offer her some sort of absolution? Was she expecting forgiveness, for him to trip over himself assuring her that she’s doing the right thing? After all the pain she’s caused, she dares to try to use him to assuage her own guilt, and then is annoyed with him when he won’t give her what she wants?

Suddenly he’s angry, so angry it feels like his blood is boiling. He hates her more than anyone in the whole world right now, even more than Janson or Ava. He wouldn’t even be here right now if it weren’t for her. And more than anything, he wants to wipe that stupid, self-righteous look off of her stupid, smug face.

“Teresa.” She’s almost to the door by the time he gets his mouth to cooperate with his brain. But it works; she turns back, comes toward him.

“Minho?” She gets closer, leans over the table to put her face right next to his. He waits. “Minho?”

He snaps. “You’re a TRAITOR!” He jumps up and grabs her, his fists winding into the cloth of her lab coat, then flings her down onto the table. “We trusted you!” He yanks her up and then slams her back down. At first he relishes the fear in her eyes, the look of shock on her face, her mouth gaping open, but then he feels a little bad. He still hates her, and he still wants her to feel even a small fraction of the fear he feels, but he doesn’t like that he feels this way. He’s never wanted to be the kind of person who enjoys causing others pain. Yet here he is, causing someone pain and enjoying it. Has he become a monster? Has he let WCKD turn him into something he’s not?

Whatever. It’s probably not real anyway. No Teresas were injured in the making of this hallucination.

Ah, shit. The guards have noticed. Before they can come inside and stop him, Minho looks down and spots something smallish, metallic and sharp: Teresa’s hair ornament. It must have come loose when he slammed her onto the table. Quick as a flash, he grabs it and conceals it behind his hands, still locked together by the handcuffs the guards put on him.

But now the guards have reached him, and they pry him off Teresa, who gets up from the table gasping.

The guards are dragging him back. “Get off me! Get off me!” Minho screams. Then he catches sight of Teresa, and the fury springs up again, white and hot. “I’ll kill you! You traitor!” He barely notices that the guards are forcing him down onto the table. “You killed them all!”

The crackle of electricity seized his attention and all of a sudden it felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire.

“Minho!”

“Come on, man.”

“Minho!”

Voices overlapping, some shouted, some murmured, but all focused intently on him, which he could somehow tell even though he couldn’t see anything. Then one voice, different from the rest, a voice Minho knows he could pick out of a crowd any time, any place.

“Come on, Min.” It was soft, plaintive; nearly broken. Minho opened his mouth to reassure him, and realized he hadn’t been breathing, so he started doing that again, and everyone sighed in relief.

The next realization to hit was that the reason he couldn’t see anything was because his eyes were closed. He didn’t remember closing them. Even when he opened them, everything was dark and shadowy, with just one flashlight that someone seemed intent upon pointing directly into his face. He squinted into the makeshift-spotlight.

“What happened?”

Thomas let out a sort of chuckle, what sounded like a mixture of three parts intense relief and one part amusement. “You were struck by lightning.”

“Oh.” Minho felt a strange but powerful sense of déjà vu. “Didn’t we already do this?”

“Do what?” Thomas asked. “Get struck by lightning? No, I’m pretty sure that’s the only time that’s happened, bud. You feeling okay?”

“Never been better,” Minho groaned, pulling himself to his feet stiffly as every single one of muscles ached in protest. He looked around, or tried to. The single flashlight was still mostly pointed at his face. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Can you point that thing somewhere else, Fry?”

“Oh, sorry,” Frypan said, aiming the light down at the ground instead.

“That’s not right,” Newt remarked.

“What?”

“I was the one holding the flashlight.”

“What? When?”

“The last time this happened.”

“The last time - what, you too?” Thomas asked, looking utterly bewildered. “What in the hell are you guys talking about?”

“No, he’s right,” Minho agreed, thinking as hard as he could. “This has happened before. And then - next is when we meet Brenda, right? There’s a bunch of Cranks in here that jump out at us, but they’re chained up, and then she walks out all like ‘I see you met our guard dogs’.”

As if on cue, a light appeared and illuminated several dozen Cranks, chained but left with a short radius in which to move.

“Okay, how the fuck did you know my name?”

“Brenda!” Minho gasped. Even though he remembered the Cranks were there, they still surprised him when they jumped out of the darkness like that.

“Yeah, and who the fuck are you? How do you know my name, have we met before?”

“Um,” Minho said, stalling for time as he looked to Newt for help. Newt shrugged very unhelpfully. “You don’t remember me?”

“Should I?”

“Well. I guess not? If this is the first time this has happened for you?”

Brenda tilted her head skeptically. “Is this some kind of really lame pick up line? Because it’s not working.”

“No!” Minho protested. “I’m saying that this has all happened before, for real - Newt, back me up!”

“We’re actually dating, so he’s not trying to pick you up. At least, he better not be.”

Minho closed his eyes and exhaled for a full five seconds. “That is very obviously not what I meant, Newt.”

“How was it obvious? I thought I was helping!”

Minho looked around at the others. “You’re telling me none of you remember this? We meet Brenda and Jorge, and then they take us to whats-his-face -”

“ - Marcus,” Newt interjected helpfully -

“ - right, Marcus, and we take his car - ”

“ - Bertha - ”

“ - is the name of his car really top priority at this point?”

“I’m helping,” Newt pouted. “You asked for my help, so I’m giving it!”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Right, sorry. Anyway, we take his car, which yes, is named Bertha, no doubt that detail is super important, and we meet up with the mountain people - ”

“ - the Right Arm - ”

“Is that what they were called?”

“Yeah, the group with Vince and Mary and everyone?”

“Well, right, but they don’t last long, because this bitch,” Minho indicated Teresa, “betrays us all and leads WCKD right to us, and they bomb the shit out of the Right Arm so there’s only a handful of people left. And then Aris and Sonya and I get captured - ”

“Wait, we meet up with Sonya?” Aris asked hopefully. “Was Harriet with her?”

“Actually, yeah,” Minho answered. “Anyway, the three of us and some other people get captured, the rest of you get away, I’m assuming - ”

“That’s correct,” Newt nodded in agreement. “I’m with the group that’s not captured.”

“Oh also, I forgot to say before, but Brenda gets bitten by a Crank, but she gets saved because Mary knows how to make some special serum from Thomas’s blood -”

“Excuse me, I get what?!” Brenda interrupted.

“You get bitten by a Crank,” Newt repeated patiently. “But it’s okay, you don’t get sick - or, well, you do at first, but like he said, you get the serum, and then you’re fine!”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it,” Minho told her.

“So there really is a cure?” Brenda asked sharply. “And WCKD has been hiding it from us? All this time, I thought…”

“It’s not a real cure,” Teresa cut in. “It can fight off the virus temporarily, but it always comes back. You would always need more serum for the rest of your life, and the only way to get it is - well, it’s…”

“...from the blood of immunes,” Minho finished for her. “After they’ve been tortured.”

“I don’t know if I would call it torture, exactly - ”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need less from you, Miss Friend-Betrayer.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet!”

“But you’re going to! Go ahead and deny it!”

Teresa was silent.

“So does that mean you remember too?” Newt asked Teresa. “Because you were being awfully quiet earlier when it was just me and Minho sounding insane.”

“No, I don’t remember - or I mean, I don’t remember this, but I - I got my memories back, and - ”

“Yeah, yeah, you think we should go back to WCKD,” Thomas finally spoke up. “Not gonna fuckin’ happen. Just give it a rest.”

“I don’t want to get in the middle of what seems like a private family dispute,” Brenda said, “but will someone please explain what the FUCK is going on. In a way that makes sense, please.”

“Wait, maybe you should take us to Jorge first,” Newt said. “Otherwise we’ll have to explain it all twice, and it’ll take all day.”

“Oh, but tell him to talk to us in private,” Minho added. “You can be there, but make sure that one henchman guy isn’t there - I don’t remember his name, do you?” he asked Newt. Newt shrugged. “Oh great, why is that the name you don’t remember? But Bertha sticks?”

“Riding in Bertha was a formative experience for me, okay?” Newt defended himself hotly.

“More than the name of the guy who calls Janson here and makes Jorge have to blow the place up?”

“News flash, we get betrayed like every other day,” Newt argued. “It’s not that big a deal after a while. But that was the first time I’ve ridden in a car!”

“Not to interrupt,” Brenda interrupted, “but did you say Jorge blows the place up?”

“Oh, yeah,” Minho said. “After the ugly henchman guy calls in Janson, Jorge does the thing, how did you put it -”

“- he ‘plays his favorite song’,” Newt quoted.

“ - yeah, he plays the song and at the end of the song - ”

“Shut up,” Brenda hissed. “No one else is supposed to know about that besides me, that’s a last-resort emergency!”

“Well, good, so you know we’re telling the truth then!”

“So is this, what, a time-travel situation or something?” Brenda asked thoughtfully.

Minho exchanged a look with Newt. “I’m not sure I believe in time travel. Plus, how the hell would that have happened? The last thing I remember - wait what is the last thing I remember?”

Brenda rolled her eyes. “A zombie apocalypse happened, and you’re skeptical of time travel?”

“Hey, a zombie apocalypse is well within the realm of possibility given current technology,” Minho snapped. “Time travel is still only theoretical.”

“The last thing I remember,” Newt said, “is… actually, I’m not sure?”

“Yeah, I was going to say before I got distracted by stupid time travel - ”

“Hey!” Brenda protested.

“ - but I don’t really remember… where I stop remembering?”

“Well, let’s go at it backwards, then,” Newt suggested. “You said you got captured by WCKD, we both remember that, but what happened after that?”

“Uh…” Minho thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Maybe,” Brenda suggested, “they used you to test some super-prototype time machine so they could go back and stop the virus from ever - ”

“Will you give it a rest with the time travel? It’s not fucking time travel, okay?”

“You can’t be sure,” Brenda grumbled, sounding uncharacteristically petulant. “You said yourself you don’t even remember.” She turned to Newt. “Is he always this stubborn?” Newt nodded vigorously. “I feel sorry for you, then.”

“It’s not always a bad thing,” Newt told her conspiratorially. “And he has lots of other qualities that make up for it.” Minho shot him an exasperated look, and he put on his most innocent face. Minho wasn’t fooled. He’d seen it before; it was often deployed when Newt was at his least innocent.

“I thought we were going to see Jorge?” Frypan asked. “I’m confused as hell, and I don’t even know who Jorge is, but I think that would be more productive than standing around arguing about whether Minho and Newt did or did not time travel.”

“And that’s another thing!” Minho realized. “If I supposedly time traveled because of a prototype time machine at WCKD, how does Newt also remember everything?”

“We are going to see Jorge,” Frypan said, staunchly ignoring Minho.

“Ugh, fine.”

They went to see Jorge. He was not able to shed any light on the situation, but he did confirm that Marcus’s car was called Bertha. Newt shot Minho a smug look.

“Oh, don’t get a big head just because - ”

“ - just because I managed to remember key details that would validate our story and help us be believed?”

Minho decided to just let him have this one. Anyway, there was no arguing with him when he was like this.

“What do you think?” Jorge had drawn Brenda a few feet away and was speaking to her in hushed tones that were nevertheless entirely audible to the others.

“I don’t know, it’s a bizarre story, but I think they’re telling the truth. If they were lying, wouldn’t they have made up a more believable lie? Or at least something comprehensible?”

“I agree,” Jorge said. “And I think we should go with them, to the Right Arm.”

“Just the two of us? What about everyone else?”

“I don’t trust them. Do you? These boys even said one of our guys calls in WCKD.”

Brenda bit her lip, then nodded decisively. “Okay. I just need to get something from my room.”

“Be quick,” Jorge told her. “We need to be out of here and as far away as possible before anyone realizes what we’re doing.” Brenda nodded and ran out of the room, and the rest of them waited for her to get back, while Jorge strode around grabbing odds and ends, probably in preparation for their escape.

“Oh good, does this mean we get to skip getting hung upside down this time?” Newt asked.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that part,” Minho smiled. For a moment, they just smiled dopily at each other, and Minho could almost forget the dire situation they were in. Then Newt frowned.

“What?” Minho asked.

“Well, I was just thinking. Maybe it’s dangerous for us to change too much of what happens.”

“Why?

“You know, the Butterfly Effect, and all that?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “That’s for time travel. This isn’t time travel, remember?” He reached out and grabbed Newt’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Everything’s going to work out, okay? And I’ll make sure we don’t get separated this time.”

Newt smiled again and leaned in to rest his forehead against Minho’s. “Okay.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Jorge barked. “Why don’t you give us a hand with this?”

As Minho turned to answer him, the building was rocked by an explosion. They all stumbled violently, and Minho tried to wrap himself around Newt to protect him as much as possible.

“What’s happening?” Thomas yelled. “I thought we were waiting for Brenda to get back - ”

“This wasn’t me!” Jorge called back, coughing on the dust swirling in the air.

“Is it WCKD? Did they find us?” Aris shouted.

There was a ringing in Minho’s ears, making it difficult to hear anything. He put his hands around Newt’s face, feeling his head to make sure it was uninjured. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning in close to speak right into Newt’s ear.

“Yeah,” Newt answered in his ear. “You?”

“I’m good,” Minho said, “but we should get away from - ”

Another explosion hit. This one was even bigger than the first, and everyone went flying in different directions. Parts of the building collapsed, great wrenching shrieks indicating metal and concrete moving in ways they weren’t intended to move.

When his head stopped spinning, Minho scrambled onto his hands and knees. “Newt?” he called desperately. “Newt? Where are you?” He stumbled forward a few feet, feeling with his hands through the rubble and blinking through the thick clouds of dust. His hands hit something that felt warm and body-like. “Newt?”

Some of the dust cleared, and he saw that it was Aris. A large beam had fallen on him, crushing his arm. He didn’t look conscious, and Minho wondered if he was dead. He felt sick to his stomach.

“Newt?” he called again, crawling to the right. The next body he found was Frypan. He had been impaled on a long piece of rebar sticking out of a block of concrete. Minho retched; he tried to suppress it but he tasted acid in the back of his throat. He kept crawling.

Thomas’s entire head was bashed in. Minho felt tears pricking his eyes, and the dust in the air quickly stuck to them and made his eyes sting even more. “Newt?” he said again. This time it came out as little more than a whimper. Minho prayed to all the gods he didn’t believe in that Newt was okay.

“Min?” A thin croak reached him through the heavy air. Minho crawled towards it recklessly.

“Newt?”

“Minho!”

Finally he reached him. His arm was bent at an angle that didn’t look natural, and he must have hit his head on something, because it was gushing blood, but at least he was conscious. “Newt,” Minho cried, “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Newt coughed. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been better.” Minho laughed weakly, feeling more like crying. He cradled Newt’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Minho said again. “I’m sorry, Newt.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Newt told him softly. “Wasn’t your fault. We didn’t see it coming. I wonder why?” He looked around, but his eyes had an unfocused look to them. “This didn’t happen last time. What did we do different?”

Minho heaved a dry sob. “I think everyone’s dead,” he told Newt.

“Ah,” Newt said. “That sucks.” He sounded tired more than anything else. “Unfortunately, I think I might be joining them soon. Are you gonna be alright on your own?”

“No,” Minho sobbed. “No, I’m not gonna be alright on my own. You have to stay with me.”

“I wish I could,” Newt sighed, “but it’s all going a bit dim I’m afraid. I think that means it’s time.”

“It can't be time,” Minho argued. “There’s still so much we haven’t done. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together. I wanted to grow old with you.”

“Well, we both knew that was a long shot, in this economy.”

Minho choked out a laugh in spite of himself. “Stop making jokes!” he said angrily, tears rolling down his face. “I’m baring my soul here.”

“I know,” Newt comforted him. “I see it. It’s a very pretty soul.”

Minho’s last resolve to stay calm crumbled, and he sobbed helplessly into Newt’s hair. Blood still seeped from his unseen head wound; Minho’s hands and clothes were sticky with it.

“There, there,” Newt said, patting awkwardly at whatever body part of Minho’s he could reach, which turned out to be his elbow. “You’ll be okay. I know you will. You’re a survivor, Min. You can handle anything.”

“I don’t want to do it without you!”

“But you’ll have to.”

Minho cried even harder.

“Hush, don’t cry. I love you. I love you, Minho.”

“I love you, Newt,” Minho sobbed. “Please don’t leave me.”

He didn’t answer. Minho looked at his face, and his eyes were vacant.

“Minho?” The voice came from somewhere above him. Minho looked up.

It was Teresa. “I am sorry,” she said. She spoke with a strange formality. “I had to do it. Do you understand? It was the only way.” Some of the dust settled, and behind her, WCKD guards swarmed into place.

“You did this,” Minho said. His voice sounded bland, and he felt strangely calm. Everything had become very simple now. He was going to kill her. She had taken Newt away from him, and for that she must die.

“Everything we’re doing here, it’s working. Do you understand? That’s why this is so important.”

“You killed them. You killed them all,” Minho said, still feeling strangely calm. “You’re a traitor.”

“I’m not the traitor,” Teresa said coldly. “You are. You could help people, but you’re too selfish. You could save her, Minho. You could save so many people.”

“I. Don’t. CARE!” The last word ripped from his throat, leaving it raw. “You killed them all! I’ll kill you!” He jumped to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that swept through him and lunged at her, but she disappeared beneath his hands like vapor.

“Such a pity you couldn’t see things my way.” Teresa’s voice was behind him now, and he turned to see she had reappeared behind him. He lunged at her again, and again she vanished. This time, she reappeared a few feet beyond where she had been.

“Don’t you get it?” she sneered at him. “You can’t hurt me. You know, for someone who’s supposed to be smart, you can be really stupid sometimes, Minho.” She looked off to the side, at a pair of WCKD guards. “Take him away,” she said, gesturing to Minho. Then she turned and strode away.

The guards seized him, and he heard the telltale crackle of electricity before -

He bolts upright into a sitting position and promptly smacks his head on the underside of the bunk bed. He lays back, wincing.

He’s back in the holding cell, in the WCKD facility. Probably, he never left. Tears leak out of the corners of his eyes and trickle down the side of his head into his ears. He wonders if he’ll ever see his friends again. He wonders if he’ll ever see Newt again.

He loses track of time for a while, and the next thing he knows, he’s on a gurney again and headed for the main lab. They haven’t bothered to tie him down this time, probably because he’s been close to comatose. But for now he feels the fog is lifting, and he’s actually aware of his surroundings. Unless this is all another hallucination of course, which wouldn’t be a surprise at this point. He doesn’t really trust himself to know the difference between dream and reality anymore.

“This really couldn’t wait ‘til morning?” Minho recognizes the speaker; he’s seen him before when he’s been brought to the lab for more torture sessions. Maybe he’s the Lead Torturer, or whatever. Minho doesn’t know the official job title. “You realize this could kill him, right? Taking this much, all at once.”

How kind of you to worry about my well-being, Minho wants to tell him. Actually, since you asked, I’d prefer not to be tortured.

“I have my orders,” the guard in front answers. “Janson wants it all.”

Ah, so Janson has decided to get rid of him once and for all. Minho supposes it makes sense. He’s a little surprised Teresa is allowing it, though. He’d have thought she’d want to make his suffering last as long as possible.

Thinking of Teresa reminds him of the hair ornament he grabbed - was that two days ago? Three? A week? He’s still not even sure if that really happened. He puts his hand to his pocket, and there it is; sharp and metallic and reassuring. Maybe he won’t go quietly after all. He has a weapon, he has the element of surprise - if he has to go down, he’ll go down swinging.

He waits, bides his time, pretending to be unconscious. For a second he thinks he hears someone - maybe Thomas? - calling his name, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking - he thought he heard Thomas calling his name on the train, too, and that turned out to not be real. But then the WCKD scientist calls for more sedative, and Minho knows he has to make his move before they inject him with that - once that sedative gets in him, it’ll be too late, lights out - he thinks they already gave him one before they brought him here, but he’s not sure because he wasn’t completely present at the time - even if they did, even if that’s where this slight remaining drowsiness and confusion are coming from, he thinks he can shake it off if he can just get a little adrenaline in his system, and there’s nothing like a little fight to get the blood pumping -

He waits until the assistant is close, leaning over him, checking his pupil reflex, and then he jumps into action - stabs him in the thigh with the hair ornament, kicks the guard when he comes to help, wrestles the syringe full of sedative from the scientist and turns it against him, stabs him in the neck with it and depresses the plunger - by then the guard is recovering so he charges him, he needs to get to him before he can draw his gun! He doesn’t quite make it and the guard gets off a shot but by some miracle he misses, or maybe Minho dodges - he’s operating mostly on instinct at this point - before the guard can get off another shot, Minho’s on him, forcing the barrel of the gun upward and away from all vital body parts. Minho manages to get him in a wrist lock and force him to drop the gun, then while he’s bent over knocks him out with a knee to the face for good measure.

See? He just needed a little adrenaline.

That’s everyone in the immediate vicinity incapacitated, so he’s - he’s - free? Well, in a manner of speaking. He hasn’t even managed to get out of the building yet, but he’ll call this a victory.

He’s running down the hallway when he sees another guard, pointing a gun at someone Minho can’t see, someone around the corner, and without hesitating he charges - the enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all - he runs into the guard at full speed, body slams him, throws him through a window, and only then looks up to see that the guard was pointing his gun at -

Thomas and Newt. They’re here. Are they here? Why are they here?

“Is this real?” His voice is hoarse, but he clings to them as they hug him, and he hopes. Maybe this is real. Maybe they really did come back for him. It seems a little too good to be true, but. Maybe.

They don’t have long to catch up - they’re still inside the WCKD facility, several floors up, and the building is on high alert, Janson is coming after them with the entire force of guards at his disposal. They’re running away, dashing down hallways seemingly at random, trying to find some cover, and they end up cornered in a locked room with Janson and a host of guards outside. Minho and Newt barricade the door as best they can, but they know it won’t last forever, especially once the circular saw and battering ram are brought out.

“Any ideas?” Minho shouts at Thomas, once again lamenting the fact that Thomas somehow always ends up as the Idea Guy. Why does he keep letting this happen? Thomas’s ideas are invariably batshit insane.

Thomas is looking out the window. He turns back to face Newt and Minho. “Maybe,” he says, with that trademark glint in his eye that Minho has come to recognize as meaning that Thomas is about to suggest something so incomprehensibly stupid that no sane person would ever be able to predict it - and therefore, it just might work.

Next thing he knows, Minho is helping Thomas heave a liquid nitrogen tank out a twentieth-floor window, and when it lands in some kind of water reservoir inexplicably located what looks like miles below them, Thomas somehow declares it proof of concept.

“It’s doable,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as them, “just need a little running start.”

Yeah, a running start and a parachute, Minho thinks. He shares a glance with Newt, wondering if he’s really okay with this plan. This batshit insane, horrifically stupid plan.

Thomas is already backing up to get his ‘little running start’. Minho and Newt join him.

“You sure about this?” Minho asks.

“Not really,” Thomas answers. Well, at least he didn’t lie.

“Nice pep talk.” If Minho dies executing one of Thomas’s batshit insane plans, it will be some comfort to know that his last words were ones of sarcasm.

“Yeah, we’re all bloody inspired,” Newt says, and Minho thinks that he has never loved him more.

The door bursts open, and they get their running start and then jump out the fucking window oh my god we are twenty floors up Thomas we are all gonna fucking die I can’t believe I let you talk me into this Thomas -

Somehow, incredibly, they do not die.

Minho has never been more aware of the fact that he is barefoot and wearing only a thin t-shirt and cargo pants because it’s fucking freezing outside and now he’s absolutely soaked in water that has been sitting outside in the frigid air and may not technically be freezing, because then it would be solid which it thankfully is not given that they just dived into it from the twentieth fucking floor, but it is probably only a few degrees removed from freezing. He’s wondering if it’s possible for him to get hypothermia from this when oh shit there are more guards and they have their weapons pointed directly at them.

Well. Fuck. And after they survived the twenty floor window dive and everything.

But before he has time to get too concerned, one of the guards zaps the other three, and surprise fucking surprise, it’s -

“Gally?” Minho gasps, utterly confused. That guy is dead. Right? Minho killed him.

He nods. “Minho.” He looks up at the building they just jumped out of from twenty floors up, looking like he can barely believe it. To be fair, Minho can barely believe it himself. “You guys are nuts.”

Thomas sees the befuddled look that is probably on Minho’s face right now, after seeing Gally conveniently waltzing back from the dead to help them escape WCKD. “I’ll explain later,” he says, patting Minho on the shoulder.

It turns out ‘later’ is approximately ten seconds after that, while they’re stripping one of the guards of his jacket and shoes for Minho. Maybe saying ‘Gally didn’t actually die when you stabbed him with a spear, some people found him who patched him up and he made his way here’ didn’t take as long to say as Thomas anticipated, but sometimes really wild stories seem like they’re also going to take a long time to explain but then don’t, actually.

Minho is feeling pretty fucking sure that none of this is real - there’s no way you could actually survive jumping twenty stories even if you did land in water, right? Surface tension is still a thing. And old frenemies coming back from the dead? Come on. That’s hallucination 101. Actually, didn’t he literally hallucinate Alby and Chuck and Winston coming back from the dead? But what drives the last nail into the coffin is when he realizes that Newt is dying. Because in his hallucinations, Newt is always dying.

This time, he has the Flare. Minho has to give some props to his imagination. It never repeats the same death twice.

Newt gives a particularly violent cough. Minho kneels in front of him. “Newt, how are you feeling?”

Newt groans. “Terrible,” he answers, but he’s smiling. “It’s good to see you, though.” Minho nods and smiles and hopes the worry he feels inside isn’t written all over his face.

He shuffles over to where Thomas and Gally are huddled, sheltering against another concrete planter. “Hey. How long has he been like this?”

Thomas looks at him and pauses. That pause feels significant. “He’ll be okay. We just gotta get to Brenda. She’s got the serum.”

Not what I asked, but okay, Minho thinks. If Thomas is avoiding the subject, that means he’s worried too. Minho’s not sure if that’s good or bad.

Thomas goes over to Newt and helps him up. It’s a struggle just for him to stand; Thomas has to help support his weight. He’s going downhill fast.

Minho glances over to Gally. “Why are you helping us, Gally?” he asks. “I put a spear through your chest.” You know, just in case he forgot. Minho tried to kill him.

“Yeah,” Gally agrees, sounding far too cavalier about the whole thing. He shrugs. “Nobody’s perfect, man,” and he pats Minho on the shoulder as he stands up to follow after Thomas and Newt. As if Minho simply spilled coffee on him or something, as opposed to, you know, almost killing him. Either Gally went through a radical personality transplant, or this is definitely a hallucination.

They stumble on, trying to make it twelve blocks to the tunnels, taking turns helping Newt. Minho and Thomas are supporting him between them as Gally walks ahead, when suddenly there’s an explosion. Fortunately, it’s not close enough to them that they’re in immediate danger, but Minho can’t ignore a growing sense of unease. If things go sideways, it will be even harder for them to get out of the city and get Newt to safety.

“We’re supposed to take down WCKD, not the whole damn city,” Gally says forlornly. Did he have something to do with this? Minho hasn’t gotten the full story of how Gally came to be here, but maybe he’s working with a group, kind of like the Right Arm? Only apparently they didn’t tell him their real plans.

“Gally, come on,” Thomas urges him, and pulls Newt and Minho along to keep moving. He’s right; they can’t afford to stop and admire the scenery, they need to get Newt to the serum, as soon as possible.

Twelve blocks doesn’t seem that far, but when you’re dragging your boyfriend’s dead weight while dodging guards and rebels, it seems a lot farther. “The tunnels are right up ahead,” Gally finally says, and Minho is just starting to feel relieved when -

“Shit,” Gally mutters, his run turning into a crouch. “Hey, stay low, stay low!” he calls back to them.

There’s guards. A lot of them. The four of them huddle behind raised concrete planters holding scrubby grasses and trees, watching as the guards prepare for something. Surely it’s not for them? They look like they’re expecting something huge.

“What are they waiting for?” Minho whispers.

Right on cue, there’s another explosion, a chorus of yells, and it’s clear - they were waiting for this. The rebels have arrived in full force, and it’s pandemonium.

There’s gunfire, more explosions, heavy artillery - “Stay down, stay down,” Thomas shouts frantically. Minho clings to the nearest body part he can reach, which happens to be Gally’s ankle. He can feel Newt gripping his jacket, and he wishes he could take his hand, but he’s too terrified to move - what if the next explosion hits closer, what if they’re crushed by debris? What if a stray bullet tears through Newt or Thomas or Gally? There’s so many ways this could end horribly.

“We gotta go, we gotta go,” Gally chants it like a mantra. Minho doesn’t even know which way they’re supposed to be going - their route to the tunnels is cut off; how are they going to get out of the city?

Somehow, Thomas coaxes him up, and together they hoist Newt between them again, hurrying in the only direction they can go: away from the chaos. They find an abandoned building to shelter in, but the war rages on just outside, and they can hear how close it is. It sounds like any minute it will catch them.

Thomas goes off a short distance to try to reach Brenda on the walkie-talkie. Minho huddles close to Newt, using his body as a shield between Newt and the war outside.

“You still hanging in there?” Minho asks him.

Newt looks up at him and smiles. It looks like it costs him so much effort just to do that much. “Yeah, I’m hanging in there,” he says.

“Good,” Minho nods. “You’re not allowed to crap out on me, you hear? It doesn’t count as a rescue if you don’t make it out of the city.”

Newt chuckles wearily. “Don’t worry,” he reassures Minho, “I’m not gonna crap out until we make it past those walls.” His voice sounds so ragged, Minho wants to tell him to save his breath, but he can’t let Newt know how worried he is for fear it will discourage him.

His hand comes up tentatively to brush Newt’s sweaty hair out of his face. Newt closes his eyes and sighs, leaning his head back. “When we get out of here,” Minho begins, halting and unsure, but steadily gaining momentum, “we’re gonna go on a picnic, somewhere nice.”

“Somewhere nice?” Newt repeats, eyes still closed but the ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “Like where exactly?”

“Somewhere… on the beach,” Minho improvises, thinking quickly. “And we can lay in the sun, and watch the waves roll in for hours.” He lets his mind keep going, generating daydreams that are probably too good to be true. “Maybe you’ll even get a tan, and look less like a vampire.”

Newt laughs softly. “You know I don’t tan, I only burn and then peel.”

“That’s true,” Minho agrees ruefully. “Well then, I’ll make sure to pack an umbrella so you have some shelter. But it’ll still be nice and warm, and we can go in the water to cool off if we get too warm, and then lay on the sand and let the water evaporate off our skin.”

“Mm,” Newt sighs happily. “It sounds nice.”

Minho traces his thumb down Newt’s cheek, past his jaw and down the line of his neck until he reaches the collar of the guard’s uniform Newt is wearing. There, just beginning to peek out of the collar, is an angry, poisonous-looking vein. It’s spreading so fast. Minho feels trapped, helpless.

Newt notices him looking and rolls his shoulders, one hand reaching over to yank his collar closer, trying to hide the evidence. “What about food?” he asks, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “You said it was a picnic, and you can’t have a picnic without food.”

“Right,” Minho nods. It’s everything he can do to keep his voice from breaking. “We’ll bring… peaches. Big, juicy peaches, so juicy that it runs down your chin when you bite into them. And cheese. There’ll be at least three kinds of cheese.”

“Hm. Where are we getting all this cheese?”

“I don’t know, we’ll raise goats or something. Like we did in the Glade.”

“Oh,” Newt whines. “I miss our goats.”

Minho can’t help but smile. “Me, too. You always were good with the goats.”

A few feet away, Brenda’s voice on the walkie-talkie suddenly carries across the small space. “Just look for us near the tunnels!”

Minho and Newt both look to Thomas. “That was Brenda, I think - I think Jorge made it back with the berg!”

With the what?! They had a berg this whole time and they’re only just bringing it up now?

Thomas and Gally are looking at each other, having some kind of weird mind-meld conversation where they’re speaking in code and finishing each other’s sentences.

“If we - ”

“ - somewhere high enough the berg can - ”

“ - but we also need enough space for it to land - ”

“ - what about - ”

“She said near the tunnels though? Does she know it’s fuckin’ war zone there?”

“I bet they’ll go to the plaza, that’s - ”

“ - right, the nearest place with enough space - ”

Meanwhile, Minho helps Newt to his feet so they’re ready to go as soon as Thomas and Gally figure out where they’re supposed to go. When they get outside, it’s just as crazy as it was - a car goes flying, hurled down the street by the power of yet another explosion. Minho has no idea how Brenda expects to land a berg anywhere around here.

Then they hear it - flying overhead, and when they look up it’s flying so low it feels like Minho could reach out and touch it, if only they could just grab on and let it tow them out of the city and over the walls -

“Okay, that’s them,” Thomas declares unnecessarily, “it’s them. We gotta go, we gotta go - ”

“Go without me,” Newt mumbles. Minho’s heart drops. No, not yet, it’s too soon for you to give up -

“You should just - ” Newt can’t even finish his sentence because he’s coughing so hard, and he coughs up something vile and dark and viscous, and he wheezes like he can barely catch his breath. He looks miserable. Sometime in the last few minutes, that vein Minho noticed earlier has crept all the way up his neck and spread into his cheek. He can see more veins, not as prominent as the first one, but starting to stand out blue and livid under his pale skin.

How has it gotten so bad, so quickly? Minho wonders miserably. It shouldn’t be possible. Maybe -

“Minho,” Thomas says quietly, with forced calm. “You gotta run ahead, grab the serum, and get back to us as soon as you can.”

Minho turns to look at Thomas incredulously. He can’t possibly be serious. He can’t actually think that Minho is going to leave Newt now, like this.

“Minho, go,” Thomas pleads.

“He’s right,” Gally chimes in, looking between the two of them like he can hear every word that’s not being said. “I can cover.” Somehow he manages to sound like he’s reassuring Minho that everything will be alright and Thomas won’t let Newt die while they’re gone.

Minho isn’t quite convinced. Why can’t Thomas go to get the serum, and Minho stay behind with Newt? But then Newt grabs his wrist and pulls him closer, and huffs out with the limited air in his lungs, “Thank you. Thank you, Minho.” And now he has to go, because Newt is counting on him to run as fast as he can and he’ll die before he lets Newt down.

Minho looks Newt directly in the eye and summons all the gravity he can muster. “Hey, you just hang on. You hear me?” He hopes it’s not the last thing he says to him.

He stands up, and with a last look back at his dying boyfriend slouched against the stone wall, he follows Gally into the fray. “Go Minho, go!” Gally yells as he lays down cover fire on the cross street. Once they make it through, they pick up the pace and head down a side street, ducking through the broken remains of a glass door and charging across a deserted train station. Gally directs him where to go, and they follow the trail of the berg they saw flying overhead only a few minutes ago. Was it really only a few minutes? It feels like hours.

Suddenly, what seems to be a city-wide PA system turns on, and whose voice does he hear coming through the speakers but Teresa’s:

“Thomas? Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I need you to come back. Thomas, you can save Newt. There’s still time for him. There’s a reason Brenda isn’t sick anymore. It’s your blood. Do you understand? She isn’t sick because - because you cured her. She doesn’t have to be the only one. All you have to do is come back, and this will all finally be over. Please. Just come back to me. I know you’ll do the right - ”

Her voice is cut off abruptly when the PA system loses power. Minho wishes it could have cut out earlier. She’s so fucking manipulative, he thinks furiously. And she knows how to manipulate Thomas especially - appealing to his savior complex, and their personal bond - Minho just hopes Thomas isn’t stupid enough to fall for it. Surely he wouldn’t, not when Newt needs him - but what if he believes her, and thinks Newt will have a better chance if he goes back to Teresa, back to WCKD? Please, Thomas, Minho begs silently, please don’t listen to her. She’s lying. She’ll say whatever she needs to say to get what she wants.

Another thought occurs to him. How does Teresa even know about Newt? He’s only been really deteriorating since they broke out of the WCKD facility, but they haven’t seen Teresa since then - did she see him before somehow? But how would she have known he was infected if he wasn’t sick yet? And how would she know if Brenda hasn’t gotten sick again? Minho assumes it must be true, since Brenda is apparently part of this rescue mission, even though he hasn’t seen her yet - but did Teresa see her at some point? He’s pretty sure Teresa has been at WCKD this whole time, and Brenda never went inside, she was meant to be the getaway driver.

Also - a city-wide PA system? Doesn’t that seem a little convenient, and far-fetched?

And the way Teresa said ’Do you understand?’ - in exactly the same way she said it to Minho that time, that annoying, condescending tone - Do you understand? I know you’re too stupid and short-sighted to really get it, but at least try, Minho - hadn’t he decided that time was a hallucination? That none of that interaction had been real? Except, wait, he’d gotten the hair ornament then, and he used that to escape the lab before running into Thomas and Newt…

Who he wanted to see more than anything in the world. Like he wished it into existence.

You’re thinking too much, Minho tells himself. Less thinking, more running. He needs to get the serum from Brenda and get back to Newt, before something terrible happens.

But if none of this is real, it probably doesn’t matter what he does - Newt will die anyway, and Minho will get to witness it. So really, does he need to hurry?

Yes, because there’s still a chance this could be real, Minho tells himself. They’re nearly there, anyway. Minho and Gally hurry up the last steps and spot Brenda, Jorge, and Frypan keeping watch just outside the mouth of the berg. Another explosion sounds behind them, but they don’t even turn to look at it - by now, they’ve learned to hear the difference between the noises that mean they’re in immediate danger and the noises that they can ignore.

“Brenda!” Minho shouts. The direness of the situation comes flooding back to him all at once. What has he been thinking, taking his time and questioning reality? Newt is dying - could already be dead - he doesn’t have time - “Where’s the serum?”

Brenda takes one look at them and seems to immediately comprehend the situation - she grabs a small bag, gives Minho, Gally, and Frypan a vial from it and takes one herself. “Whoever gets there first, give Newt the serum,” she instructs.

“With what?” Gally asks. “We need a syringe.”

“Ah, fuck,” Brenda mutters. She fishes around in the bag - there’s one in there, but only one.

“I’ll take it,” Minho offers. He was the one Thomas told to run and get the serum, after all.

“No offense,” Brenda says, “but I think I’ll hold onto it.”

Some offense, Minho thinks, but there’s no time to argue. He nods and turns to lead the way back, and they all set off running.

It’s been a long night, and Minho’s been through a lot - a lot of physical activity, a lot of stress and fear, simply a lot - and he’s feeling it. Being held captive as a laboratory test subject hasn’t given him quite as much opportunity for exercise as he used to get from running for miles every day in the maze. He’s out of shape - normally he’d hardly break a sweat from this, but now he’s barely keeping up, running mostly on adrenaline, and he can feel that he’s nearly to the end of his supply. His body is aching from the abuse he’s been put through; he’s pretty sure he still has glass shards in his feet from when he was running barefoot over broken window panes back at the WCKD lab, he can feel the sharp, stabbing pain with every step. His breath is searing in his lungs, he can taste the metallic tang of iron at the back of his throat.

He wants to give up. He wants to let Brenda run ahead - she’s the only one with the syringe anyway, and she can probably run faster than he can at this point, she hasn’t been running halfway across the city all night on a broken and abused body, half-carrying someone else. They’re running through the streets, being actively shot at. These shots sound different - he instinctively knows they are an immediate threat, he needs to find cover. There’s a car nearby, and he crouches down behind it, pulling Frypan with him and Gally follows close behind, but Brenda runs on ahead - he calls to her but she either doesn’t hear him or chooses to ignore him, and keeps running.

He should just let her go, right? She’ll be fine - she’s determined to reach Thomas, nothing will stop her from her goal. And it probably doesn’t matter anyway, because all of this is probably a hallucination - the more he thinks about it, the more it doesn’t make sense, or it’s all a little too convenient - like how Thomas and Newt show up to rescue him just in time before Janson would have murdered him? The two people Minho’s been wanting to see more than anything just happen to appear in the nick of time to save his life? And how Gally turned out to be miraculously alive again, absolving Minho of his murder, something that has haunted him since the day it happened? And how Teresa seems to be omniscient somehow, knowing things she shouldn’t be able to know?

And how Newt is dying, again, in some awful and traumatic way? Just like he always is in Minho’s hallucinations, because apparently seeing Newt die over and over in new and creative ways is the most horrifying thing Minho’s brain can come up with.

So it’s probably fine. He can probably just rest here for a few minutes, catch his breath, wait for the fighting to let up a little. Newt will be fine, because he’s not even really here. Minho isn’t really here either, he’s probably still strung up in the WCKD lab, being pumped for life-saving serum. All of this is inside his head.

Thank you. Thank you, Minho.

Minho stands up. He made a promise - he promised Newt he would run ahead and bring back the serum. So that’s what he’s gonna fucking do. Hallucination or not.

“Minho, don’t!” Frypan calls, reaching out to drag him back to safety, but Minho’s wasted enough time - the person he loves is waiting for him to come back. Newt needs him. He takes off running, pushing himself faster and faster - soon he’s running flat-out, it only takes him a few seconds to catch up to Brenda and blow past her - in a few more seconds he’s sprinting through the abandoned train station, and realizes he recognizes those two figures ahead, he knows their profiles - but why are they fighting?

The scene before him doesn’t make sense - Newt has a knife out, he’s lunging for Thomas, Thomas is barely managing to dodge out of the knife’s path - so Minho doesn’t stop to think, doesn’t try to make sense of it, he just flying-body-tackles Newt at full speed, pinning him to the ground - something crunches under him, and Newt screams, but he doesn’t sound like himself, he sounds like some kind of wild creature - Minho feels like crying because he hurt Newt, he definitely broke something, but he stays on top of him because if he lets Newt up he’ll hurt himself or Thomas, and he just needs to hold him down until Brenda can get here with the serum and the syringe -

Several agonizing seconds later, Brenda arrives, and without even hesitating - bless her - she goes right to Newt, sticks the syringe in the vial, pulls back on the plunger, then sticks the needle into Newt and presses the plunger in again. Beneath him, Newt’s struggling grows weaker, and Minho hesitantly lifts himself up, ready to pin Newt again if it was a feint, but Newt doesn’t move - his eyes are closed, he must be passed out. He looks much more peaceful than he has in the last few minutes.

Thomas is still kneeling on the ground, breathing hard, and the look in his eyes says he knows how close they just came to disaster - if Minho hadn’t gotten there when he did, who knows what might have happened?

Thomas stands up, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Minho already knows what he’s going to say. “Don’t,” Minho says hoarsely. His throat feels like it’s been scraped raw.

Thomas blinks and shakes his head. “I have to,” he mutters, already turning to go.

“How do you know she’s even telling the truth?” Minho pleads. “How do you know she’s not just lying to get you to come back?”

Thomas stops, turns back to look at him. “I have to take that chance,” he says, quietly, almost to himself. “I have to do this, for Newt.”

Brenda puts a hand on his arm and stares searchingly at him, but doesn’t say anything. After several long seconds, Thomas turns to go again, and she lets him. Minho sees tears on both their faces.

Minho leans over Newt to try and assess the damage he did when he tackled him, but out of nowhere he feels a stinging pain in his arm. He looks down to see there’s a long, deep scratch on his upper arm that’s oozing blood. It’s already soaked through a large patch of the sleeve of his jacket. He looks down at the ground to see the knife Newt was holding, laying on the ground, the sheen of blood on the blade. It must have happened when he tackled Newt, but he didn’t even feel it until now. Huh. He feels a little dizzy, and sits back on his heels.

“Woah, Minho,” Gally says, coming up behind him and steadying him. “Careful. What’d you do?”

“I think I got... stabbed? Or sliced?” Minho laughs. “I’m not too clear on the terminology.”

“I think you might be a little delirious,” Gally says. He inspects Minho’s arm and tuts under his breath. “No wonder, you’ve lost a decent amount of blood - not to mention this has been a hell of a night.”

“That’s an understatement,” Minho says. He feels like laughing again. He also feels like falling asleep. He suddenly realizes just how tired he is.

He lets Gally fuss over him and wrap up his wound, muttering something about needing stitches, and just watches Newt, still apparently sleeping peacefully. Minho keeps worrying he died without them noticing, but he can see his chest moving up and down slightly as he breathes. Finally Gally lets him stand up, and even though they try to talk him out of it, Minho insists on being one of the ones to carry Newt - he feels like if he’s not touching him, he’ll disappear, or worse. Between him and Frypan, they heave Newt’s still-unconscious form up, while Brenda leads the way and Gally follows up behind, and with this odd procession they make their way back to the berg.

It’s tricky, with the fighting still raging in the streets, but it has started to move on as the rebels push further into the city, so they’re able to make it back in one piece. They situate Newt at the back of the berg on a cot, and Minho does a quick inspection to find Newt’s arm is broken - that’s probably the crunch he heard in the fall, hopefully that’s all that broke in the fall. Minho’s a little worried about Newt spreading the virus to the others - Brenda’s already been close enough to touch him, is that enough for her to become infected once again? He finds a paper surgical mask in the first aid supplies cabinet and fits it over Newt’s nose and mouth, and then kind of laughs to himself because it looks a little silly. He’ll have to tell Newt about this when he wakes up.

Brenda is adamant that they need to fly to the WCKD building and rescue Thomas - “I just know he’s in danger, he shouldn’t have gone but he never listens” - and Minho privately agrees; she convinces the others, so they head over, even though it looks like the building is going up in flames as they watch - what the fuck has been happening in there?

They spot Thomas and Teresa on the roof, sure enough, they were in danger and needed help - Minho convinces himself to leave Newt’s side to help pull Thomas onto the berg, which is good because it turns out Thomas has been injured somehow, and can barely stand on his own, let alone jump onto a moving vehicle from a flaming, soon-to-be-collapsing rooftop.

And then it’s just Teresa alone on the rooftop. Part of Minho, a part that he doesn’t want to admit to, wishes they would just leave her there and fly away. But the better part of him knows that even if he had control of the berg, he couldn’t do that - couldn’t leave her there to die, even after what she’s done - Janson, sure, he would leave Janson in a heartbeat, but Teresa - she was their friend, she’s been with them through the maze and the Scorch and she’s one of them, even if she did betray them - and he knows if he lets the worst part of him win, then he’ll have taken the first steps towards becoming someone he doesn’t like, someone who Newt wouldn’t like either, and he wants to stay as much himself as possible, especially after everything - if he lets them change him, then they win. So he can’t let them.

He reaches a hand out to Teresa, to help her climb onto the berg -

And then the roof collapses out from under her, and she falls.

Minho surprises himself by feeling sorry. Not just sorry for Thomas, who he knows this will hurt more - but sorry for Teresa herself. He thought he hated her. Maybe he still does, but - he can’t help it. He’s sorry she’s dead.

But there’s no time to waste grieving, because they have to figure out how Thomas is injured - it turns out he’s been shot, holy shit, it’s bad - there’s a flurry of activity and they’re all trying to help, but they’re all kind of getting in each other’s way, and in the confusion Thomas presses something small and cylindrical into Minho’s hand - Minho looks down and recognizes it, knows exactly what it’s for - he gets the syringe from Brenda, goes back to the corner of the berg where Newt is lying, and carefully, very carefully, injects a few ounces of blue life-saving serum into Newt’s veins. He really, really hopes this works.

The rest of the journey is a bit of a blur; he decides to leave the first aid to the others and stay with Newt, holding his hand - Newt probably doesn’t even know he’s there, since he’s still unconscious, but maybe he does, and maybe it brings some comfort to him. They arrive at the Safe Haven hours later - Minho has no idea where they actually are, but he supposes that doesn’t matter much right now - and there’s already a whole group setting up, apparently they came over on the rustbucket of a ship that’s moored in the natural harbor of the beach. He’s not sure if this is an actual island or just a remote coastline - it sort of looks like it might be an island, but maybe it’s a peninsula?

They’ve already set up a few crude structures, and one of them is a med tent - it actually reminds Minho a lot of the med hut they used to have in the Glade - so Thomas and Newt are taken there; Thomas still needs a lot of attention for his wound, even after Brenda and the others did what they could with the limited supplies on the berg, and some people with medical experience start seeing to him right away, but for Newt all they can really do after setting his broken arm is make him comfortable, and wait to see. If he wakes up; if he recovers from the infection.

Minho stays by his side, and holds his hand. It’s the only thing he can do.

Sometimes he stays by Thomas’s side, and holds his hand. Just to shake things up a little. It helps that they’re right next to each other. And Brenda’s there with him, more often than not, so he never has to worry about someone’s hand going un-held. Gally and Frypan make a few appearances as well.

A day passes, and then another. It’s been long enough now that Minho is reasonably certain that this is all real, not a hallucination. And yet he feels like he’ll never be completely certain. Years could pass, and he’ll still be wondering if this was all happening inside his head. But he’s unimaginably grateful that he didn’t give up, back in the city when he wasn’t sure. If he had, Newt might have - or Thomas might have -

But he didn’t. And they’re both fine. Not great - could be better - but it seems they’ll live, for now at least. Which is all any of them can ask for, in the end.

“Where do you want to sit?”

“Anywhere’s fine.”

“Okay then.” Minho dropped everything he was carrying with a soft thump and plopped down on the ground.

“I didn’t mean - ” Newt sighed. “You’re not even going to set up the umbrella?”

“You said anywhere,” Minho reminded him.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

Minho got back up and took out the ‘umbrella’, which was really just a tarp with a few sticks they were planning to use to provide some shade. He propped up the sticks and tied the tarp down in a makeshift lean-to, and Newt sat down underneath it, smiling up at him. Minho smiled back. He couldn’t help it, Newt was just too cute. Even with the scars criss-crossing his skin, all up and down his body, reminders of the carnage the Flare had wrecked.

It was a warm day, and they had hiked a bit to get here, so they cooled off in the water and played around, splashing each other, following the fish. Newt found a tide pool, and they amused themselves for a long time looking at all the creatures inhabiting it. The water was cool and clear and refreshing, the sun bright and friendly and warm, the rocks softened by the tides between long stretches of sand. When they were hungry, they went back to the umbrella and Minho got out the food he had packed: some kind of fruit he didn’t know the name of but that grew natively on the coast, a loaf of hearty bread, and goats’ cheese. After they ate, they laid under the umbrella, wrapped around each other. Minho brushed the sand off the skin of Newt’s shoulder and pressed his lips there instead, reveling in the simple fact that they were here, together. They were scarred, both physically and mentally, but they were alive, and that was a beautiful thing.

They had each other, they had their friends, they had a safe place to call home. And they were free. It was all they had ever wanted.

A while later, they went for a walk along the beach, holding hands and kicking at sand, laughing and smiling at each other. They ran into Thomas, standing on the beach near the harbor, looking out at the boat that had carried most of the immune kids here. In his hand he was holding an empty vial, the one that had contained the serum that saved Newt’s life.

When Minho and Newt joined him, he looked over at them, appearing startled to see anyone. Minho wouldn’t be surprised if he had been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard them approach.

“Hey, Tommy,” Newt said playfully, reaching with his free hand to pat Thomas on the shoulder. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Thomas said slowly, and somehow Minho knew what he was going to say before he said it, and he was surprised to find that he didn’t mind. He might even agree. Weeks ago, he might have said Thomas was crazy, but now…

“I think we should go back.”