Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were supposed to be mad at Thomas. All of them were. They’d basically all decided on it. He’d helped build that maze, the one they were going to be trapped in, starting tomorrow. They were supposed to totally resent Thomas and Teresa for helping WICKED build it.

But if Newt was going to forget everything he knew and loved tomorrow, he wasn’t going to spend the day resenting his boyfriend for something he obviously didn’t have very much control over. Especially not when he’d already given him enough grief about it.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says again. It’s the fifth time he’s apologized in the past half hour. Newt just shakes his head in response. He doesn’t need to apologize. Not to him.

“I love you,” Newt says instead. It’s the first time he’s said it, but if he’s going to forget everything, he needs Thomas to know how he feels.

Thomas smiles gently, holding him tighter against his chest. “I love you too,” he says, without hesitation. “I’ll always love you. Even after you forget me.”

It was clear even Thomas didn’t know what would happen after the Maze Trial started. That was okay. It just proved his innocence even more.

“Let’s make tonight special,” Thomas says, “so you can’t forget it.” They both knew it wouldn’t work like that, but neither one of them seemed to want to point that out. Newt’s quick to agree to whatever Thomas is proposing.

Thomas sits up and pushes off the bed. Newt pulls himself up, accepting Thomas’s hand as he gets to his feet. Thomas doesn’t let him go, instead dragging him throughout the WICKED compound by the hand. They twist through winding, seemingly never ending corridors.

Newt’s lived here all his life, and even he doesn’t know where they’re going. Yet Thomas seems to have a very particular location in mind. He waves absently at Teresa as they pass her. She asks him what’s going on, but Thomas doesn’t answer. Newt shrugs to prove that he’s just as out of the loop as her. She sighs and keeps walking in the other direction.

“Where are you takin’ me?” Newt manages to ask as Thomas pauses to take in his surroundings. Thomas looks back at him, smiles, and mouths “you’ll see”. Newt gives in, because Thomas has the best surprises.

They don’t stop for long before Thomas picks up again, continuing to move, this time much faster. Newt has to run to keep up with him.

They end up at a library. Not the one by the dorms that Newt’s been in hundreds of times, but one that must be for the scientists. Newt’s not convinced that Thomas can actually get them into it, since it requires key card access.

Thomas smirks at him, reaches into his pocket, and pulls one out. He swipes it in the lock, staring at it blankly in anticipation. Against all odds, it flashes green. He mumbles something about Chancellor Paige, and then says nothing else, pocketing the card again.

“You stole that, didn’t you?” Newt asks, smirking. Maybe his Tommy did have a bad side. Thomas doesn’t confirm, but he also doesn’t deny, which is answer enough for him.

Thomas pulls the door open, peeking his head around to make sure no one else is inside, and then walks in, extending his hand, once again, to Newt. He smiles, taking it and letting the door click shut behind him.

Newt looks around. The books in here are way better than the ones in their library, that was totally and completely all non-fiction. Actually, it was full of biographies, and not much else.

“No cameras in here,” Thomas explains. “Prolly the only room in the compound without them. I break in here all the time. Never been caught.”

He sits down on the floor in between two tall bookshelves and pats the ground invitingly. Newt hesitates a moment before collapsing down on the floor of the library beside Thomas. They were nestled between two ridiculously tall bookshelves, stuffed to the brim. Thomas loops an arm over his waist, pulling the older boy's back flush against his chest.

"I love you," Newt whispers, turning around to face him, holding his shoulders to pull him closer.

"I love you too," Thomas says back, kissing him.

The door pushes open, the quiet library being filled with chatter. A couple of scientists Newt didn't recognize. They didn't seem to be actually looking for any book in particular, just seeking the solitude of the silence.

Thomas's eyes widen. Something tells Newt that they're not supposed to be in there.

"I'm not sure how I feel about the Maze Trials," one scientist says quietly. "With what Paige is planning, it's just inhumane."

Newt's gaze shifts from them to Thomas, demanding answers. Thomas obviously has no idea what they're talking about.

"They'll be fine," a second scientist says. "I'd be more worried about your ass, now that you've said that."

Thomas lets him go, pushing up to sit as silently as he can. Newt quickly follows his lead. There's a tiny gap between the top of the books on the bottom shelf and the bottom part of the shelf above it- perfect for spying.

"There isn't anyone else in here, is there?" The first scientist asks, looking around nervously.

Thomas drops down so they can't be seen from the gap. Which would have been perfect, if he hadn't knocked a table over.

Uh oh.

The two scientists are standing over them in an instant, arms crossed. One's even tapping their foot, preparing to scold them.

"Thomas," the first one says, "Chancellor Paige is going to love finding out that you're breaking into our private library."

Thomas frowns, crossing his arms to match them. "Chancellor Paige is also going to love all the treason."

"Are you black-mailing me?"

Thomas shrugs. "Depends. Is Paige gonna find out about me and Newt?"

"Is Paige gonna find out about our badmouthing?"

"We'll call a truce."

"Deal."

~~

Thomas smiles softly. Newt's already fast asleep, head in Thomas's lap, hands right beside it. Thomas runs a hand through the older boy's hair, twisting his fingers through the soft strands.

"What're you doing, Thomas?"

Thomas looks up, though he really doesn't want to take his stare off the boy in front of him. And it's Paige. Of course it is.

"Those bitches," Thomas hisses under his breath.

Doctor Paige stares at him, unimpressed. Her bottom lip's sticking out, like it always does when she's really mad.

"What happened?" Doctor Paige asks, though from her tone, it seems a whole lot like she already knows.

"You know your scientists hate you?" Thomas offers instead, shooting her a forced smile.

Doctor Paige returns the cold look. "You know that you're not supposed to be in here! How'd you even-?" She pauses. "You stole my card, didn't you?"

"...no?"

"Give it back," she snaps, sticking her hand out. "And both of you get to bed!"

Thomas reluctantly hands her the key card, and she stomps off, obviously not really caring whether or not they actually got to bed. Newt looks up at him. They blink at each other for just a second before they both break out into laughter.

Newt falls asleep again not long after, even though he spent a good ten minutes crying and stressing over Sonya's wellbeing. Sleep doesn't come for Thomas that night, but he doesn't mind.
The longer he's able to stare at his boyfriend, the better. He doesn't even know if he'll ever see him in person again, after tonight.

"I love you," he whispers, even though he's positive that Newt can't hear him.

He can't keep from smiling when he hears the quiet, slurred "love ya too", muffled by his jeans.

Chapter Text

Thomas has felt longing before. The utter burn of missing someone beyond all measure and rationality. But no longing he's ever felt before will ever compare to this.

"The Maze Trials are already going well," Teresa says lightly, sitting down beside him. "I'm sure we'll be able to find a cure."

Thomas smiles. It's forced. He hasn't been able to smile since Newt and the others left. Teresa's probably noticed, but she hasn't said anything. Come to think of it, did she even know he and Newt had been a thing? Had anyone actually been aware of their relationship?

Thomas sighs. It didn't matter anymore, anyway. Now it's as if their relationship never even existed. Even if he managed to meet up with Newt again, he wouldn't remember. Thomas would be nothing more than a stranger to him. But Thomas would never forget. Newt would introduce himself and Thomas would have to fight back the urge to say "I know and I love you".

Newt was the love of his life, and it would never be the same ever again. He had to make peace with that. It was just easier said than done.

"I know you aren't a fan of saying goodbye to our friends, but hey, they kind of hated us before they left, anyway," Teresa says. She sounds so indifferent that Thomas finds it hard to believe she was ever actually friends with them.

Thomas says nothing in response. He hasn't said a whole lot since the trials started because there hasn't been anyone else that would actually listen. Actually understand.

So he just shrugs because he has nothing else to say. Not to Teresa, not to anyone. Not anymore.

"Don't wear your heart on your sleeves, Tom," Teresa says. "If they were able to ditch us that easily, they were never our friends to begin with."

Thomas has nothing to say to that, either. Doctor Paige has been avoiding him since their impromptu meeting in the library, but she's in their common area now, clearly seeking them out.

"I'd like you two to monitor the Trials full time," she says without introduction. "Group A, of course. Aris and Rachel will handle Group B."

Teresa agrees for the both of them. If Thomas can barely talk to Teresa, there was absolutely no way that he was going to talk to the one at fault for all of this.

"Of course," Teresa says. "We'd love to." She elbows him. "Wouldn't we, Thomas?"

Thomas nods sullenly. Honestly, he's not sure he'll be able to watch them, watch him, every day, knowing that they're, that he's, just out of his reach indefinitely.

"Excellent," Doctor Paige says, smiling coolly. "You'll start today." With that, she turns on her heels, and walks in the other direction. Teresa's quick to follow her, dragging Thomas along behind her.

Thomas can't bear to look at the screen, but he can't bear to look away, either. There's Newt, already getting along with Minho and Alby again. God, he missed him. But he was Swiped- went on with his life like he wasn't missing such a big part of it, because he didn't know any better.

It hurt.

It hurt so bad.

He blinks away the tears stinging at his eyes, even though he knows it won't do him any good.

"Thomas," Doctor Paige says smoothly, without so much as turning around. "You need to move past this little fling of yours. It's all a thing of the past. The priority is these Trials. Remember that."

Thomas nods again. He doesn't want to talk to Paige. Never, ever again. This was all her fault.

Doctor Paige regards him with disappointment, with exasperation. And then she sighs, turning back to Teresa to explain the ropes of the monitoring system. Thomas turns back towards the screen, eyes locking on the blond boy he'd fallen in love with.

He still looks the same. Blond and freckled. Pale skin slightly tanned by the artificial sun. His smile's a whole lot less genuine than Thomas was used to- Newt's smiles used to make him feel like the world was right again, but not these ones. Not the forced ones that were the only things keeping the older boy from falling apart.

He barely registers the door shutting behind Doctor Paige as she leaves the monitoring room.

Thomas stares wistfully at the screen, filled with a different kind of melancholy altogether, and says the first thing he's said since his last "I love you" that night: "Oh, Newt".

Teresa looks back at him, her face twisted with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation. Thomas seems to be getting a lot of that nowadays.

"You need to move on, Tom," Teresa says quietly. She doesn't even know what she's talking about; not really, anyway.

Thomas says nothing to that. Returning back to his vow of silence. He stares at the monitor like it's his lifeline. He watches them, his friends, relentlessly. No breaks for food. He watches that screen long after Teresa's gone to bed.

It's like if he stares hard enough, he can almost pretend he's there with them. Is that even when he wants? He may love Newt, but Newt doesn't love him. Not anymore. He doesn't even remember who he is.

Something needs to change. He has to be able to do something. He needs Newt back. His Newt.

Chapter Text

He begins his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air. He's in an elevator. Or, at least, he thinks he is. His name is Thomas. And that is all that he knows for certain.

He spends another thirty minutes in the elevator. The rickety, moving box that cannot be anything other than an elevator. Everything moves with it, boxes rocking back and forth. And then the top opens up, exposing him to fresh bright sunlight. And the stares of fifty odd teenage boys.

Lots of them are calling stuff out- warnings, greetings; even a couple insults, though those ones are shut down quickly by a few of the older-looking ones. Clearly the leaders, if Thomas knew anything- well, he didn’t, but that was besides the point.

One of them, a dark-skinned boy who looks like he knows what he’s doing, extends a hand down to him, making him feel less and less secluded, when all he really wants to do is hide. He swallows his fear and accepts the hand, slowly pulling himself into the plateau.

“Nice to meet ya, shank,” the boy says. “Welcome to the Glade.”

Thomas doesn’t know what to say. He just straightens up, even though his every instinct is telling him to make himself look small, like he’s in the presence of a feral animal, and takes in his surroundings. There’s no other way to describe the Glade than its name; a grassy meadow, surrounded by concrete walls lined with overgrown ivy. There are four large, arching gates to god-knows-where- seemingly the only way out of the plateau. There are a few shabby-looking wooden buildings laying around the field in no particular fashion. There’s some forestry in one corner. Completely over and underwhelming all at once.

“Greenie’s gonna break his shuck neck lookin’ around like that.”

“Slim it, Gally.”

Thomas doesn’t know what to say to that, either, so he looks at the boy that had helped him up earlier. He looks like the leader- surely he knows what’s going on. “Where am I? What is this place? Who-”

“Slow down,” the boy says, cutting him off.

His tone is a lot cooler and more exasperated than Thomas would have liked it to be, considering the situation at hand. The other boys have dispersed into their own conversations again. Thomas hears words like “keeper” and “klunk” brought up, along others, and he has no idea what any of it means. The words roll of their tongues easily, making Thomas only feel more alienated.

“I said slim it,” the Thomas-deemed leader says. “Keep yapping, and yer next break’ll cut in half!” That seems to quiet them down, even though Thomas is sure it’ll only start back up again.

Thomas looks at him blankly. “What’s going on?” A simple question, really, but with the given circumstances, it holds a lot of power.

“That’s a long story. Everything’ll fall into place,” the boy assures him. “The Box came up late, so I’ll give ya the tour tomorrow instead. Till then… just don’t break anything. Good that?” Pause. “Name’s Alby.”

His demeanor indicates that he wants Thomas to respond, but he has absolutely no idea how to, so he just nods like he understands everything Alby said when, in reality, he understood none of it. Alby juts his hand out, like he wants to shake hands, but something inside Thomas tells him not to take him up on it.

Instead, he turns on his heels and stalks off to the nearest tree, leaning against it as he tries to get his head around what’s going on. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the panic seemed to have built up, swelling inside of him relentlessly, yet he refuses to relinquish control to it. The last thing he needs is to have all these guys see him cry.

“Tell me the long story then,” Thomas calls out, once he’s regained enough of his composure to keep his voice from shaking.

Alby looks over at his nearest friends, a blond boy and a muscled Asian guy, rolling his eyes. And then he takes a few steps closer to Thomas. He takes this opportunity to look around at all the other boys. There’s probably fifty or sixty of them- guys that look like they’re in their early teens to ones that are probably young adults, like Alby, who looks to be one of the oldest ones here.

Thomas swallows his fear, though the pressure just pushed it back up. Eventually, he gives in, looking Alby in the eye. “Seriously? What’s going on?” He pauses. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

“If you ain’t scared,” Alby says, leveling with him, “you ain’t human. Act any different and I’d throw ya off the Cliff myself, cause that’d make you a shuck psycho.”

“The Cliff?”

Alby ignores him. “There’s no real way to start these things, ya get me? Listen; we don’t just kill shanks like you. Just try to avoid dying.” Not for the first time today, Thomas is stunned into silence. How does one even respond to that? Or even begin to continue a conversation when it takes a turn like that?

“I ain’t good at this,” Alby says blankly, like it’s nothing more than a statement of fact. “Not usually the one that handles this klunk, but Nick’s dead now, so-”

Thomas’s eyes widen as another guy steps forward, swatting Alby on the shoulder in a way that tells Thomas they’re friends. “Save it for the bloody tour, mate,” he says, voice thick with a British accent. “Shank’s gonna have a buggin’ heart attack, and he ain’t even seen anythin’ yet.” He extends a hand to Thomas. “Name’s Newt, Greenie, and we’d all be right cheery if ya’d forgive our klunk-for-brains leader, here.”

I know and I love you. The words ring through Thomas’s mind but he quickly puts a stop to it. Where did that even come from? Thomas reaches forward and shakes his hand. He’s a lot nicer than Alby, at first glance, anyway- his smile’s genuine and he seems a whole lot more understanding of Thomas’s circumstances. Newt’s shorter than Alby, though that might be the hill they’re standing on, but it’d make sense, since Alby looks to be a year or so older than him. And there’s something about those dark eyes, soft with consolation, that make Thomas feel a little bit safer. He’s lean, but obviously strong enough to kick Thomas’s ass, with soft, fluffy blonde hair.

“Yeah, well at least he can understand what I’m saying,” Alby fires back.

There’s something about the way he says it that tells Thomas they’re good friends. Alby’s voice is certainly a lot softer when it’s aimed at Newt. Newt just shrugs, smiling playfully. He tugs his hand back from Thomas’s grip; he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding on.

“This place is the Glade,” Alby continues. “We call ourselves the Gladers. This where we live, eat, sleep, and die. And-”

“Who sent me here?” His paralyzing fear had finally worn off, replaced by a more subtle anger, only fueled by his inability to achieve answers to his questions. Alby doesn’t look impressed by Thomas’s nagging. He opens his mouth to scold, or something, but Newt cuts him off with a look. The older boy rolls his eyes, but continues in a less angry manner.

“No interruptions!” Alby says. The whole ordeal was quick enough to give him leeway for the response, but Thomas still doesn’t like it. Newt sighs, obviously unimpressed by Alby’s explanation, but he stays silent. “If we told ya everything, you’d die on the spot. You wouldn’t be any good to us then, would ya?”

Thomas’s eyes widen again, the fear coming back. What kind of place was this? What was going on? Why was it so important that he didn’t know? He looks over to Newt for help. He hadn’t started crying yet, but if he had to hear Alby’s curt and rough explanations and warnings for another few seconds, he would.

Newt rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder, cutting off his next argument. “Maybe you’re hurtin’ more than helpin’, yeah?”

Alby looks at him. “Then by all means, take the reins,” he says. There’s no malice in the way he says it, but Thomas is sure that if anyone else had interrupted, there would have been.

Newt shrugs. “Alright,” he says, and that’s that. He turns to face Thomas like nothing happened. “Why don’t we get ya to bed, Greenie?”

“..Okay.” He tries to calm himself down. The fear has ebbed away, but anger swelling inside him has bubbled up, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to be mad at Alby than it is to be mad at Newt. Actually, he doesn’t want to be mad with Newt, since he’s the only guy here that seems to actually like him, and he doesn’t want to ruin that.

Alby’s eyes fix on Thomas again. “Give it a couple days, and you’ll be fine. Happy and helpin’. None of us knew what was goin’ on the first day, either. Some less than others. New life begins tomorrow.”

Thomas can barely find it in himself to nod. The other so-called Gladers have all dispersed already, having gotten bored, and Alby’s quick to join them. Thomas follows Newt in the other direction after a moment’s delay. There’s so much bustling going on for such a small space. Thomas doesn’t know what to take in first, or what to think of any of it.

“What…what did I do to get sent here?” He manages. He must have been on someone’s bad side, if they deemed it necessary for him to end up here.

Newt laughs. It’s not intimidating, like it would have been if it was still Alby. Like maybe it should have been. There’s a lot of understanding in that laugh, that gleam in his eyes. “Listen, Greenie, we’ve all been there. It’s right intimidating the first day, but it gets easier. Things ain’t good in here, and they’ll only get worse, but you’ll be fine. I can tell you’ve got it in ya,” Newt says. He talks with his hands, which Thomas finds strangely comforting.

Thomas nods slowly. “Is…is that a prison?” He asks, gesturing towards the pit dug out of the ground. Newt says nothing in response to that, leading him past it.

Shrill screams arouse from somewhere in the distance, which Thomas decides not to take as a bad omen. People can scream for good reasons, too, right? Right?

“Shuck,” Newt murmurs- more to himself than to Thomas. “Can’t those bloody med-jacks deal with him for ten buggin’ minutes without needin’ my help?”

Thomas doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what a med-jack is, and he doesn’t know why someone’s screaming, but he can tell that it’s not for a good reason. Newt sounds a lot more exasperated now, even a little unfocused.

“Look, I’ll let Chuckie there get ya situated,” Newt says, pointing over towards the building he’d called the Homestead, and the kid loitering in front of it. “Some shanks sleep in there, but lots of ‘em end up outside, too, so take your pick.” He doesn’t wait for confirmation before rushing off in the opposite direction, limping slightly. Thomas doesn’t ask. Clearly there’s no shortage of danger in here.

Thomas nods, even though Newt can’t see him, and heads over to the wooden building. It’s kind of uneven and rickety, like it’ll fall apart at any given notice, but Thomas doesn’t say any of that out loud. Most of the buildings look like they could collapse at any moment, really, so it’s just something he’ll have to get used to.

“You’re the Greenie, right?”

Thomas looks up at the little kid. He looks barely thirteen, with curly brown hair and freckles. He assumes it’s Chuck, but decides against asking. “I..uh, I think so…?” He manages. He’s not sure what’s going on with the slang here, but he’s automatically decided that he doesn’t want to know. “I’m Thomas.”

Chuck just laughs. “Yeah, no one’s gonna call you that for a while,” he says, like it’s the most obvious fact he could possibly state.

Thomas decides there are more important things to ask for elaborations on. Chuck steps through the doorway to the Homestead, waiting for Thomas to follow. He’d gotten distracted by a little silver bug on the wall, flashing red with the word “WICKED” etched onto its back.

“What? The beetleblade?” Chuck prompts, coming back outside to stare at it with him. “They won’t hurt ya. Unless you touch it. Learned that the hard way. Shank.” His last word is more of an afterthought, like he hasn’t quite grasped the Glade’s slang. That’d make two of them.

Thomas nods, already having moved on from the bug. He decides those things are probably the least of his problems as the screams start up again.

“What’s going on over there?” He asks, hoping Chuck would be more inclined to actually answer his questions.

“Don’t really know,” Chuck says, shrugging. “Ben’s in there. They prolly got him, if I had to guess.” Pause. “Newt n Alby wouldn’t be making such a big deal bout it otherwise.”

“...They?” Thomas asks. “Who’re they?”

Chuck looks at him for a moment, like he’s not sure how much he’s allowed to say. “Um.. you’d better hope you never find out,” he says, purposefully evasive. “Listen, I don’t know a whole lot either,” he adds, trying to cover. “I was the Greenbean till you came along.”

“Yeah, why does everyone call me that?”

“Cause you’re the newest Newbie,” Chuck says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Don’t worry, you’ll just be ..Thomas..? and there’ll be a new Greenie.”

Thomas nods slowly, brow furrowed. He decides he doesn’t really care enough right now to protest further. It seems it’s already set in stone, anyway. Another scream echoes around the Glade, only distracting him more.

“Seriously, it sounds like someone’s dying in there,” Thomas protests.

“He won’t die,” Chuck assures him. “Can’t die from it, as long as you get the serum in time. It just hurts like hell.” Yeah, Thomas could have figured that one out.

“What does?” Thomas asks instead.

Chuck’s eyes widen, like he’s said something he shouldn’t have. “Um..getting stung,” he says quietly, looking around like he’s waiting to get scolded by someone. “By the..the Grievers.”

Thomas makes to ask what a Griever is, but by Chuck’s expression, he can tell the kid doesn’t know any more about them than he does. He decides to ask more about himself, instead, because, despite knowing his name, he knows absolutely nothing else.

“Hey, how old do you think I am?” Thomas asks.

Chuck smiles, grateful for the subject change. “I’d say about sixteen.” It’s odd, he feels a whole lot older than sixteen. “Brown hair, brown eyes, ugly as klunk, too.” He smirks as he adds that last part, and Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Gee, thanks.”

He looks out at the exits from the Glade, wondering where they lead. Wondering what’s out there. What a Griever is, the thing that’s supposedly caused all that screaming. Wondering what would happen to him. Wondering if he’d ever get out of here.

“Don’t worry,” Chuck says lightly, as if reading his mind. “I’ve been here a whole month, already, so I’ll take good care of ya.”

Thomas doesn’t exactly feel very comforted. Thomas is unconvinced, but he lets his new friend lead him into the Homestead. There are a bunch of guys in there already, their conversations falling short when Thomas walks in behind Chuck.

“Look, it’s the Greenie.” It’s the dark-haired guy from before…Gally, maybe? He was tall and skinny and had super arched eyebrows. “Shank prolly had a heart attack hearin’ Benny scream like a girl.” Yeah, instantly Thomas doesn’t like him.

“My name’s Thomas,” he says hesitantly, feeling the need to get away. He makes for the stairs, hoping that maybe someone could give him some answers. Or, more likely, he’d figure things out for himself.

Gally cut him off, holding a hand out to stop him. “Hold on, there,” he says. “Newbies aren’t allowed to go up there when someone’s going through the Changing. Newt and Alby don’t allow it.”

“What’s the Changing?” His dislike has been overpowered by curiosity.

Gally doesn’t explain anything. Instead, he just stares him down. “There’s something about you, Greenie, and I don’t like it. I’ve seen ya before.”

“I have literally no idea who you are,” Thomas says unhelpfully. “I don’t even really know who I am.” Chuck sighs, obviously unimpressed.

Gally sighs. “I’ve seen you. Not many shanks in here can say they’ve been stung, but I have.” He points up the stairs like it’s proving his point. “I know exactly what Benny baby’s going through. I’ve been there. And I saw you.”

Thomas has half a mind to ask him if he’s dating this Ben guy, but ultimately decides against it. That wouldn’t get him anywhere. And maybe he’s a little scared of the guy. But just a little. So he just stands there, keeping eye contact with Gally, panic eating away at him.

“What, you scared of the Grievers?” Gally sneers. “Scared of gettin’ stung?”

There’s that word again. Stung. How does that even work? What’s a Griever, and how does it sting? What does it do?

“If Newt went up there, I wanna talk to him,” Thomas says, because it’s the truth. He really does, almost strangely so. Like he never wants to leave his presence.

Gally looks back at his friends, smirks, and backs away from the stairs, hands raised in a mimicked surrender. “Y’know what, you’re right. I shouldn’t be so mean to the Greenies. Go on up.”

Thomas frowns, fairly certain that this is a trap. “Who are you?” He asks, even though he kind of already knows. He just needs to stall until he decides whether or not it’s worth it to go up there.

“I’m Gally,” he says with a forced smile. “The real leader around here. You can call me Captain Gally if you want, everyone does.” Thomas fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Alright, Captain Gally it is,” he says with an exaggerated salute. Gally’s friends start laughing, obviously not the desired effect Gally had been going for.

“Really, Thomas, you’re not supposed to go up there,” Chuck intervenes. “No Greenies allowed. You’ll get in trouble.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Gally argues. “Go on up. They’ll understand. All the Greenies stick to Newt like glue for the first couple days, y’know.”

He wasn’t sure if that was to try to make him uncomfortable, or jealous, or something, but he ignores it. Thomas hesitates, but he climbs the stairs without stopping to really think rationally about it. He needs answers, and this is certainly where he can get them. And really, he did want to talk to Newt. Really strangely badly, for whatever reason.

He rounds the corner, pausing as he sees the door creaked open, Newt and Alby crouched by a bed. Probably Ben’s, if Thomas had to guess. He took another silent step closer, though he instantly regretted that. The body in the bed was pale, skinny, and writhing in agony. Bloodshot eyes, mouth wide open in a silent wail, also letting out some not-so-silent ones. His skin seemed stretched taunt against his bones, like there wasn’t enough of it to go around. Sickly looking veins bulged out, vibrant purple and green and blue against his almost-white skin.

And that was all he got to see before Alby jumped up and rushed closer to him, block the view, but not the moans and shrieks of pain. “What’re you doing in here!?” He demands. If he’d seemed mad before, it was nothing compared to now. Newt, still on his knees by the bed, looks back at him, too, eyes much softer than Alby’s. Like he’s actually concerned about Thomas’s wellbeing after what he’d seen. He says nothing to come to his defense, though. “I…um…I wanted answers,” Thomas manages, struggling to find the words he’d fought so hard to come up here and say. Alby’s not impressed. “You are gonna go back down those stairs, and if I see ya before tomorrow morning, you won’t live to see another one- I’ll throw ya off the Cliff myself. Good that?”

Thomas has no idea how to respond to literally any of that, so he nods, and rushes off like a dog with its tail between its legs. So much for demanding answers.

Chuck looks at him with staged sympathy, quickly followed by an “I told you so” look. Fair enough. He deserved that.

“C’mon,” he offers, choosing the high road and not making fun of him for what just happened, “let’s go get something to eat.” Thomas hadn’t realized how hungry he was until right then.

Maybe his answers could wait, maybe Newt could wait, just a little while longer.

Chapter Text

Frypan was nice. Funny. Didn’t outright hate him like Gally, and maybe Alby, which Thomas counted as a win. And he was really good at cooking, which, Thomas supposed was a skill someone needed to have when their whole Glade was a bunch of teenage boys isolated from everyone else.

But what concerned Thomas more than Frypan and food was the big gateway he and Chuck passed on their way out of the Homestead. He pointed at it, which Chuck took note of right away, instantly steering him away from that.

“No way,” Chuck says quickly. “Those things are about to close. And you don’t wanna get stuck out there for the night.”

Thomas had no idea what he was talking about. "Close? What is that? Is that-"

"Look," Chuck says, holding him by the arm to keep him from running off, though Thomas was sure he could shake the kid's grip if he really needed to.

But he watches the gateway as the concrete slowly begins to shake, the metal screeching and whining as mechanisms turned. And slowly enough, the walls began to close off the entrances.
Thomas watched it all happen, eyes wide. What was out there? And what happened if you got stuck out there?

"They do that every night," Chuck says evasively, "and open again in the morning." Pause. "Something happens out in the Maze, too. Walls shifting. You can hear it all night."

"The...Maze?"

"No."

"You just said Maze! Is that what's out there? A maze?"

Chuck's face gets red. "I'm done with you. I'm not saying anything else."

Thomas rolls his eyes, getting a closer look at the East Door. It certainly looked like a maze. But if that was the case, why weren't they allowed out in it? Surely they'd want people running the maze, if it was the only way out of here?

The screeching and grinding gets louder and the doors close more. Chuck pulls on Thomas's sleeve, tugging him away.

Thomas takes a step back, but he still watches the walls intently. Nobody around him seems to care much about the fact that they’re being trapped inside the Glade. Slowly, but surely. It’s somewhat beautiful, on some weird mechanical level. The eerie sounds and the slow mechanisms.

It’s mesmerizing, really. Thomas is too focused on it to be properly aware of anything else. It’s like he can’t take his eyes off of it.

The doors finally close with a sickeningly loud thud that reverberates around the entire Glade. Thomas stares at the wall in silence, eyes wide. Huh. He feels a surge of pride as the walls finally seal together, which is odd, but odds are he’s already lost his mind, anyway, so his focus doesn’t linger on the proud feeling for very long.

Especially as the shifting and creaking didn't stop, though this time it sounded like it was coming from farther away. Chuck had said something about changes in the Maze, too, so that must be what's going on, even though Thomas isn't exactly sure what that means.

"...Wow," he finally says, a little bit sad to see the walls fully sealed for the night.

Chuck shrugs. "Ain't nothin', as Alby would say," he says. "It's whatever. You get used to it after a while. The only ones who really care about when those walls close are the Runners."

"The who?"

"Don't worry about it."

He isn’t exactly sure who the Runners are, or what they do, but he knows the job’s calling to him. The maze, or whatever it is, is calling to him. He’ll have to ask Newt some time. He definitely knows more about the way the Glade works than Chuck does.

Thomas gets a feeling Chuck's not going to answer any more of his questions, so he relents, following the kid back towards the Homestead. He takes one last look around, walking much slower than Chuck. The entire feel of the Glade is different now. More cage-y. More like he's actually trapped. He’s never felt claustrophobic before, and even now, it’s more of an anticipation than a fear. Like the complete isolation is more of a comfort than a punishment.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t want to get out and never return, though. Because he most certainly wants nothing more than to wake up and find out that all of this had just been a strangely realistic dream.

"Come on," Chuck says again. "You wanna be in bed at night time." Thomas doesn't know what he means by that. He decides that he doesn't want to.

He and Chuck end up at the back of the Homestead, crouched by a window. Thomas thinks it’s the bathroom, but he’s not exactly sure.

“What are we-?”

“Just watch and learn,” Chuck says, cutting him off. Thomas has no idea what’s going on, but judging on the smirk on his little friend’s face, he knows all that he needs to.

Thomas wants to protest. Especially as Chuck knocks once on the window. Now’s really not the time for him to be pranking people. Like, what if Newt or Alby was in there? He’d never be able to live that down. He’d be dead. Possibly if it was Alby, but most certainly if it was Newt. Not that Newt would do anything, but Thomas got the feeling that Alby was super overprotective when it came to Newt, and Thomas would find himself being thrown off the Cliff. Whatever that actually meant.

Before Thomas can argue against what they’re doing, Chuck knocks on the window again, this time a little louder.

“Who’s there?” Whoever’s in there sounds pissed. Thomas frowns as he realizes he recognizes that voice. It’s Gally. Probably the next worst option after Newt and Alby.

Thomas looks at Chuck wildly, mouthing “are you crazy?!” at him. Chuck just shrugs, leans down to the window again, and screams at the top of his lungs.

Something crashes, followed by a string of very creative swear words and threats. Chuck has already taken off towards the Box. The bathroom door swings open as Thomas finally comes back to his senses and chases after him.

He was perhaps a little too slow. Gally pointed at him, visibly ticked off. “You!” He shouts. “Come here!” Uh oh.

Thomas’s heart sinks in surrender, but he does his best to straighten up and stand his ground. “It wasn’t me. I swear.” Correct and straight to the point. Excellent start.

“Then how do you know there was something for you to have done?” Gally snaps. Dang. Thomas hadn’t thought about that. There was a moment of awkward silence before Gally continued: “I saw Chuck’s fat face in that window. You’d just better choose who you want as friends, and who you want as enemies, cause I swear, Greenie, another stunt like that, and there’ll be blood spilled. Ya hear?”

Thomas nods. “Good…good that?” He tries.

Gally almost laughs at his attempt at Glader slang. Almost. And then he leaves. Just like that. Thomas waits a moment to let himself calm down before rushing off to find Chuck.

“Thanks for sacrificing me,” Thomas says. He’d meant it to be a little bit sharper than it came out, but he decided that he didn’t really mind either way.

Chuck just grins, still catching his breath from laughing so hard. “Look- if I’d known Gally was in there, I wouldn’t have done it. I promise.”

They both broke out into laughter.

~~

He and Chuck end up camped outside, a little ways off from the rest of the Gladers. They're under a tree. It's quiet, peaceful. Probably better than sleeping inside the Homestead with a bunch of sweaty guys who have been working all day long. Thomas can't even begin to imagine all that snoring.

It's difficult to find sleep that night, but for whatever reason, he feels he'll be getting the best sleep he's gotten in a while. Like he's been anticipating this moment for a long time. He decides that he's going crazy. Maybe all of this is just some sick hallucination.

Probably not, but convincing himself otherwise is a good enough distraction to trick himself into falling asleep, the creaks and groans of the Maze around them like white noise.

Things are going to get worse. That’s what Alby said. But maybe, things weren’t terrible in here. Sure, he couldn’t remember anything. And most of the Gladers either hated him or wanted nothing to do with him. But it could be worse. Probably.

Y’know, he could be the one going through the Changing, or whatever they’d called it. But then he remembered Ben, thin and white as a ghost, and he gave up on getting a proper sleep that night. He just couldn’t. Not with those images in his head.

Chapter Text

He only wakes up as early as he does because someone’s gently shaking him awake. The heat of someone’s fingertips on his shoulders lingers as the hands retract. He looks around hazily, disappointed when he remembers where he is. That everything that had happened yesterday hadn’t been a dream.

“C’mon, Greenie, you don’t wanna wake up Chuckie, do ya?” Thomas recognizes the accent almost instantly. He wasn’t sure why Newt was waking him up this early in the morning, but he decides that he doesn’t really mind either way.

He pulls himself to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?” He slurs, hoping that maybe people will actually be inclined to answer this time.

“Gotta show you somethin’,” Newt says, taking him by the wrist and practically dragging him away. Thomas isn’t exactly appalled at anything that’s happening right now. Actually, he feels a little bit safer than he has since he’d first arrived.

Thomas doesn’t actually ask where Newt’s taking him. The thought doesn’t occur to him until Chuck’s scarcely more than a dot on the horizon. In a situation like this, Thomas should be wary of everyone, but he’d up and followed Newt without a moment’s hesitation. What did that say about him? Probably nothing good.

He halts in place. The last thing he needs is to make another mistake in here. Newt takes another step before he notices, then backtracks as he notes the tension in their hold. When did they even start holding hands? Clearly Newt hadn’t noticed, either, as he drops Thomas’s hand very quickly after that.

“C’mon,” he says quietly. It’s gentle. Not like how Alby would have done it. “‘M supposed to show ya somethin’ before the wake up.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He follows Newt without another thought, deciding it’s better to just ask questions as they walk. “Where are we going?”

“Just follow me. And, yunno, stay close.” You didn’t have tell Thomas twice.

Their pace slowed considerably as they passed the Homestead, having both of them looking at the ground to refrain from stepping on anyone as they twisted and winded through the field of sleeping bodies. Thomas did his best to keep from stepping on someone- really only stepping on one hand, which had earned him a punch to the calf, and a dirty look from Newt. But then they moved on like nothing happened, so Thomas didn’t bother bringing it up again.

Once they were in the clear of sleeping Gladers, Newt broke out into a run. Thomas jogged after him, not bothering to vocalize any of his questions, since he probably wouldn’t have gotten any answers, anyway. Why did they need to run? What was so important?

Better yet, what was going on?

Newt led him into what you could barely call a forest -just a bunch of trees, really- by the walls. The older boy wound through the maze of bushes and roots and trees like he knew it like the back of his hand, leaving Thomas with no choice but to follow after him, staring at the ground to keep from tripping over anything.

The light’s dim, just barely illuminating the woods around them. He stops when Newt does, scarcely a foot away from the wall, towering above them. There are red lights flashing on the wall, on and off. Thomas looks away from it, back to Newt, the red light still blotting his vision. Newt doesn’t pay him any mind, side stepping a few times till he’s standing in front of a large clot of ivy, obviously overgrown and unkept. He doesn’t do anything yet, just stands there, staring at it. Thomas takes this as an opportunity to ask a question.

“What are those?” He asks, meaning the lights. They were bright and didn’t seem to fit in with the otherwise run-down aesthetic of the Glade. It’s both frightening and exciting at the same time. Exhilarating, perhaps.

“You’ll know when ya bloody need to, Greenie,” Newt says, finally looking over at him, like his gaze had been torn away from the ivy. His eyes are a little bit distant, but Thomas blames that on it being early in the morning.

Thomas frowns, annoyed that’s being kept out of the loop. “Well, I think it’s stupid to send me to a place and not tell me anything about it.” He pauses, surprised at his own outburst. “..shank.” The word feels foreign and odd on his tongue, but he adds as much sarcasm as he can into the word.

Newt stares at him for a moment, almost dumbfounded, before barking out a laugh and turning back to the wall in front of them. The mountain of ivy. “Y’know what? I like ya, Greenie. Now c’mere and let me actually show ya somethin’.”

Thomas takes a step closer to him. He’s not so sure what’s so exciting about some vines. They’re really not all that interesting. Newt pulls the vines away from the wall before Thomas can ask the blatantly useless question, revealing a misty pane of glass, roughly six feet tall and slightly cracked.

Newt looks through it for a while before he says anything. Before Thomas says anything. Thomas isn’t exactly sure what the whole point of this was. What could possibly be on the other side of the glass that’s ever so important?

At first, there’s nothing there. Until it changes. The dark, practically pitch-black maze corridor erupted with blue-green light, showering everything in its wake with the illumination. Not just the maze, but the Glade, too; Newt’s dark eyes look almost blue, reflecting whatever’s going on in there.

“Out there’s the maze,” Newt says finally. He sighs, like he’s done with everything and everyone altogether. “Everythin’ we do in here, our entire lives, really- it all revolves around the bloody maze. Every bloody day we dedicate our time to tryna solve somethin’ that’s never actually proved it can be solved. Yunno?” Thomas opens his mouth to respond before realizing the question was rhetorical. “Well, Alby ‘n I wanted to show you what’s out there. Show ya why those walls close every night. Why you should never, never go out there.”

And then he steps back, hands gesturing Thomas to the spot he’d been standing in. Despite the fact that whatever he’s about to see is obviously terrifying enough to scare everyone living here, Thomas steps forward quickly, pressing his nose to the glass like a little kid.

At first glance, he doesn’t see anything. And then he figures out where the light came from. There’s a large, fat slug-like creature slinking along, slowly- practically inch by inch. A horribly sickening combination of animal and machine, it had no particular shape, really just filling whatever space surrounded it. Metal appendages stuck out of its slime in no real fashion- just anywhere they could be jammed in; gardening shears, long metal rods, sharp blades and zig-zagged razors. It flashes red every so often. It’s still going slowly, but Thomas doesn’t doubt it can speed up when it needs to.

It’s the most horrible, god-awful thing Thomas has ever laid eyes on. He can’t remember anything other than yesterday, and he’s still certain that he’s never been more terrified in his entire life. He steps back, eyes wide, and lets the ivy fall back into place. Like hiding the creature can erase its entire existence.

“Wh..what is that thing?” Thomas asks when he finds himself rendered able to speak again.

“We call ‘em Grievers,” Newt says. He doesn’t seem nearly as fazed as Thomas is. As he probably should be, given the life they’ve all been doomed to. “Nasty buggers, yeah?” Pause. “At least they only come out at night. Be glad for those walls, mate.”

Thomas exhales shakily. He doesn’t know what to say or even how to talk properly anymore. How does everyone go about their lives so normally when these monsters live just around the corner, ready to feast on them?

“Well,” Newt says, staring at the ivy intently, “now you know what’s in the bloody maze, mate. Now you know this ain’t play time. You’re trapped in this Glade, Greenie, so we’ll be expecting ya to survive, and help us do what we’re here to do.”

“Which..which is?”

Newt turns away from the wall, almost having to tear his gaze away, just like last time. His eyes lock on Thomas’s, dead serious. “Find a way out, Greenie,” he says blankly. “Solve that buggin’ maze and get home.”

~~

Thomas has been loitering around all day. Not that he’d protest against being put to work, but nobody really trusts him to do anything yet. Chuck is more than happy to abandon his post doing whatever it is Chuck does in the run of the day, which Thomas is thankful for.

He can’t get the sight of the Grievers out of his head. How does everyone live their lives normally when they know what foul monstrosities lurk out there?

“It’ll be easier when you get used to everything,” Chuck says. “The Grievers, the Maze, the Glade. Once you start workin’, you don’t have time for a whole lotta worrying.”

Thomas doesn’t respond, instead watching silently as Alby makes his way over to him and Chuck. Was it time for the long-awaited tour?

“Can I come?” Chuck asks. Clearly he’s not a fan of whatever job he’s been tasked with, as he’s doing everything in his ability to get out of doing it.

Alby rolls his eyes, whacking him on the back of the head gently. Chuck sighs, disheartened, but doesn’t seem overly surprised at the response.

“C’mon, Greenie,” Alby says, looking back at Thomas. Thomas watches Chuck wander away, sulking, instead of making eye contact with Alby. He’s not sure where their relationship stands, or how mad Alby is at him, and he really doesn’t want to find out. Or make it worse.

“So this is the tour?” He asks. He tries to keep his voice as patient and non-whiny as possible. He doesn’t want to get on the leader’s bad side any more than he already has.

Alby nods curtly, turning around and walking away without checking to make sure Thomas was following him. Thomas chases after him, running to catch up.

“That’s the Box,” Alby says, stopping abruptly in the exact middle of the Glade. He’s standing right in front of a square indent in the ground. The elevator-like machinery that had brought Thomas up into the Glade yesterday. “It brings food and supplies up every week, and a new Greenie once a month.”

Thomas nods to prove he’s listening. That makes enough sense. Sure, the Gladers seem to be doing okay on their own, but there had to be some things they weren’t able to make or come by on their own.

“Over there,” Alby says, pointing towards the forest. “The Deadheads. Also where we keep our graveyard. Wouldn’t recommend spending a whole lotta time in there.”

Thomas nods. He had already been in there this morning, and has absolutely no desire to go back. He silently thanks Alby for not making him go in as a part of the tour. Alby misses the gesture entirely, instead moving on to the first building. “That’s the Map Room,” he says. “Only Runners are allowed in there, so don’t let me catch ya in there.”

“Okay,” Thomas says. He is, admittedly, intrigued by the idea of looking over all the maps of the maze, but if he’s going to tell anyone that, it certainly wouldn’t be Alby.

Alby walks away from the map room, but Thomas lingers there for a moment more, trying to peer through the dark window. That is, until Alby turns around and ushers him along impatiently. Thomas trails after the leader awkwardly, silently wishing it had been Newt to give the tour instead.

“That’s the Medjack’s Hut,” Alby says, actually gesturing for him to go inside this time. “And our Medjacks themselves, Clint and Jeff.” The two boys inside offer a curt greeting before getting back to work. Thomas looks around, noting that this is somewhat of an infirmary.

The Medjacks don’t look too skilled at their trade, and the equipment they have access to seems subpar, so Thomas makes a mental note to not let himself get hurt too badly.

“Welcome to the Glade, Greenie,” Jeff says before getting back to work, cutting strips of bandages. Clint nods, an addition to the other guy’s greeting.

Alby wastes no more time, moving on to the next building. This one was the Homestead. Thomas knew this one.

“That’s the Homestead, which ya should already be acquainted with,” Alby says, leading him inside. “Most shanks end up sleepin’ outside, anyway.”

Thomas nods. They don’t go upstairs, probably because Ben’s up there, which is totally fine with Thomas, because quite honestly, he never wants to go back up there ever again. Alby seems to pick up on that.

Alby’s going outside again. Thomas, who had been craning his neck to take in the portrait they had hanging on the wall -some random lady- rushed after him quickly, running to catch up with the relentless pace the leader had set.

“That’s the Slammer,” Alby says, nodding at the previously Thomas-spotted prison. Apparently he hadn’t been wrong about that one. “Do your part, and you’ll never end up in there.”

Thomas nods. How many people had disobeyed orders, if they’d felt the need to build a literal jail cell off their Homestead?

“And over there’s the Dining Hall,” Alby says, pointing to another run-down wooden structure. “That’s where we eat, and where Fry and his cooking team make the food. I’m sure you’ve already been in there, though.” Thomas nods again to confirm that he has, indeed, already been in there.

Alby shrugs. “Well, that’s pretty much it, other than the Maze.” He pauses. “I don’t have to tell ya to stay outta there, do I?”

Thomas shakes his head. Quite frankly, the Maze is still calling to him. Drawing him in. He’s not sure why, or even how, but he knows that he needs to become a Runner. Who knows? Maybe he can get everyone out. Newt had asked him to do his part to help find an escape, and though this idea of his surely wasn’t what the older boy had meant, Thomas felt it very important to him not to disappoint.

Thomas still has many questions. The most adamant being what the hell is that ringing sound? And truly, it was hard to ignore. It went on and on, like a never-ending alarm. Thomas looks over at Alby, mouth open to demand answers -more politely than yesterday, of course- but the older boy looks just as confused as Thomas.

“What’s that?” Thomas asks anyway.

“The..the Greenie Alarm,” Alby says, uncertain. “But there shouldn’t be another one till next month. That..”

Alby rushes off towards the Box without another word to Thomas, but the younger boy follows him anyway. The Box has come back up again, just like Alby had explained. But if a new Greenie came up once a month, why was there another one now?

Even Thomas, who had been here all of twenty four hours, knew that something was wrong. Something was going to change. Or maybe everything.

Newt’s already there, crouched by the opening, staring down with uncertainty. He looks up at Alby, less assured than Thomas has ever seen him, though he seems to relax the smallest bit now that Alby’s here to take control of the situation.

“What’s going on?” Alby asks, which is just as well, since Thomas was about to ask the same thing, and it’d certainly be received better from the leader.

Newt pushes to his feet at the same time Alby stops at his side. “It’s a girl,” he says. He was speaking quietly, but his voice drops to an almost-whisper as he adds the next part: “I think she’s dead.”

Chapter Text

“What d’you mean?” Alby asks, already skeptical. He’s definitely stressed out about the whole situation, if his harsh tone is any indication. Newt winces slightly, obviously not used to being on the receiving end of his friend’s wrath.

He shrugs somewhat nervously, pointing down at the Box. “Look at her,” he says, voice wavering with uncertainty. “She ain’t conscious, pale as anythin’.”

“We’ve never had a girl before,” Alby points out. “Why would they send us a dead one?”

“I dunno,” Newt says, trying to regain his composure. “Maybe she wasn’t dead when they put her in there.”

Thomas looks around at the other Gladers. Some of them are intrigued, some are confused. Most are trying to call dibs on the girl, some louder than others.

Alby rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Nobody better touch her, you hear!?” He calls out. “No one! If I catch any of ya sneakin’ around her, I’ll throw you off the shuck Cliff myself!” The excited chattering quiets almost instantaneously. Thomas has to commend Alby’s sense of order and righteousness, now that he wasn’t in the wrong.

Newt and Gally have already climbed into the Box to lift the girl out, resting her gently on the grass of the Glade.

Thomas takes a tentative step closer. The girl does look dead. Her pale, almost white skin looked ghastly, especially compared to her dark hair. But for whatever reason, Thomas notes that she feels… familiar. He doesn’t remember her, not quite, and he doesn’t know how he would know her, but he’s certain that he did, at some point, know her.

Before he can try to figure it out, the girl sits up, gasping. She makes direct eye contact with Thomas before uttering out one barely comprehensible sentence: “everything is going to change.”

Someone asks her for clarification. She’s out again before she can respond. She’s collapsed back on the ground, eyes shut delicately, closed fist clenched tightly around something. What it actually is that she’s holding on to like a lifeline, Thomas isn’t sure. But no one else seems to notice it.

“What’s in her hand?” Thomas asks. Gally glares at him for a moment, suddenly all the more suspicious of him. Thomas does his best to ignore this, but it’s proving to be quite the challenge.

Newt crouches down beside her, gently opening her first to pry out a slip of paper. He unfolds the paper, squinting to read it. “She’s the last one. Ever.” He looks over at Alby, obviously wanting him to take the lead again. “What does that-?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Alby says, quiet enough for only the closest people to hear. Then he gestures for two people that Thomas registers as Clint and Jeff, the Medjacks. “Take her to the Medjack Hut,” he orders. “Try to keep her stable, if not awake.”

They rush forward, lifting the girl and carefully carrying her away. Thomas feels somewhat obligated to offer assistance, but with Gally’s eyes on him, he decides against it. Now is certainly not the time to put the attention on him, when everything’s so confusing. When not even Newt or Alby know what to do. What’s going to happen.

Chuck has found his way to Thomas’s side. “Fun tour?” He asks, trying to change the subject from the grim matter at hand.

“I didn’t make Alby mad this time, if that counts for anything.”

Chuck laughs, elbowing him. Thomas barely feels it, but he shifts to the side to make the younger boy feel better about it. “For you, it definitely counts for a lot,” the kid says. Thomas rolls his eyes and scoffs. But he can’t exactly deny it. Chuck’s really not wrong.

Chuck continues to talk, but Thomas is totally zoned out, watching Clint and Jeff carry the comatose girl into the Medjack Hut. The more time passed, the more certain Thomas was that he knew her somehow. It was like a spark ignited in him, growing stronger as his memory kept flipping back to her pale face. She was different. She had to be.

Thomas knew for certain that for whatever reason, he recognized the girl. And somehow, he was just as positive that that girl was their ticket out of here. Not that he can say any of this out loud; Gally’s already certain he’s a spy, or something, and this would only prove him right. With a sinking feeling, he decided that maybe his remembering the girl wasn’t such a good thing after all. So he instead tries to focus on her message. Messages. Everything was going to change. Hadn’t it already? And her being the last one? Was that such a bad thing? The Glade seemed rather overpopulated as it was, from an almost-outsider’s perspective.

But then, as the crowd dissipates, Thomas realizes why it’s such a bad thing. The Box wasn’t going back down. The Gladers had become pretty independent, but the Box brought up what they couldn’t get on their own, right? How were they meant to survive without exterior aid?

“Maybe it’s just a little slow,” Chuck offers. Not even Newt can entertain his childish hopefulness.

“Chuck, don’t ya have work to do?” Alby prompts, waving him off. He’d never admit it, but he did that to keep Chuck from getting scared about their current predicament. Thomas is sure of it. The kid looks hesitant, but he slinks off when he sees Newt’s reassuring encouragement. Thomas might have only been here two days, but he can already tell that the second in command is the one that keeps everything from falling apart.

Thomas stands there hesitantly, not sure if he should leave or not. No one had said anything to him, but this seemed like a private moment where both the leaders are unsure and scared. It’s not exactly a message they want to convey to the rest of the Gladers; certainly not the Greenie.

“I’m going to check on the girl,” Alby announces to Newt -who nods curtly- and ignores Thomas entirely. He’s focusing on the one thing in this predicament that he can actually somewhat control, and Thomas really can’t blame him.

Newt doesn’t go with him. Thomas had been expecting him to, but he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at the Box, eyes hazy and unfocused. Thomas might not have been here all that long, but he can tell that Newt isn’t one to act this vulnerable in front of an audience.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asks because he can’t think of anything else to say. Newt’s obviously not alright, but Thomas, who barely knows him, certainly can’t go and outright say that.

Newt tears his gaze away from the Box, letting it bore into the Greenie instead. “‘M fine, Greenie. Don’t worry about this, yeah? It’ll all be just right soon enough.”

Thomas doesn’t believe a word he says, but he’s nice enough not to say that. He understands that a lot of people look up to Newt, and he can’t freak out in front of them. In front of anyone. So he nods in somewhat of a consolation, and then he walks off to find Chuck. It’s not that he particularly wants to leave Newt alone, especially when he’s this stressed out, but he knows that the older boy’s not going to calm down with someone else around.

“I think I recognize that girl,” Thomas says quietly, sitting down beside the young boy, leaning against a particularly thick tree trunk.

Chuck looks up at him, surprised to see Thomas beside him, even though he’d watched the older boy stalk over here. “What d’you mean?” He asks.

“I just…she feels familiar, I guess,” Thomas says. “Like, I don’t know how or why I’d know her, but I remember knowing her. I guess. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” Chuck says, as brutally honest as ever. “But I get what you’re sayin’. Have you told Newt or Alby?”

Thomas hesitates, looking back towards the center of the Glade, eyes locking on Newt, who’s only just making his way over to reconvene with Alby, his shaky sigh strangely visible. “I think they have enough to worry about right now,” he says warily.

Chuck follows his gaze and nods soundly in understanding. There’s a lot going on, and Thomas’s odd speculations don’t need to be another thing weighing on their minds. They have enough on their plates as it is.

“If I remember anything else about her, I’ll tell them then,” Thomas promises, more of an assurance to him than to Chuck. “But it’s just a gut feeling right now. I don’t want to bug them, when they’re busy with everything else.”

Chuck just nods again. There’s nothing really to say after that.

Frypan leads some kind of campfire that night to take everyone’s minds off of what’s going on. On their possible impending doom. Thomas can’t really focus on anything but the girl, despite Chuck’s best efforts, and then he realizes that Newt’s not there, and then that’s all he can focus on.

Alby’s standing close to the Medjack Hut with Clint and Jeff, obviously still keeping an eye on the girl, but Newt’s not with him. Thomas finds this odd. He hasn’t really seen the two of them together all that often, but he’d had it in his head that they rarely separated.

“Get your mind offa the girl,” Chuck teases, elbowing him, obviously misreading the entire situation. “Maybe you’ll recognize her better when she wakes up.”

“Have you seen Newt?” Thomas asks instead, choosing not to respond to Chuck’s jibes. “I haven’t seen him since he and Alby were at the Box earlier.”

Chuck shrugs. “No,” he says, “but Newt doesn’t really stay at these things all that long on the best of days. He leaves once everyone gets drunk.”

Thomas nods slowly, having more questions now than he’d had before Chuck had started talking. So instead he gets up and goes to ask Alby if he knows anything.

“If this is about the girl,” Alby begins, unimpressed. Thomas cuts him off before he can make a violent threat.

“It’s about Newt, actually,” Thomas intervenes. Alby hesitates, confused. Maybe even a little bit intrigued. He doesn’t say anything sharp or harsh to get Thomas to leave him alone, so the younger boy continues: “I was just wondering if you knew where he was. He’s not at the campfire and he looked really nervous earlier, so I wanted to check on him.”

Alby frowns, but he seems more confused than annoyed. Thomas counts that as a win. “I don’t think he wants your company, Greenie,” he says, instead of answering.

“People shouldn’t be alone when they’re scared,” Thomas says. He’s not sure why he’s so adamant about this, but now he finds he can’t think about anything else. He is worried. Really worried, even though he probably doesn’t have a reason to be.

Alby pauses, but then he relaxes. Just slightly, but Thomas still catches it. He shoots Thomas a knowing glance, barely visible in the darkness of the night, and nods his head, gesturing towards the Deadheads.

Thomas thanks him quietly and rushes off, feeling slightly bad for ditching Chuck, but ultimately deciding that this was more important.

He stops twenty feet away. He can see Newt clearly, his pale complexion almost illuminated by the moon, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night sky. To the gloom of the forest surrounding him. Thomas takes another tentative step closer. He’s never seen Newt this open, this vulnerable.

Actually, Thomas is pretty sure he’s crying. So he takes a step back, not wanting to intrude on what is obviously a very private moment. Maybe if he turns around now, Newt won’t notice him. Won’t try to put the mask back on and pretend he’s okay as he approaches the new, rightfully terrified Greenie. But it’s too late for that. Because Newt’s already seen him. Already hardened his expression, put the mask back on. He wipes his eyes as he approaches Thomas, feigning concern for him.

“You alright, Greenie?” He asks, stopping a foot in front of him, acting like nothing had happened in the first place. “Why aren’t ya at the fire?”

“People started getting drunk,” Thomas lies quickly, taking what Chuck had said into account. “So I went looking for you instead.” He pauses. “And I’m not the Greenie anymore. That girl is. Call her the Greenie. I’m just Thomas now.” He didn’t even remember disliking the newcomer’s nickname, but now he can’t bear to hear it come from the blond boy’s mouth.

Newt blinks at him for a moment. Maybe two. And then he recovers his composure, smirking as he bumped Thomas’s arm with his shoulder. “Right you are, Tommy,” he says. “What did ya need me for, then?”

Uh oh. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“I was just.. Y’know, worried about you,” Thomas says hesitantly, opting to go for telling the truth instead of coming up with a half-assed lie. “You seemed like you were kinda freaking out earlier, so I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Newt hesitates, and then he smiles in consolation. “You don’t need to worry about me, Tommy,” he says, and then he looks him over. “How’re you? This must all be a lotta take in, yeah?”

“It’s not so bad,” Thomas says, shrugging. And really, he’s taken to the place pretty quickly. It’s not as overwhelming as everyone made it out to be.

Newt pauses, and then he laughs. Thomas really likes his laugh, he decides; it makes him feel like everything’s going to be okay. “You’re prolly the first Greenie to ever say that, yunno?”

“Really?” Thomas asks, surprised. Because really, truthfully, this whole thing, y’know, despite being trapped and actively hunted by slug-things, really isn’t so bad.

Newt nods, incredulous. Thomas just shrugs again. He wonders if Newt’s impressed by that. And then he chides himself for caring, because with all of their problems, this won’t matter for several life times.

Seconds pass. And then a minute. Not a single word has been exchanged. They just stand there, eye contact intense and unwavering.

"I think I'm gonna head to bed now," Thomas manages, finally tearing his gaze away from the blond boy in front of him. "But, y'know, if you ever need someone to talk to, and you don't wanna bug Alby, just come find me. I don't mind."

Newt stares at him blankly, and then laughs like what Thomas offered was the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"Don't you worry about me, Tommy," he says, clapping him on the shoulder as he starts walking in the other direction.

Thomas says nothing to that, because not worrying about Newt has probably never been an option, and probably never will be.

Chapter Text

He had been making for the campfire. Honestly, he had been. Alby was going to start getting worried if he didn't show up at some point in the night. He'd just need a little bit of an outlet first.
But then Thomas had shown up, and actually cared about how he was doing. He'd been in this maze for two years, and this was the first time someone had ever actually asked him if he was alright.

And after that...it was hard to pick up the pieces. He'd been stressed, sure; why wouldn't he be? He's been stressed since he first arrived in the Glade two years ago. But now everything was changing, and that somewhat comforting sense of familiarity had vanished.

And then Tommy had gone and changed the dynamic again. Newt checked up on people. Not the other way around. It had never been the other way around. And the fact that Thomas cared enough...well, it was a bit of a breaking point.

So he found his way back to the Deadheads and bawled his eyes out. Which, naturally, Alby had walked in on. He didn't say anything; that wasn't the kind of relationship they had. They didn't need to say anything for the other to know what they were thinking.

"We can manage," Alby says finally. "We'll have to be more careful, but we'll be alright."

Newt says nothing. He has nothing to say because they both know that they won't last very long in here without exterior aid. Especially not the Runners. They were completely and utterly doomed.

"What d'ya think about that Greenie, then?" Alby asks, changing the subject. Newt appreciates the subject change, but not what the subject has been changed to.

He shrugs. "He's different," he says evasively, because, quite frankly, he can't think of a better-fitting word to describe Thomas.

"Good different or bad different?"

"Dunno yet." Again, quite true. Thomas had been the only one who could break through the walls he'd built up, and he didn't even need to try. Newt wasn't sure he wanted to be able to be that vulnerable around him. Around anyone, really.

Alby nods, and they fall into silence. It's awkward and tense and Newt's managed to stop crying, but it doesn't really help anything.

"Gally hates him," Alby finally says.

Newt shrugs again. "Gally hates a lotta people."

"Yeah," Alby says, "yeah, that's true.”

They’re silent again. All that can be heard is the distant clicking of the Maze’s walls and the muffled celebrations of the Gladers. And it’s normal enough that Newt can almost convince himself that they’re going to be okay.

Almost.

~~

It was a tradition. Newt wasn't sure when it had started, and he couldn't even really remember why it had happened that first time, but it was just tradition now. No one questioned it. So he woke up at the crack of dawn to see Minho off, and waited around the doors in the evenings to welcome him home. It was just a thing they did and that was it. And when everything was changing, this tradition was the only thing that had really stayed the same. So Newt cherished it. And he's pretty sure Minho did, too.

"Don't die," Newt says. He's said it every morning for the past year and a half. Tradition.

Minho, as always, smirks and pats him on the shoulder. "I'll try my best," he says. "You don't die, either." Newt just nods pointedly. Once, he'd thought dying was the only way out of this place. He still did, actually, but there were too many people depending on him now.

And then he waved goodbye, and Minho started running. He watched the older boy run, till he was barely a speck of color in the otherwise dark and gloomy maze. Newt waited another minute after Minho rounded that first corner, and then he set off for the Homestead to see if Fry needed any help making breakfast. Tradition.

The wake up’s half an hour later, as per usual. Alby gets down here ten minutes early, catching Newt up on what they need to do today. (Not much.) But this was routine. Everything was the same every morning. Except today.

Because Thomas came in early, too, presumably needing to talk with Alby, but judging by his nervous expression, he was too scared to. Newt pats the bench beside him, gesturing for the Greenie to join him. He can’t blame him for being nervous around Alby, so he’ll offer to deliver the message.

“What’s goin’ on?” He asks before Thomas can come up with a half-assed excuse like he had the night before.

Thomas looks around nervously, trying to see if anyone’s within earshot. Satisfied, he drops his voice to a whisper. “I think I recognize that girl,” he utters. “I wasn’t super sure yesterday, but last night I had this dream about her. It was like…like a memory, I think.”

That wasn’t good. Lots of people already thought there was something wrong with Thomas, thanks to Gally’s relentless assurances that he was working with WICKED. Him remembering that girl could only cause more damage to his reputation.

“What d’you mean?” Newt asks. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. He was sure lots of Gladers had had dreams about that girl last night. It probably wasn’t anything special. No one could remember ever seeing a girl before, so that was bound to cause issues. Newt didn’t really get it. But he didn’t really want to know, either.

“We were in this, like, laboratory, I think,” Thomas continues, voice so quiet Newt can barely hear it. “Like, working together on something. Some kind of project. She thought it was good, but I.. I wasn’t so sure.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a normal occurrence after all. “Is that everythin’?” Newt prompts, trying to play it off like it wasn’t such a huge deal. “It’s prolly just the stress gettin’ to ya.”

“Not everything,” Thomas presses. “I recognize the Maze, too. I, like, vaguely remember being in it before.”

Newt doesn’t know what to say to that. How is he supposed to respond?

“I dunno, mate,” he says hesitantly. “Maybe you’re just bein’ paranoid?”

Thomas shakes his head, insistent. “I..I don’t think so.”

Alby sits down across from them, probably misreading the entire situation. “Is there somethin’ goin’ on, over here?” He asks, certainly jumping to conclusions.

Thomas looks at Newt for help. He just shrugs, gesturing towards Alby. If Thomas thought that this was important, that it was worth knowing, then he should tell him. But Newt wasn’t going to make that decision because, quite honestly, he didn’t know what to think.

“I think I recognize that girl,” Thomas says hesitantly, uncertain. “And the Maze.”

Chapter Text

“What are you talking about?” Alby says, somewhat defensive. Demanding. Thomas looks over at Newt, not sure how to respond. Not sure if Alby’s angry at him already, or if he’s just stressed about the girl and the Box.

Newt doesn’t look like he knows either. Okay. That’s fine. So Thomas is on his own with this one. And that’s okay, because he doesn’t really know what WICKED is, or why he and the girl would have been working on a project together, so he isn’t really in the wrong, right?

There’s no way Gally could be right about him. He wouldn’t do anything bad, would he? He couldn’t have built this maze, or worked for the people who did. If he had, why would he and the girl be in here? It just didn’t make sense.

It’s not like anything else actually made sense, either.

“They just both feel…familiar,” Thomas continues, hands fidgeting in his lap. “I don’t really understand it, but I had this dream last night. It felt like a memory. And that girl was there, too.”

Alby looks over at Newt, silently demanding an elaboration to the Thomas’s rambling. Newt shrugs, offering nothing in response.

“Well, if anything else comes to ya, you let me know,” Alby says sternly. “Good that?” Thomas nods immediately, even though he’s not entirely sure he would.

What if Alby started to believe Gally’s nonsense because of that dream? Sure, Thomas sensed some vague familiarities, but that didn’t make him a traitor, did it? Surely everyone felt the sensation of a tug pulling them towards something they might have recognized? Something they feel they’ve known before?

“You’ll start workin’ tomorrow, Tommy,” Newt says as he gets up, making to follow after Alby. “So, y’know, be prepared for that.” He pauses. “You’ll try out all the different jobs, and we’ll put ya with the one you do best. Good that?”

Thomas nods. He doesn’t really know what any of that means, and some of it he doesn’t even catch, due to the older boy’s thick accent. But he acts like he knows exactly what Newt’s talking about, if only to grant him piece of mind. He’s obviously going through enough. He doesn’t need to worry about Thomas on top of all of it.

Thomas would have liked to spend the rest of the day with Chuck, but the kid was working. Thomas had heard that he was called a “Slopper”, but was fairly certain that he’d misheard Newt when he’d said that. It wouldn’t have been that much of a stretch, anyway- his accent is hard to decipher sometimes.

So Thomas loiters around in the Glade, asking questions until someone told him to bugger off. He tried offering his help, but nobody seemed to want his assistance. He figured it was because they had it covered, until Newt came over and offered the same thing, and they took him up on it.

He waved goodbye to Newt, who was watching him curiously, and went off exploring instead. He found himself in the Deadheads. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to be there. Especially not after what Newt had shown him. But there was nowhere else that really piqued his interest. Nowhere else that wasn’t off limits, anyway.

He knows there's a graveyard somewhere in here. He doesn't want to go that far into the woods. That seems like a bad idea waiting to happen. The woods just aren't as thick as they looked, and he stumbled across it.

There were a lot more graves than he'd expected there to be. At least twenty. Probably more. And Thomas doubted that everyone who had died here had been buried. They'd been here for what? Two years? And this many people had lost their lives in that time period?

It was horrible. Terrible. Whoever had trapped them in here had to be evil incarnate. What could they possibly have done to deserve being trapped in here like this?

Thomas shook his head. Wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to help anything. It was just going to make him feel worse. So he looked around the graveyard again. Because that was sure to help.

It had an almost eerie feeling to it. Like the shift of sensation had happened instantly when Thomas had stumbled across the graveyard. Maybe it was because the thick forestry prevented any sun from getting in here. Maybe it was because of the walls towering above him. And maybe, just maybe, it was because he was standing on two dozen dead bodies.

He was almost frozen in place. He wanted to turn around and leave. Go find Chuck, or Newt, or someone. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from the makeshift graves in front of him. That is, until someone knocks him to the forest floor.

Thomas struggles to flip onto his back, trying to look his assailant in the eyes. It hard under the crippling wait of whoever’s attacking him, but he manages. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. It probably is, really. What else could it be? Thomas couldn’t remember ever getting into fights, and he seriously doubted that he had.

Thomas’s eyes widen as he looks the attacker in the eye. The bloodshot, bulging eyes he’d seen in the Homestead his first day here stared right back at him. Ben.

“It’s you!” He shouts, disoriented. Delusional. What was he even talking about? “I saw you! This is all your fault!”

Thomas tries to shove the Runner off of him, to no avail. His strength is no match for Ben’s, especially in his crazed, manic state.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Thomas shouts back, trying to knock some sense into him. “I’m trapped in here just like you are!”

Ben shakes his head wildly. “It is!” He insists. “It’s all your fault! All of it! I saw you! You and - and that girl! It’s both of you! You need to die! That’s how we get out!”

Thomas tries, helplessly, to shove Ben off of him once again. It’s still a futile effort. Thomas is actually starting to panic now. Ben wasn’t going to see any sense, and he had a hankering for blood. Thomas’s blood.

He starts shouting. Hopefully loud enough for someone else to hear. For someone else to catch and come running. He was going to die.

He didn’t want to die. But he doubts Ben’s going to see that as a valid argument. Especially not right now, with his hands wrapped around Thomas’s throat, squeezing tightly.

Thomas tries to fight him off, but he knows it’s not going to work. Maybe if Ben hadn’t been stung, or whatever it was called. Maybe if the Runner was actually thinking straight. But he wasn’t. And for whatever reason, he, like Gally, thought that all of this was Thomas’s fault.

Maybe it was.

But he couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to find out a plan. How was he meant to get out of this alive? Newt had seen him come in here, right? He’d get worried if Thomas was gone for this long? Right?

Someone has to have heard all this commotion by now. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets here and saves him.

“I saw you!” Ben insists. Thomas still has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is all your fault! And hers!”

Thomas couldn’t have responded, even if he wanted to. Even if he had something to say that could prove his innocence. Ben’s hands are wound too tightly around his throat. His vision is starting to go black and spotty, and he knows he’s going to pass out soon.

He’s not going to make it.

Until miraculously, by some divine intervention, Ben’s knocked off of him, the Runner’s fingers relinquishing their grasp around Thomas’s throat.

Thomas coughs and sputters, struggling to sit up after all the energy he’d sapped trying to fight off Ben. He spots Alby a good twenty feet away, holding a bow and arrow. Had he shot Ben? Thomas didn’t really want to look over to his side and find out.

Newt came rushing in behind Alby, obviously more panicked and less informed. He stops at the older boy’s side, left hand resting on the leader’s shoulder to steady himself. “What’s goin’ on?” He asks, wide-eyed.

He already knows the answer. Probably. Or he and Alby can communicate telepathically. But he probably took one look at Ben, and one look at Alby, and one look at Thomas, and put the pieces together. And Thomas can see exactly when he does, because his face falls. It’s just slight. You couldn’t even tell if you hadn’t been searching specifically for the falter. But Thomas saw it instantly. He saw Newt cringe as he tore his gaze off of Ben. He saw him wince slightly as he carefully knelt down by Thomas’s side. He saw him look away slightly, eyes scrunching shut and Alby dragged Ben off, acquiring some help from nearby Gladers. Was he dead? Thomas found he didn’t want to find out. Didn’t want it to be his fault.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks. He’s looking straight into Thomas’s eyes now. His eyes are foggy, maybe a little hazy, but he’s trying not to let it show.

“Are you?” Thomas asks, because right now, he’s noticing that he’s never seen Newt show this much emotion, and it certainly had to be a breaking point, and for whatever reason, that matters a lot more to him than his own wellbeing.

Newt rolls his eyes. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands up, extending a hand to help Thomas up. Thomas hesitates, and then he reaches up and grabs it.

"You're the one that just got bloody mauled, yeah?"

Thomas manages to shrug. "I'll be okay," he utters.

He's really not so sure. That was completely and utterly traumatizing, and something tells Thomas that that won't be the worst thing he'll face in here. Things were, quite literally, only getting worse and worse, and Thomas wasn't sure how he's supposed to just deal with it all. He'd genuinely been prepared to die a few minutes ago, and that realization hit him with a sinking feeling unlike any other. But he wasn't going to say any of that out loud. He didn't want to worry anyone.

“Let’s go get ya checked out,” Newt says quietly. “You’ll be just right, Tommy.”

Thomas smiles sadly, letting Newt lead him out of the forest. He doesn’t notice until then that he’s still holding his hand. Newt doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. So Thomas lets it be. Maybe it’s what they both need right now.

Chapter Text

Thomas tugged his hand away to push himself onto their makeshift examination table in the Medjack Hut. Newt looked down at his now empty hand, surprised. He hadn’t even realized that they’d been holding hands. And now that they weren’t, he kinda missed it.

“Ben did this?” Jeff asks him, leading him away from Thomas. Newt just nods. He hadn’t seen it, but what else could have happened? “Why? Did the Greenie provoke him, or-?”

Newt shrugs. “Didn’t see it happen,” he says, “but yunno, with the bloody Changing and all, I dunno if Tommy needed to do anythin’ to get Ben angry.”

“He’ll be fine,” Jeff says wearily, looking at Thomas, who was sitting on the edge of the beg, kicking his legs. “Just some bruising on his neck where Ben choked him.”

“Good,” Newt says. He has nothing else to say. He hadn’t been particularly worried that Ben would do any permanent damage. He was more worried about how Thomas was doing mentally after being attacked in the woods. That had to take a toll.

Jeff shoots him a look, like he’s asking if he’s okay, but Newt waves him off and goes to talk to Thomas instead. Ben was one of the first Gladers here, after the first bunch. It’d be hard to let him go, but there was no way Alby was going to let this slide. Thomas could have died; and he would have, if Alby hadn’t gotten there in time.

“Looks like you’ll be alright, Tommy,” Newt says, smiling. If he lets himself fall apart, he’ll never be able to put the pieces back together. It takes a hell of a lot longer to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart, after all. “You wanna stick with me today?”

Thomas nods without even hesitating to think about it. He pushes himself off the bed and follows Newt out the door. Instantly. He didn’t even consider another option. Newt shouldn’t be surprised. Every Greenie stuck to him like glue for the first couple days, without fail. Why should Thomas be any different?

Yet even still, this felt different. All the Greenies stayed beside him, sure, but they didn’t all ask how he was doing. It had always been the other way around. He’s not sure how he feels about this. How he feels now that someone is able to rip through the walls he’d so carefully built up. Is that a level of vulnerability he trusts Thomas with? He trusts anyone with?

“I don’t wanna bug you,” Thomas says, breaking his train of thought. “Y’know. I’m sure you’re really busy. I don’t wanna get in your way.”

“You won’t,” Newt assures him. Thomas stays quiet. “C’mon, mate; let’s stick in the gardens for the rest o’ the day. Nothin’ gonna grab ya in there.” And Thomas nods again.

Newt had always liked the gardens. There was something special about watching those little seeds grow into full bloom, little by little, each day. Something special about knowing that he’d nurtured them enough for that to happen. It was his little contribution after his running days were over.

Thomas, however, obviously got very bored very easily. Especially in the gardens. So he sat there, and he asked questions about the different plants, but had always moved onto the next one before Newt could fully explain the answer to the first.

He didn’t really mind. If that had been anyone else, he probably would have gotten annoyed, and started ignoring them, but this was Thomas, and for whatever reason, it was just endearing when it came out of the Greenie’s mouth.

“Were you and Ben friends?” Thomas asks, and it’s the first question that hasn’t been about vegetables. It catches Newt totally off guard.

He turns around, leaving the basil-picking for another time, and sits down in front of Thomas. Clearly this was going to be a long conversation, and if he knelt for all of it, his bad leg would give out. “I suppose so,” he says. He wouldn’t quite call them friends, but they were friendly- as he was with most of the Gladers. “Why?”

“It just…must be hard for you,” Thomas says quietly. “To, y’know, see him like that.” He seems genuinely sympathetic, and Newt has half a mind to remind him that he’d been the one getting attacked.

But he doesn’t say any of that. He just shrugs. “When you’ve been here long enough, ya get used to seein’ things like that. To losin’ people you care about.” He sighs. “Doesn’t make it any easier, but it gets less surprisin’, yunno?”

“Why did Ben go off like that?” Thomas asks. His eyes are soft, full of compassion. “Gally got stung, didn’t he? And he made a proper recovery.”

Newt frowns, leaning back on his hands. “Ben wasn’t healed all the way. Ran off while he was still goin’ through the bloody thing,” he explains. “But, yunno, it ain’t gonna be good for him. We can’t let somethin’ like that slide.”

“Is he dead?”

The question’s barely loud enough for Newt to hear, and he’s sitting a foot away from him. Thomas had been looking sympathetic and curious, but now all he looks is guilty. Oh, poor Tommy. He thinks that this is all his fault. Newt should have realized that right from the beginning. The lost look in his eyes, the way he'd instantly asked if Newt was alright first. He was trying to see if they were upset with him for... what? Provoking Ben's lunacy?

“Dunno,” Newt says hesitantly. He needs to choose his words carefully. “But it ain’t your fault, Tommy. Ben’s lost his buggin’ mind. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Thomas looks at him, incredulous. He doesn’t believe it. And then he looks away, protesting sheepishly as he stared at a tomato plant like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“Look at me,” Newt says, taking his hands. He drops them almost instantly, not missing the way Thomas's ears go red. The way his own face heats up. “Ben gettin’ stung ain’t on you, mate. He’s lost his shuck head, and that’s got nothin’ to do with you.”

Thomas stares up at him, obviously still unconvinced. “Maybe you think so, but other people won’t,” he says hesitantly. “Gally-”

“Oh, who bloody cares about what Gally thinks,” Newt protests. “We both know it wasn’t you, and so does Alby. Gally can’t do nothin’ about it.”

Thomas smiles nervously as he pushes himself to his feet. He waves goodbye awkwardly, timidly, and excuses himself to go find Chuck. Newt watches him go. How about that.

There was something about him. Something different. He’d told Gally just this morning that Thomas was the same as all of ‘em, but right from the beginning, Newt knew there was something different about him. Something… familiar?

~~

“What are we going to do with him?” Alby asks. It’s a rhetorical question, Newt knows. Ben attacked someone. He would’ve killed Thomas if Alby hadn’t gotten there in time. So there was only one thing they could do. But that didn’t mean Newt had to like it. It didn’t mean anyone had to like it.

Newt looked over at the Slammer. He could just envision Ben sulking down in there, all alone. Apologizing to empty air, now that he was a bit more right in the head. He was looking better than he had been; they’d all been optimistic. He’d probably make a full recovery. If he hadn’t done this.

Alby followed his gaze, grimacing. He looped an arm over Newt’s shoulders. A consolation. It was past the point for comfort, but Newt appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He leaned into the hold, mostly because his leg was killing him, but also because maybe he kinda needed a hug.

“Thomas almost died,” Alby says gravely. “We can’t let that happen again. You get that, don’t you? You’re the people’s person.”

Newt nods against his shoulder. “It really freaked Tommy out,” he says quietly. “He thinks it’s his fault.”

“It’s not his fault,” Alby says. “He knows that, doesn’t he?”

“The heart doesn’t always listen to the brain, yunno?”

Alby nods. But he doesn’t say anything else. There’s not a lot to say. They have to Banish Ben. It’s the only way to maintain order, and they both know if the order’s broken, then the whole Glade will come undone at the seams.

Thomas could have died. And he would have, if the circumstances had been any different. If they’d been any further into the woods. Somehow, Thomas's life means a lot more to him than others. He was almost scared at the revelation that he might have lost him today.

“Remember when Ben first got up here?” Newt asks, wincing as the wind carried another sullen apology into earshot.

Alby smiles grimly, leading him away from the Slammer before he lost it. “Kept cryin’ for his mom,” he recalls. When Newt nods, he continues- “remember when he called you ‘mom’?”

Newt laughs. It’s sad and guilty, given the circumstances. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t trust himself to.

He’s built these walls for reasons like this. Too many people looked up to him for him to be able to break down. There had been a time for sorrow, and he’d blown it. He was a role model now. And he knows for certain that if he starts talking, he’s gonna start crying, and that’s something he doesn’t want anyone to see. Not even Alby.

Especially not Alby.

Chapter Text

Thomas dreamt of the girl again that night. The same dream, really. It hadn’t left his mind since that first day. Him and her in lab coats, in a totally white room. Some sort of science lab, clearly. (Really, what was it with scientists and the color white?) They were monitoring something. Thomas woke up before he could see what. He preferred it that way. Maybe he didn’t want to find out.
What if he’d found out that Gally was right? That Ben was right? He wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not after Ben had died because of him.

He didn’t tell anyone about this dream. Not even Chuck. With all the rumors speculating around him right now, he decided it was better to keep a low profile.

“Rise and shine, Greenie- it’s your first day on the job.”

Thomas blinked the sleep out of his eyes, staring at the blob of a person in front of him until his vision focused. It was Alby. He felt a little bit disappointed that it wasn’t Newt taking him around, and then he chided himself for feeling that way. Obviously Newt has better stuff to do than coddle him all day long.

Thomas slowly pulled himself to his feet, wincing as he stared at the sun rising slowly above them for a little too long.

“You’re gonna start with the Slicers,” Alby says, already leading him to the Slaughterhouse. “Winston’s the Keeper there, so you’ll do everythin’ he says.”

Thomas nods slowly, not sure how to feel about any of that. He didn’t know how he’d feel about flaying animals all day. Just imagining the smell had him gagging.

“Newt or I will come get ya when it’s time to change,” Alby says, ditching him at the door. He could have run. Darted in another direction. But then Newt would probably get mad at him, and he didn’t want that to happen. So he opened the door. And walked inside.

There was only one guy in there. Presumably Winston. It should have been a red flag for Thomas, given that there was only one guy working here at the moment, but it didn’t really flag him as suspicious. Maybe everyone else was sick, or something. He probably should have turned on his heels and bolted.

“Hey, Greenie,” Winston says. Too late now. He’s been noticed. “C’mon- we’re slicin’ a pig today. Easy stuff.”

It was not, in fact, “easy stuff”. It was revolting and it took every ounce of Thomas’s will power to keep from throwing up in the corner. And, as it turned out, they didn’t need more than one Slicer working today, because Winston was so abnormally passionate about his job that he did enough slicing to be several people at once.

“It ain’t everyone’s cup of tea,” Winston says, laughing at Thomas’s disgusted expression. He could’ve sworn that pig’s eyes were staring into his soul. “It’s a good stress reliever, though.” Thomas wanted to point out that there were much better ways to relieve stress -meditation? Yoga? Exercising?- but ultimately decided against it.

Thomas just watched as Winston started slicing the huge chunks of meat into smaller, thinner slabs. There was still blood oozing from the fat and it was all Thomas could actually focus on.

How could people actually enjoy doing this? How could Winston do this without throwing up? How had Thomas managed to make it this far without running away and gagging?

“You wanna try?” Winston asks, handing the cleaver to Thomas. Thomas hands it back, his slightly-repressed gag enough of a ‘no’ for Winston to get the hint.

Though the dog in there was entertaining enough. Its name was Bark, according to Winston. Thomas wondered if it was named that as a joke, or if that was genuinely as creative as the Gladers got when it came to naming things.

Thomas was still thanking whatever gods may or may not exist when Alby came to drag him to his next work station.

“It ain’t that bad,” Alby says, noting Thomas’s pale face and the fact that he was literally shivering in disgust. Thomas looks at him, incredulous. He barks out a laugh. “Guess it’s worse for some shanks.” He pauses, leaning in a little closer. “At least you didn’t actually get sick.”

“What?” Thomas asks. “Did someone actually throw up in there?”

Alby looks around to make sure no one’s listening. “Listen, you gotta love Newt. He’s always offering his help. He makes the exact same mistake offerin’ his help to Winston, without fail, every month, at least, and it always ends the exact same way.” He laughs again. “Dunno why Winston even lets him anymore.”

Thomas laughs, too. He can’t imagine Newt getting that grossed out by something. But if anything was gonna do it, it’d be that Slaughterhouse.

“You’re in the gardens now, with the Trackhoes,” Alby says, gesturing towards the garden he’d helped out in yesterday. “Zart’s the Keeper, so, y’know, listen to him.”

Thomas nods and makes his way over. Much less reluctant. He kinda knew what he was doing here, thanks to his afternoon helping Newt, and there was no blood. And no dead pigs. And no pig eyes. Thomas counted that as a win.

“Hey, Greenie,” Zart says, waving him over. “We’re just pickin’ basil today. I saw you helpin’ with that yesterday, so, you’ll just be doin’ the exact same thing.”

Thomas nods, and gets to work. It’s boring. Easy, doable, but boring. He’s not sure he’d be able to do this every day without dying of boredom. He keeps looking out at the Maze doors, wanting nothing more than to shadow a Runner, instead, but Zart keeps catching him, tossing strawberry leaves at him to keep him on task.

This seemed a lot more entertaining when Newt was here.

Thomas filled three baskets with basil leaves, and then brought them to Frypan’s kitchen, as per Zart’s orders.

“You job-shadowin’ today?” Frypan asks, taking the basil from him tentatively and setting it on a table. Thomas nods. “So I’ll be seein’ ya soon, then?” Thomas shrugs, and then he nods again.

“I guess so,” Thomas says.

Frypan nods in recognition, and then again in goodbye, and Thomas goes back to the gardens. It’s just as boring as it was when he left.

So he starts planting tomato seeds instead. It’s actually still very boring. He doesn’t know why Newt likes doing this so much.

“Alright, Tommy, time to change stations. You’re goin’ to the Medjacks now.”

Thomas practically sighs with relief as he hears that familiar accent. He pushes himself to his feet, eager to follow Newt to the next job.

Thomas has a very eventful conversation about the Slaughterhouse with Newt on their way over to the Medjack Hunt- a conversation that ends with the older boy’s face going a little green, and then beet red.

“Can’t even blame you,” Thomas concludes, sticking his tongue out. “I wanted to stab myself with that cleaver.”

Newt grimaces, lips pursed into a thin line. Thomas isn’t sure if it’s because he’s actually disgusted by reliving his time helping the Slicers, or if it’s because Thomas accidentally joked about wanting to stab himself. He takes it back, just in case.

“I’ve held people that are buggin’ bleedin’ out,” Newt offers, shivering in disgust. “Seen real bad wounds and injuries. Held people as they bloody die.” He pauses. “Nothin’ compares to choppin’ klunk up in that bloody Slaughterhouse, mate. It’s a whole different thing all together.”

Thomas nods. “There’s something about the squishing sounds the meat makes,” he says. Newt audibly gags just thinking about it.

“The sound it makes as it hits the bloody ground after Winston slices it off,” Newt adds, retching. “Buggin’ swear that slinthead only lets me help ‘cause he knows what it does to me.”

Thomas pauses at the door to the hut, staring at Newt for a minute. They’re both laughing. Like, genuinely, authentically laughing. Newt’s laugh is really nice, he decides. It makes him feel like the world’s going to be alright again.

“Get in there,” Newt finally says, recomposing. He nods at the hut, and then at Thomas. “I’ll come get ya soon.”

~~

As it turns out, Thomas could never, never be a doctor. All the information he obtains goes in one ear, and then out the other. Clint makes him patch up their current patient -a Builder, Thomas thinks- and he fails miserably. It was a simple job, really; just wrapping a bandage around the guy’s forearm after Clint had removed the nail that had been imbedded.

How he he managed to mess it up this badly?

The bandage had slowly slid down the guy’s arm, so Thomas wrapped it up his shoulder to keep it to stay. Only it kept sliding down anyway, so Thomas had to expand. Soon enough, the guy’s entire body was wrapped in bandages, totally mummified.

Clint scoffs, rolling his eyes as he unravels the entire roll of bandage Thomas had used and redressing the wound himself.

“You’ll have him next,” Clint whispers to the guy, nodding at Thomas. “Good luck.”

Thomas is the one to roll his eyes this time. He doesn’t bite back, because he knows just as well as they do that he’d make a lousy doctor.

When Newt comes to get him, Clint makes him promise that he’ll never become a medical professional. And then he begs Newt to assure he doesn’t become a Medjack. Newt quirks an eyebrow, amused, but he nods and says he’ll see what he can do. And then he leads Thomas towards the gaggle of Builders he’s meant to shadow.

“Gally’s the Keeper of the Builders,” Newt says, “but that doesn’t mean you can disregard anythin’ he says, Tommy.” He pauses. “That bein’ said, if he tries to take advantage of that power, come get me, and I’ll deal with it. Good that?”

Thomas nods. He feels his heart sink, knowing he’s going to have to listen to Gally for an hour. But he tries not to let it show. It’s just an hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand, six hundred seconds. He can do this.

He, in fact, barely managed to keep from snapping. Gally had refused to let Thomas call him anything other than “Captain Gally”, and he’d ended up in the Medjack Hut after his shift because Gally had “accidentally” hammered a nail into his hand.

Newt wasn’t happy about that. That’s why Chuck ended up being the one to take Thomas to get patched up. Thomas isn’t exactly sure what happened between Newt and Gally, but he knows the Builder had his shit (klunk?) handed to him, and really wishes he’d been there to watch it go down.

“You’re with me next, anyway,” Chuck says helpfully. “The Sloppers.”

So he had heard that right.

Clint takes one look at Chuck, and then one look at Thomas, and sighs, going to get the still-unraveled bandages Thomas had messed with. “Gally?” He asks. Thomas nods. It seems that this is a somewhat regular occurrence.

~~

The rest of his job-shadowing goes pretty decently. A Slopper, he discovers, is probably the worst job you can get. It’s the one you’re assigned when you’re not good enough to do anything else. He feels kind of bad for Chuck, but then the kid trips him when they’re walking up a hill, and that sympathy vanishes pretty quickly.

His cooking skills were somewhat decent. Or, at least, Thomas had thought so. According to Frypan, Gally was the only one worse than him, and he was to never set foot in the kitchens ever again. Which is fine by Thomas, because he didn’t really want to be surrounded by grease and oil all day.

“Well, that’s it,” Alby says.

Thomas frowns. “What about the Runners?” He asks. He’d actually been kind of excited to shadow that. The Maze, and the occupation, seems to call to him, regardless of the familiarity.

“That’s not how that works,” Alby says, laughing. It’s a little bit condescending, but Thomas doesn’t comment on that.

He’s still disappointed though. Other than Running, there wasn’t anything else he’d really wanted to do. He got that that wasn’t really what was important, but being a Runner stuck out in his mind more than it should. He feels it’s basically his destiny to run that Maze.

He doesn't bring that up, of course. Gally already thought that he was behind this somehow, and now Ben did, too. If Thomas talked about how much he recognized that girl, and dreamed about her, and now how he recognized the Maze... it might not be so great for him. He didn't want Alby to start believing Gally. Nothing good could possibly come from that.

“We’ll figure out which job you’re doin’ soon,” Alby says, leading him out of the kitchens. “We’re normally more efficient about this klunk, but with everythin’ goin’ on with Ben and the girl and the Box…we’ve been busy.” He pauses, looking around. “If you wanna go talk to Newt about what you’d prefer to do, he’s over there.”

Alby cocks his head in the direction of the Deadheads. Thomas never wants to go in there. Literally never. But luckily, he won’t have to, because Newt’s not actually in the woods, just leaning against a tree in the outskirts of it.

Thomas makes his way over there, feeling the leader’s eyes bore into his back as he walks. Newt doesn’t hear him coming. Or see him, for that matter. His head’s resting against the tree trunk, eyes shut tightly. He’s not asleep, but he’s not quite awake, either.

“Newt?”

He opens his eyes, his gaze locking on Thomas. He’s obviously trying to recompose himself, and Thomas feels bad for interrupting. He’s got a bruise on his jaw, probably from whatever had happened with Gally. Thomas decides not to comment on that, either.

“What can I do for ya, Tommy?”

Chapter Text

“Alby sent me over to ‘discuss my options’,” Thomas says hesitantly.

Newt nods slowly, patting the ground beside him. Thomas takes the hint and sits down, cross-legged, practically mirroring Newt’s exact pose as he straightens up.

They’re silent for a moment. Thomas's eyes seem to peer into his very soul, breaking apart the walls he’d so carefully constructed.

“Well, what is it you wanna do?” Newt asks, breaking the silence before Thomas can determine something about him that he doesn’t want determined.

Thomas's brow furrows, probably in thought. Newt leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side to look the younger boy in the eyes. A strand of hair falls across his face, but he tries to ignore that while he waits for a response.

Thomas reaches forward, brushing it behind his ear. Newt stares at him blankly, totally stunned. What had just happened? The younger boy’s hand lingers on his face, just below the bruise on his jaw.

“Did Gally do that?” He asks. “Was it.. was it because of me?” He sounds genuinely guilty. Poor kid. Sure, it had been from Gally, but that fight had been a long time coming, and Newt had been itching to punch someone. Thomas had just given him a reason to.

Newt shrugs, recovering from his surprise. He smirks, leaning back, just enough to build a wall between him and Thomas without the younger boy realizing it. “You shoulda seen what I did to him.”

Thomas's not entirely convinced, but he drops the subject. Which is good. Newt needs a subject change. Something to focus on other than how hot his cheeks are burning. Other than the lingering warmth on his cheek, the phantom touch left behind.

“Tell me about the Runners,” Thomas says finally.

Newt frowns pointedly, looking at him, incredulous. “Runners? Why?”

“Just…humor me.”

Newt shrugs. He doesn’t want to make it sound like a dream job. Running’s easily the most dangerous thing you can do. And though he’d never admit it, Newt doesn’t want Thomas to be anywhere where he can’t keep an eye on him.

“Best of the best, those guys,” he says, “have to be. Everythin’ depends on them.”

“Then why aren’t you one?” Thomas asks instantly.

Newt stares at the ground, feeling his face heat up again. Did this guy even listen to the stuff that was coming out of his mouth?

“I was,” Newt relents. “Till I jacked up my leg. Can’t do much runnin’ anymore.” That’s a level of vulnerability he hasn’t shared with anyone. But he’s shared it with Thomas, and, for better or worse, he can’t take it back.

Thomas stares at him, then down at his left leg. “What happened?” He asks. The question’s soft, timid. Genuinely curious, mixed with a hint of sympathy. But it’s not that forced, exaggerated pity he used to get. He still gets. And Newt loves that.

“What d’ya think?” Newt asks, trying to keep his voice as laced with sarcasm as he can manage. What was the lie Alby was telling people? Oh, right: “buggin’ Griever got me.” He pauses, crossing his arms and staring at the ground. “Still gives me the creeps thinkin’ I could’ve gone through the Changing.”

Thomas stays quiet after that. Sympathy. Empathetic anxiety. Support. It all radiates off of him in spurts, and maybe, just maybe, if this is Thomas's version of pity, Newt doesn’t mind it.

“Was one hell of a job, though,” Newt says wistfully. “Way better than what I do now.” He pauses. “Actually felt like I was contributin’. Yunno?”

They got silent again after that. Both of them. There’s nothing really to say. He hasn’t said any of that out loud to anyone before. Not Minho. Not even Alby. He’d barely even confirmed the thought to himself. Yet here he was saying it to Thomas, who’s really only been here three days.

“I wanna be a Runner,” Thomas says eventually. “But Alby says I can’t just shadow that, so I don’t know how I’m supposed to go about it.”

Newt frowns, eyes widening. “That, Tommy, is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” he says. The younger boy’s eyes widen in shock. “Don’t ya realize how bloody dangerous bein’ a Runner is?”

Thomas shrugs. “I just…I feel like I need to. Like the Maze is calling to me, somehow,” he says. “I wanna help find a way out. Like you said.”

Suddenly this feels like it’s all his fault. “That’s not what I meant when I said that and you buggin’ know it,” he says.

“I wanna be a Runner,” Thomas insists.

Newt sighs, leaning back against the tree again. He’s not sure he can handle caring about two Runners. Seeing Minho off every day was stressful enough. Saying goodbye to him, knowing it might be their last goodbye. He didn’t need to feel that when he watched Thomas leave in the morning, too.

“Maybe some day, Tommy,” Newt says quietly.

Because, really, Newt knows that he’d make a bloody fantastic Runner. He’s just not sure if he can bear to part with him. And that’s selfish. He needs to come up with a real reason.

He can’t be biased like this. Gally would come after his ass, too, and that was the last thing he needed right now. When their entire Glade was about to fall apart at the seams. Thomas is too impulsive. Too curious. That’s why he wouldn’t make a good Runner.

It just also happened to be what would make him a really damn good one.

“You think I could do it?” Thomas asks. “Be the best of the best?”

Newt looks at him, eyes twinkling. He smirks. “I’ve got no doubt in my mind, Tommy.” And Thomas sits there, grinning like an idiot.

Chapter Text

Thomas was still leaning against that tree like an idiot when Chuck found him. The kid loomed over him for a minute. And then he kicked him. For funsies, or whatever.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks, sitting down beside him, just out of Thomas’s reach, so he can’t retaliate.

Thomas shrugs. “Sitting,” he says. “I was talking to Newt. He thinks that I can be a Runner someday.”

Chuck frowns. He obviously doesn’t think that Thomas should become a Runner. So Thomas continues, relaying his previous conversation with the second in command, word for word. (Because, yes, maybe he'd memorized their conversation.)

“He was probably just trying to be nice,” Chuck says, leaning against a tree.

Thomas doesn’t say anything to that, because as genuine as it had felt originally, Chuck was probably right. He could tell by the look in Newt’s eyes that despite what he was saying, he didn’t want Thomas out in the Maze.

“Ben’s not dead, by the way,” Chuck says, changing the subject. “He’s just in the Slammer while Newt and Alby figure out what to do with him.”

Instantly there’s a weight lifted off Thomas’s shoulders. He’s not dead. If he’s not dead, then it’s not Thomas’s fault, right?

He doesn’t need to feel guilty anymore. He still does, but that’s beside the point. Ben’s not dead, so he’ll get better and they’ll figure everything out. It’ll all become a thing of the past. They’ll be even. They’ll figure out why both Ben and Gally think Thomas is behind the Maze, and everything will be alright.

Thomas fixes his gaze on the Maze, the East Door. Maybe someday, he’ll be a Runner. He’ll know the Maze just as well as he knows the Glade. As much as Newt tried to hide it, Thomas could tell that he thinks he’d make a good Runner.

Chuck’s about to propose they go to lunch when Thomas watches as someone bolts out of that door, collapsing on the ground a good twenty feet into the maze. A Runner.

Thomas gets up, but Chuck’s already running over to check on him. Thomas is quick to follow his little guide.

“Are you okay?” Chuck asks.

The Runner is laying on the ground, gasping for air. Thomas recognizes him as the Asian guy Alby had been scoffing with upon his arrival in the Glade that first day.

“Where’s Alby?” The Runner asks, the second he’s recovered enough to speak. “I’ve gotta talk to Alby.”

Chuck frowns. “What happened? You’re not supposed to be back yet. Did you see a Griever?”

“A dead one,” the Runner snaps. “Now, will you go get Alby, or do I have to go find him myself?” Chuck nods quickly and darts off. Thomas has half a mind to tell the guy off for treating Chuck like that, but curiosity prevents him.

“A dead Griever?” Thomas asks.

The Runner pulls himself to his feet, slowly, but surely. When he straightens up, he looks Thomas over. “You’re the Greenie, right? Thomas?” Thomas nods. “Yeah, a dead Griever. There’s a lotta information we can get with that thing.”

“Are you a Runner?” Thomas inquires. The guy gives him a look, so Thomas stares at the ground, retracting the question. “What’s it like, in the Maze?”

The Runner frowns. “Dark. Dangerous. Somethin’ you should stay away from, Greenie. Ain’t a place you should be anywhere near.”

“What do I do if I wanna become a Runner?” Thomas asks. If Alby wasn’t going to tell him, and Newt wasn’t going to tell him, someone had to be able to tell him.

The Runner just laughs, shaking his head. “Ya wait for a spot to open up, and then ya get recommended.” He frowns, looking around. “Though that might be easy for ya, since you’ve got our dear old Newtie wrapped around your finger.”

“...Newtie?”

The Runner laughs again, but it’s more authentic this time. Less condescending. “Oh, man, he hates when I call him that. It’s hilarious. You should try it.” Thomas makes a mental note to not ever do that. And then he continues his little interrogation.

“You really think Newt would recommend me?”

The Runner shrugs. “Dunno. Even if he did, I’d have to approve ya, and I dunno, Greenie, you don’t really look like Runner material. You’ll have to prove me wrong.”

His answers are a little more curt as time goes on. Impatient. A dead Griever’s probably a big discovery, and he’d rather discuss that with Alby than answer the new guy’s questions about being a Runner. Which is fair. But very annoying for Thomas.

Chuck returns with Alby a minute later. Chuck stops at Thomas’s side, but Alby makes to lead Minho into the Map Room. (Only after Minho brashly demanded water from the leader. Thomas thought that was a little peculiar, but Alby did it without question. Thomas had to admit, he respected this Minho guy. Whoever could order Alby around without getting reprimanded demanded respect.)

“Can I come too?” Chuck pipes up as they start walking. Alby turns around, shoots him a look, and keeps walking.

“A dead Griever,” Chuck mutters. “Everything's been going haywire since you got here, Thomas.”

Thomas smiles coldly. “Wonderful.” All the more reason for Gally to blame him for ever single inconvenience that comes their way.

Given his recent dreams, maybe Gally was targeting him for a reason. And maybe that reason wasn't as ridiculous as Thomas had originally thought. Was there a possibility that he had helped build this place?

No. There was no way he would ever do something like this. Trap a bunch of kids -because, really, that's what they were; kids- in a place this horrible. In a place where they being hunted by mechanical slugs that were out for blood.

There was just no way that anyone in their right mind would be a part of building and authorizing an experiment like this.

Huh.

Experiment. Where did that come from? It would make sense, sure, but there was quite literally no outstanding proof that this wasn't some sick prison. Some creative torture chamber for death row inmates.

But that then again, what had they done to deserve this? Thomas thought of Chuck. This couldn't be a prison if a kid that young was stuck in here. Gally, maybe. Probably. Alby, possibly- Thomas wouldn't put it past him. But Newt? Chuck? Most certainly not.

So that posed the question; why were they here?

Was this, like, a mental institution? Perhaps? But if that was the case, they probably wouldn't have Grievers trying to kill them. Right?

So why were they here? Was this just for some sick rich bastard's grotesque amusements? Maybe. That seemed like the most likely answer. They weren't in here for any real reason at all.

And there was absolutely nothing any of them could do about it.

"Are you good?" Chuck asks, snapping his fingers inches in front of Thomas's face. "Thomas?"

Thomas blinks, inching his head away from the kid's hand. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says. "Just..y'know, thinking."

"About what? That girl? Hey, did you tell Alby that you recognized her?"

"I did, yeah," Thomas says. "But that's not really what I was thinking about. It's... it's fine, Chuck. I'm gonna go wander. Don't wanna bug you while you're at work."

Chuck seriously didn't seem to mind the distraction, but Thomas had too much on his mind, and he really didn't want to say any of it out loud. What if Gally had been right all along? What if Ben's assault had been warranted? If that was the case, Thomas wanted to find out before they had him, like, executed, or something.

“Woah there, you alright, Tommy?”

Thomas looks up. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd almost knocked the poor guy over. He looked kind of concerned for him, catching the younger boy’s shoulder before it collided with his collar.

"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention-"

Newt just waves off his apology before he can say it all. "I can see those wheel's turnin'. What's goin' on?"

"I was just kinda... thinking about everything. It's all so... different."

"Yeah," Newt agrees. "Lots o' stuff's gone a little wild since ya got here. But, yunno, we'll figure it out. We always do." He tries to sound hopeful, but Thomas can tell that he's pretty much given up on things going back to normal. "What did Min need Alby for?"

Thomas frowns. He assumes Newt's talking about the Runner, but doesn't ask for clarification. "What d'you mean? You mean Alby didn't take you with him? It seemed like a pretty serious thing. You both prolly should've been there."

"They don't tell me anythin' to do with the Maze," Newt says quietly. "It's kinda dumb, but, yunno, what am I gonna do?"

"They found a dead Griever," Thomas says, dropping his voice so Alby doesn't hear him. If he didn't want Newt to come with him, it probably meant that he didn't want him finding out. And Thomas does not want to get caught in the gossiping act.

Newt grimaces, lips pursed into a thin line. "Things keep gettin' weirder, don't they?" Is all he says. Thomas can tell he's not doing well, but decides not to say anything. The second in command has made it relatively clear that he doesn't like showing any vulnerability.

"Ben said that this was all my fault," Thomas says. "Gally, too. That they saw me when they went through the Changing."

Newt sighs. “I don’t think any of this is your fault, Tommy,” he says softly. “How could it be?”

Thomas wants to respond. A million ways, really. But he doesn’t want to start a debate. And, for some odd reason, Newt telling him that it isn’t his fault seems to counteract Gally and Ben saying that it is. So he just smiles sadly, and drops the subject.

Everything is going to change, the girl had said. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Chapter Text

“Were you gonna tell me about the dead Griever?” Newt asks. “Or were you gonna hide that from me, too?”

Alby doesn’t look any kind of guilty for withholding such important information from him. His gaze just hardens. “You’re dealing with enough right now. With Ben, and all. Besides, it’s really not that big of a discovery.”

“It’s a bloody huge discovery!” Newt protests. “We’ve been stuck in here for two buggin’ years, and this is the first real hint at gettin’ out that we’ve found! And you just decided that you weren’t gonna tell me? I’m second in command! I have a right to know!”

“Well, what if this turns out to be a dead end?” Alby argues. “I don’t wanna give you false hope! I don’t want you to feel like we’re gonna get out only for us to end up right where we started!”

“It’s the same as giving you false hope!” Newt presses. Seriously, what gave him the right to make that decision?

“No, it’s not.”

“And why is that?!”

“Because I won’t try to kill myself!”

He falters. His eyes widen -in shock, in hurt, he can’t say. Probably both- and his brow furrows. He grimaces, shaking his head in disbelief. He can tell that almost instantly Alby wants to take it back, but he doesn’t.

“I’m not gonna sit here and take this,” Newt snaps, shaking his head as he shoves past Alby and pushes out of the Map Room. Alby doesn’t try to stop him. Somehow that makes it worse.

His eyes are stinging. It’s late enough in the evening that most Gladers are loitering around. It's more somber tonight, though. They’ll be Banishing Ben in about fifteen minutes. If Newt can hold on that long to break down, that would be just golden. He hasn’t started crying yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

He rubs at his eyes wildly. He isn’t going to cry. Not when Alby will be out here to start the Banishing. He’s not going to give him that satisfaction. He doesn’t want to see this. People start gathering. He doesn’t want to watch this. Someone’s brought Ben into the clearing by the door. They’ve got five minutes, max, until the doors close.

Thomas is hesitating, standing a little farther away than everyone else. That poor Greenie thinks this is his fault, no doubt. He looks over at Newt, demanding an explanation. Newt just shakes his head. If he started talking, he was going to start sobbing. And that was the last thing he needed.

He stares at the ground. Listening to Ben’s pleas and cries over the ringing in his ears. The shouting, both excited and miserable. Sobbing and crying and sniffing and pleading. It’s too much all at once. Banishings have never been easy. This is somehow worse than the rest.

Alby’s leading it. Newt doesn’t know how he manages. He can’t even look as the Keepers force Ben out into the maze by the neck, by the leather collar that Newt can’t stand to look at.

“No, no, please, I won’t-”

Newt doesn't even know who Ben's begging at this point. He wonders how sane Ben really is right now, if he even really knows what he's doing, or what he's pleading for. What is it, exactly he wants? Mercy? And what, truly, is the merciful decision? Keeping him here, or sending him out?

“Please, Alby, please-”

Alby doesn't react. Newt doesn't know how he manages. How could he listen to that, the raw feeling and hurt and guilt, and not react? How does he stand there like nothing's wrong when absolutely everything is falling apart?

“Minho-”

Newt doesn't look to Minho to watch his reaction. It’s more than he can stand. He’s gonna break. He can’t keep it together. How do the others do it? It’s just horrible.

“Newt-”

And there’s the breaking point. Ben looks at him one last time, eyes glassy, tears streaming down his face. His final plea. His last call for help. And there’s nothing Newt can do. He shakes his head slightly, not missing the sear of a single tear rolling down his cheek. He turns on his heels and leaves.

He can’t do this anymore. He can’t watch kids die, helpless to save them. He can’t do this anymore. Any of this.

He’s fully sobbing by the time he makes it to his little hill in the Deadheads. Finally able to reflect on everything that’s happened. Everything that he’s kept bottled up.

Because I won’t try to kill myself!

How could Alby hold that over his head like that? What gave him the right? He just cries harder. This is ridiculous.

They’re never going to get out of here. People die. People get stung. And then people get Banished. It’s a vicious cycle and it’s never going to end. Is it even worth it? If he’d managed to climb just a little higher.

He sat down, leaning against a tree trunk, hugging his knees to his chest, burying his head in his arms. Sobbing. Breaking. It all hurt. It hurt so bad. He couldn’t do this anymore. None of it. He couldn’t lead these people around all day, knowing he himself didn’t think they could make it. He couldn’t parade himself around all day, pretending that everything was fine when it felt like his whole world was collapsing. His whole world is collapsing. He just can’t do it. He can’t smile and laugh like they’re not all on the verge of death. The Box won’t go back down and everything else is going to shit, anyway.

And he’s really just a figurehead. He’s only second in command so Alby can keep an on him at all times. To keep him out of the maze. Off the walls.

He’d been stupid, anyway. There are a thousand better ways to commit suicide. More efficient ones. Maybe, deep down, he hadn’t really wanted to die back then. It’d be a lot easier to do it now. There were so many more Gladers. Alby wouldn’t find him in time. He might actually succeed. That was the only one out of this damned place, anyway. What was the point of trying to help, anyway, if they weren’t going to tell him anyway?

He wasn’t this fragile little thing Alby thought of him as. Don’t they know that? Sure, this was all hopeless. He’d known that for years. He didn’t need them to hide the fact from him. If he wanted to kill himself, nothing they could do or say would impact that. They needed him. They needed his help. Why couldn’t they see that? All they did was hide around. Alby and the Runners. He should have been included in that conversation. He shouldn’t have had to find everything out from the Greenie.

Maybe if he really did do it, they’d learn. Well, whatever. Maybe he should stop making big decisions when he’s having a mental breakdown.

“Newt?”

Shuck. No one was supposed to find him. No one was supposed to see him like this. Vulnerable. A mess. Broken. He tried to wipe the tears away. Play it off like he’d just been thinking out here. But it was far too late for that. He was sobbing. He was panicking. And Jesus Christ, why was it so hard to breathe?

And that was how Thomas, the Greenie, stood two feet in front of him, watching him break down. Newt looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy. He could barely make out the younger boy’s features, eyesight blurry with tears.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asks.

It’s soft and gentle. Not condescending in the slightest. Why is he, the Greenie, the only one with Newt’s best interests at heart? Newt hesitates. He debates lying, but really, what would be the point? It’s quite obvious that he’s not okay. So he just stares at Thomas, and then slowly, he shakes his head, staring at the ground in front of him because he can’t bear to look Tommy in the eyes.

Thomas sits down next to him, ever so cautiously. Newt’s gone back to sobbing, seeing as Thomas is not leaving any time soon, and he’d really rather get his mental breakdown out of the way so he can go back to pretending everything’s absolutely fine.

“Can I…can I touch you?” Thomas asks. Newt doesn’t really know what he means. But he doesn’t really care. He trusts Tommy. Probably more than he should. So he nods. Thomas wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a sideways hug.

Newt lets him, falling into the embrace and burying his face in the crook of the younger boy’s neck. He’s sobbing and fragile and broken -shattered, really- but Tommy doesn’t seem to care about that.

“I’m sorry,” Newt manages, his voice muffled by Thomas's neck. And melancholy.

“Don’t apologize,” Thomas says quietly, his other hand coming to rest on the back of Newt’s head, fingers running through his hair. “Everyone needs to break sometimes. It’s just easier when you’ve got someone to help put you back together.”

That sets him off again. He doesn’t even know why, but it does.

“I don’t want to watch people die anymore,” he whispers. It’s like a secret. In a way, it is; he’s never said that to anyone before. He hasn’t had a friend he can be this vulnerable around. Minho would laugh and say something sarcastic. Alby would tell him to get a grip. But all Tommy did was nod.

“I know,” he whispers. “Me neither.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Newt continues, practically sobbing into Thomas's neck. “They don’t tell me anything.”

“Alby won’t?” Thomas asks. Newt nods. “Well, I dunno what he’s thinking, then. He must be out of his mind. You’re the most rational person here. If anyone would have a good idea, it’d be you.”

“There’s no way out, Tommy,” Newt chokes out. “We’re gonna be trapped in here till we bloody die. That’s why they don’t tell me anythin’. Scared I’ll…”

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispers, cutting him off. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” And he does. And that’s perhaps the best comfort Newt’s had in a very long time. So he shuts his eyes, hugs Thomas tighter, and wills himself to stop crying. Focus on the slight chill of the woods compared to the warmth of Tommy’s embrace. The frigid silence compared to his sobs and Thomas's whispered consolations.

It all feels so familiar.

He wants it to last forever.

Or, at least, as long as Tommy will have him.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t even known what was going on. Really, when did he ever? But he’d seen Newt storm out of the Homestead like he was going to either kill someone or start sobbing. And that was reason enough to go check on him.

And then he’s stumbled upon the Banishing. Ben’s, to be exact.

He loses sight of Newt in the crowd, though he’s pretty sure he knows why the older boy’s upset now. He acted like he wasn’t super close with Ben, but Thomas was pretty sure watching any of the Gladers go through something like this was enough to set him off.

Thomas watched, almost petrified, as one of the Keepers forced a leather collar around Ben’s neck. It was connected to a pole that they used to force him out into the maze. Thomas couldn’t bear to look, so he stared at his feet instead. Just hearing Ben’s pleas was enough. More than enough. This was his fault. They were going to banish Ben into the Maze, and it was all his fault.

Maybe he could say something? Try to interfere? Would that even help any? Maybe this was all a misunderstanding. Maybe Ben had been in the right. He was going to die, and it was all because of Thomas. Thomas didn’t miss the glare Gally shot him. Nor the remorseful apology in Ben’s eyes as they made eye contact. There was absolutely nothing he could do. It was too late now. On some level of consciousness, Thomas knew for a fact that there was nothing he could have done differently. He hadn’t called out for help, or anything. Alby had just been there in the nick of time. But it still felt like it was his fault.

He was the Greenie. Ben was the one everyone knew. Everyone was friends with and cared about. He had hopes and dreams just like everyone else. And now he was going to die. And it was all, absolutely, totally Thomas’s fault.

“No, no, please, I won’t-”

They inched him a little further into the Maze.

“Please, Alby, please-”

The leader in question didn’t even respond. They just shoved him further away from the Glade. The doors began to his, the creaking of mechanisms turning filling everyone’s ears. Ben’s screeches increased in volume.

“Minho-”

Minho, who Thomas realized was the Runner he’d met earlier, just looked away. Obviously more compassionate than some of the guys here, who were cheering in amusement.

“Newt-”

And that was the last straw. Thomas heard one, choked, strangled sob, and then nothing.

The maze walls closing in, Ben’s screaming and pleading, Glader’s ruckus, but nothing more from Newt. Thomas tried to find him in the crowd, but it was like he’d disappeared. With one final shove, Ben was fully inside the Maze, and the doors were sealed tightly, the sound of them snapping against each other reverberating, echoing throughout the entire Glade.

And everyone fell silent.

Thomas stayed at the walls longer than some. This was all his fault. The least he could do was pay his respects. Would the others blame him for this? For Ben being Banished? Gally certainly did. Did everyone else? Did Minho, or Alby? Did Newt? He wasn't sure he could bear being the center of all the blame, but it was undoubtedly his fault.

Thomas still wasn't sure what he'd done to provoke Ben, but surely he'd done something. Ben might have been going through the Changing, or whatever, but he must have been conscious enough to not go off on everyone. He'd made it all the way to the Deadheads before attacking anyone, after all. He'd been actively seeking out Thomas. 

This is all your fault. Thomas was beginning to think the same, quite frankly. All these dreams, and how he was remembering things. And now two people who'd gone through the Changing recognized him. 

What if he really was behind all this?

There's no real way to quiet his thoughts, and nothing he can do to dissuade them. It's a helpless cause. He feels out of control of his own mind. So, naturally, he takes to doing something he can control. Which is helping someone else. If he couldn't eliminate the worry surrounding his guilt, at least he could extinguish his worry for Newt. 

Crowds began to disperse, but still, Newt was nowhere to be found.

So Thomas went to look for him, since he obviously wasn’t okay, and probably shouldn’t be by himself when he’s feeling like that. This had obviously been tough for him.

Thomas was fairly deep into the forest before he caught any signs of life. Muffled sobs. Rustling. Most certainly Newt, if it was this far away from everything else.

“Newt?” He calls out, hoping he’s right and there’s not someone waiting to maul him as an act of vengeance.

He hears more rustling, this time panicked. Sobs being more actively muffled. Yeah. Definitely Newt. Thomas kept walking, deeper and deeper into the woods. And then he spotted him; he was curled into a ball, leaning against a tree, tears glistening in the moonlight. He was staring at the ground, actively trying to hide. Trying to keep from making eye contact with Thomas.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asks, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. He’s standing maybe two feet away from the older boy, trying to give him space, but also being close enough to console.

Newt looks up at him now, eyes adorably -adorably?- wide, glassy with tears. His bottom lip was trembling before he caught it between his teeth. He didn’t say anything. He probably couldn’t bring himself to. He looked like a wreck. Thomas had never felt more empathetic in his life. He wanted nothing more than to make the boy in front of him feel better. Feel so happy that he could never be sad again.

And then he shakes his head sadly. It’s slow, hesitant. He’d obviously been debating trying to make some cover up, but ultimately deemed it useless. And then he goes back to staring at the ground, like he can’t bear to look at Thomas any longer.

So Thomas sits down on him, cautious, trying not to make anything worse. Newt’s crying again -sobbing, really- this time even harder before. Thomas feels horrible. His heart sinks just listening to this, taking in the older boy’s misery. He has to do something. He has to be able to help. Right?

He couldn't help Ben. He has to help Newt. 

“Can I… can I touch you?” He asks quietly.

He doesn’t move until he sees Newt’s slightly confused nod. And then he wraps an arm over the older boy’s shoulders, pulling him into a sideways hug. It’s a little tense and awkward at first. Neither of them really know what to do. Thomas can’t remember ever hugging someone before, but it had felt right. Like maybe this was how he’d always comforted people. How he’d always comforted Newt, who he had most certainly known before all of this.

It’s tense. Newt’s as rigid as a statue at first. But then he sinks into it, melting into the embrace. His head drops into the crook of Thomas’s neck, his arms winding around his chest. Thomas stays still after that, not wanting to make it seem like he’s uncomfortable. Newt starts crying harder. He’s worried that it’s because of something he did, but then he realizes that the older boy just feels comfortable with him. So he rubs circles into his shoulder -the only part of his body he can reach with that hand- with his thumb. It seems to help a little.

He looks so… broken.

“I..I’m sorry,” Newt croaks. His voice is muffled, mostly contained by Thomas’s neck, but he catches it nonetheless.

“Don’t apologize,” Thomas says quickly. He keeps his voice quiet, soft. Consoling. He can’t stand watching Newt suffer like this. He brings his other hand to the back of the older boy’s head, carding his fingers through his fluffy blond hair. It brings a spark of familiarity, but he ignores that. “Everyone needs to break sometimes. It’s just easier when you’ve got someone to help put you back together.” Where the hell did that even come from?

That sets Newt off again. His crying gets louder. He sounds like he’s struggling to breathe. Thomas hugs him tighter to his chest, hoping that’s helping.

“I don’t want to watch people die anymore.” Newt says it like it’s a confession. Like he’d never dare to say that to anyone else. Under any other pretenses. Thomas supposes that it probably is a confession for him. A secret he’s never been able to tell anyone. Thomas accepts the confession with honor.

“I know,” Thomas says, nodding. “Me neither.” What else can he even say to that? How else is he supposed to respond? Newt’s never been this vulnerable with him. With anyone, probably.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Newt continues, sniffing. “They don’t tell me anything.”

It seems like Newt’s been holding all of this in for a while. He’s finally got his outlet, and Thomas is more than happy to be that for him.

“Alby won’t?” Thomas asks patiently. He feels Newt nod against his neck. “Well, I dunno what he’s thinking, then. He must be out of his mind. You’re the most rational person here. If anyone would have a good idea, it’d be you.”

He thought that that would help. He really, really did. It seemed to just make things worse. But then again, maybe things needed to get worse before they got better. Oh, he really didn’t know what he was doing with this whole consoling thing.

“There’s no way out, Tommy,” Newt chokes out. “We’re gonna be trapped in here till we bloody die. That’s why they don’t tell me anythin’. Scared I’ll…” And then he cuts himself off, like he’s just revealed some great secret that no one’s supposed to know.

Thomas doesn’t press. “It’s okay,” he whispers, holding him closer. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

And he does. He really does. And, seemingly, that’s enough.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually, Newt stops crying. At some point, Thomas realizes that he’s fallen asleep in his arms. Thomas doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to wake him up- not when he so obviously needs this. Needs to be taken care of, for a change. His lets his fingers twirl through fluffy locks of hair. How did Newt manage to keep it this soft in the Glade? That was impressive in itself.

Thomas rested his head on top of Newt’s, taking in the sight of the broken boy in his arms, knowing damn well that Newt didn’t deserve any of this.

I don’t want to watch people die anymore. And he shouldn’t have to. He didn’t deserve whatever fate they’d been doomed to. Thomas hugged him tighter, hoping that would make up for years of misfortune, even though he knew it wouldn’t come close.

He’d protect this one with everything he had, because it was quite clear that no one else would.

“I know and I love you,” Thomas whispers, recalling the words that had flashed into his mind upon meeting Newt for the first time.

“I’ll protect you,” Thomas murmurs, relaxing a bit more as Newt’s ragged breaths begin to even out as he falls into a deeper state of unconscious. “Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Chapter Text

“You’ll go check it out with me, then?” Minho asks.

Alby nods in confirmation. “We’ll head out with the rest of the Runners. Tomorrow, at sunrise,” he says.

It’s easier to focus on the dead Griever than it is to think about Newt, who ran off to god-knows-where with god-knows-who.

“Where’s Newt?” Minho prompts. “He should probably be here for this one.” He sighs. “I know we don’t like bringing him into conversations about the Maze, but this is really important. He has a right to this information.”

Alby frowns. “If I knew where he was, he’d be here right now,” he confesses. “But he got mad that we were hidin’ stuff from him, and we started arguin’, and then he stormed off.”

“That’s dangerous,” Minho protests. “Maybe we should go out and look for him? What if he’s-?”

“He’s fine,” Alby says. “Newt can take care of himself. And he’s not gonna try that again. Not right now, anyway.”

Minho doesn’t look entirely convinced. To be fair, Alby isn’t, either. Newt could be anywhere right now. And as much as Alby wanted to trust the other Gladers, he couldn’t. Not with someone he cared about. Not with Newt. They’d been trapped in here for two years. They were getting antsy. What would they do when they saw a pretty boy all by himself, totally vulnerable, in the dead of night? Alby didn’t want to think about that.

No one knew about Newt; no one other than him and Minho, and a few choice others. But nonetheless, Newt was a genuinely attractive guy, in an almost androgynous-like way. Almost feminine. But Alby would never say that out loud. Especially not to Newt’s face. He didn’t want to get his ass kicked.

“You’re worried about him, too,” Minho says, almost teasingly. “You wanna go out and look for him just as much as I do.”

Alby shrugs. “He can take care of himself,” he repeats. And he can; really, he can. Alby just doesn’t want it to have to come to that. “He’ll be alright.”

Though, really, he’s trying to convince himself more than he is Minho.

“You’re too stubborn for this,” Minho says, standing up. “I’m going to check on him.”

Alby, albeit less reluctantly than he’d care to admit, followed after the Runner. Because, really, he was just as worried about Newt as Minho was. And, really, he was probably a mess right now, and Alby had learned the hard way that Newt shouldn’t be alone when he’s feeling like that.

“He’d be off by himself, right?” Minho prompts. Alby nods curtly. “He wouldn’t want anyone to see him breaking down. Which, by the way, is definitely what he’s doing right now. You should work on your apology while we walk.”

Alby says nothing to that, purely because Minho’s absolutely right, and he’s intolerable when he’s right.

“So he’s probably in the Deadheads,” Alby says eventually. That’s where he usually goes in the evenings, anyway. “That’s his breakdown spot.”

Minho nods pointedly, and runs over there, leaving Alby with no choice but to jog in order to keep up with him. Alby knows that Newt typically doesn’t go very far off into the Deadheads. Not far enough to be able to see the graveyard, anyway. But this time, he had to be in the very back of it, since they’d searched everywhere else. They didn’t hear outright sobbing, so maybe Newt wasn’t that upset with him. Then again, maybe he’d-

No. Alby couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t even consider the possibility. Newt wouldn’t do that. Not when so many people depended on him. Sure, things were getting tough, but Newt wouldn’t do that when everyone needed him.

Or so Alby hoped.

He was starting to properly panic, now that Newt was nowhere to be found.

That is, until Minho snorts, obviously amused.

“What?”

Minho points towards a little clearing, or, more specifically, two sleeping figures resting against one of the trees on the outskirts of it. Alby frowns, taking a step closer. Who was he with?

“Is that…?”

“The Greenie?” Minho offers, clearly taking great amusement in this. “It totally is.”

Alby rolls his eyes, walking into the clearing. What were they meant to do about this? They couldn’t leave them here all night. Certainly not. Minho trails after him, snickering. He was having a field day with this, and it really wasn’t what Alby needed.

He had to concentrate. What had gone on here? How had this come to be? More importantly, did he need to kill a certain little Greenie for doing something he wasn’t supposed to?

Thomas wakes up, probably because of Minho’s very loud laughter. Alby just stood there and watched as the younger boy took in the unexpected weight of Newt’s body on his. The Greenie looked from Alby to Minho, and then fixed his gaze on Newt, confused until the realization hit. Till he remembered what had happened.

He looks at Alby again. “This was your fault,” he says plainly. Matter-of-fact. His accusation makes Minho laugh harder. “He’s upset because you guys don’t tell him anything.”

“Yeah, we gathered that,” Alby says coldly. He didn’t need a Greenie telling him what he’d done wrong. If Thomas knew everything, he’d understand. He’d probably do the same, since he obviously cared a great deal about Newt’s wellbeing. “How did you come into this picture?”

Thomas frowns. “Newt rushed off after Ben’s…Banishing-thing. He looked upset, so I got worried and went to check on him,” he explains. “He was having a mental breakdown when I got here, so I- I just wanted to help. And then he cried himself to sleep in my arms, and-”

“Ben’s Banishment probably didn’t help,” Minho interrupts, “if he was already breaking down. You know how he gets around those things.”

Alby nods. At least he’s not laughing anymore. That was getting annoying.

Thomas looks down at Newt again, obviously still worried about him. “Is he gonna be alright?” He asks. “He sounded like-”

“He’ll be okay,” Minho says. “Thanks to you, really, Greenie.” He pauses. “Thanks for lookin’ after him, shank. We can take him off ya now.”

Thomas hesitates. “I dunno. He didn’t seem particularly thrilled with either of you,” he says. “Actually, that’s why he’s out here sobbing. So I’m not so sure he’d want me to dump him with you. Maybe we should wait until he wakes up and ask him what he wants.”

Alby looks over at Minho, incredulous. The Runner just shrugs in response. At least Thomas cared about him. At least there was someone else they could count on to keep him safe.

“Can you wake him up?” Alby asks.

He really doesn’t want anyone to spend a night in the Deadheads, let alone his second in command.

Thomas doesn’t look entirely convinced with Alby’s demand, but he nods, trying to shake Newt awake as gently as possible. He straightened up a little bit, forcing Newt to do the same. That’s what finally got his eyes open.

“...What…?”

Thomas pointed at Alby and Minho. Newt followed his gaze. No questions asked. Huh. Newt’s stare hardened a little bit when he registered Alby and Minho, but he softened it again to the best of his ability.

“What d’you want?” He asks. “Wanna hold more information over my head?”

Alby grimaces. Okay, maybe they deserved that one. “We need to talk about something important,” he says instead. “About the Maze. And we want you to be there for it.”

“Because you have a right to that information, and we shouldn’t have kept that other stuff from you,” Minho adds. “You should have been informed about the dead Griever, and anything else we’ve kept from you over the years.”

Newt frowns. He’s obviously not content with the half-hearted apology. And, really, they’ll give him a better one when it’s just the three of them. But they shouldn’t be talking about stuff this dire in front of a Greenie.

“Alright,” Newt finally says. “What’s goin’ on?”

Minho smiles, extending a hand to help him up. “We’re still on the topic of the dead Griever, actually. We’re tryna figure out what to do with it, but we’re stumped. Think ya can help?”

“Maybe.”

He’s a little shaky as he stands. Probably because he’d just woken up. And because, from what Thomas said, he’d had a breakdown right before he fell asleep. Thomas gets up too, making for wherever he’s been sleeping. By Chuck, Alby assumes. He doesn’t really care where people sleep. As long as they wake up in the morning.

“Hey, Greenie?” Alby calls out. Thomas, surprised, stops instantly, turning around to look at him. “Thanks. Seriously.”

Thomas hesitates, and then he smiles in somewhat of a consoling manner. “Anyone would’ve done it,” he says.

They all fall silent. No one else would have done it. Alby and Minho, maybe, but they were too busy with the dead Griever for Newt to even cross their minds until it was too late.

“No,” Newt says finally, for the three of them. “They wouldn’t.”

Chapter Text

“So what’s the deal with the dead Griever?” Newt asks, shutting the door to the Map Room behind him. “Why couldn’t it wait until a reasonable hour?” He knows why, but he’s decided to act like his time is very valuable, just to be petty.

Alby and Minho don’t miss this, exchanging weary glances. Newt’s not going to properly comply until he receives a proper apology, and they both know it.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Alby says. It’s soft-spoken and honest. Not something he gets very often from their stoic leader.

“No,” Newt agrees, nodding, urging him to continue.

Alby grimaces. “And we shouldn’t have kept ya outta the loop in the first place. You have a lotta good ideas, and insights we don’t. You have a right to that info just as I do. You shoulda been there to talk about it.”

“Yes,” Newt agrees again, “I should have.”

Minho sighs. “And we’re gonna be here all night and still never discuss the shuck Griever, ‘cause you’re both too stubborn to actually move this along,” he says, cutting the both of them off. “So I found a dead Griever in the Maze,” he continues, looking at Newt specifically. “Alby doesn’t really believe me, so we’re gonna go check it out together tomorrow.”

“Which means you’re in charge while we’re gone,” Alby adds, a hint of an apology laced in his words. Newt pretends not to hear it. Minho was right, after all; Alby’s too stubborn to apologize, and Newt’s too stubborn to move on without getting that apology.

Newt frowns instead. “Which is why I should have been informed about all of this from the start,” he says, crossing his arms.

“Yes,” Minho agrees, “you should have been. But we can’t go back and change the past, so we’re trying to make things right now. Do you have any ideas or thoughts you’d like to voice to the council?”

Newt hesitates, thinking it over. He didn’t, not really. Their ideas were sound. But he couldn’t say he totally agreed with them after making such a big fuss about being excluded. So he had to make something up.

“What if the Griever’s not there when you go to check it out tomorrow?” Newt asks. That was a reasonable thing…right? Maybe the creators would grab it in the night? And- oh. Perfect. “And the bloody Maze moves every night. How d’you reckon you’ll be able to find it again?”

Minho paused. Obviously they hadn’t taken that into consideration. Alby also looked troubled. This was why they needed to include him in their plans. Honestly. Did they ever learn?

“The Griever was on the ground, though,” Minho says carefully. “So I figured we’d just hope that the walls didn’t push it when they were moving.”

“This plan seems to dwell on a lotta ‘what-ifs’,” Newt says, unconvinced. “But, yunno, this is the first real clue we’ve found in the two buggin’ years we’ve been here. Min, you’re the Runner. If you think that Griever’ll be in the same spot, then I’m with ya.”

He was not, in fact, “with him”. There was next to no way that that Griever would be in the same spot Minho had left it. And even if it was, Newt’s not entirely convinced that Minho would be able to find it again, anyway, since the walls had all changed. But Newt was too stubborn to say any of that. If they weren’t going to give him a proper apology, he wasn’t going to stop them from going on a wild goose chase.

“So we’ll go tomorrow,” Alby says, finalizing their plan. “Newt? You’ll be fine manning the Glade while we’re gone?”

Newt just quirked an eyebrow in response. Really. He was the one that did most of the Glade management anyway. Alby finalized their decisions, sure, but Newt was the one that made them.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Minho says, interfering before this became another big thing.

Newt sighs. As much as he was fine with how the events had been played out, how he’d finally been included in a conversation he’d very much needed to be included in, he honestly would have rathered spending the night with Thomas.

Thomas seemed to be the only one that actually cared about how he felt nowadays.

“I think I might’ve misjudged that Greenie,” Alby calls out as Newt makes to leave. “Thought he’d be an annoyin’ little rulebreaker. He’s a good guy. I trust him.”

Newt frowns pointedly, turning around, confused. Where had this come from?

“What d’you mean?” He asks.

“You were totally vulnerable with him,” Alby offers, “which means you obviously trust him a great deal. And, y’know, you were unconscious. He could have done anythin’. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t even let us take you back to the Homestead. That’s why he woke you up in the first place.”

Newt hesitates, and then he smiles gently. He hadn’t known about that. Minho doesn’t miss it, immediately picking back up on his relentless teasing. He very well couldn’t leave now without making it seem worse. This was going to be a long night.

~~~

“Our little Newtie,” Minho continues, laughing, “in love with the Greenie.”

Newt rolls his eyes, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough to shut him up. “Stop callin’ me that,” he snaps. “And there’s nothin’ goin’ on with Tommy.”

“You’ve already given him a petname!”

“It’s a nickname!”

Alby just laughs, coming to no one’s aid. Newt pretended to hate it, but joking around with them again, it made him feel like everything was going to be okay. It was like teasing alone could ease the prior tension. Maybe it could- it certainly felt that way.

“He’s attractive,” Minho offers, “and obviously a good guy. He’s got my blessing.” He looks over at the older boy. “Alby? How about you?”

Alby rolls his eyes, going along with it. “I dunno,” he teases. “No shank’s good enough for our Newt. He’ll have to do some serious convincin’.”

Newt smacks the both of them -just gently, but hard enough to get his point across- his cheeks bright red. “I don’t like him! Not like that!”

Alby cocks an eyebrow at him. Minho scoffs. It’s playful and obviously in approval, but it’s annoying all the same.

“Is it hot in here?” Newt asks, tugging his sweater off. It was really just his face. His cheeks were heating up with every passing second.

That just ends everyone into laughter again.

Chapter Text

Thomas has been reluctant to leave Newt alone with Minho and Alby. Not because he didn’t trust them, but because Newt had obviously been upset by whatever they’d done, and he didn’t want the older boy to feel worse.

When he spotted the second in command the next morning, however, he seemed totally back to normal. Not like he’d sobbed his eyes out and cried himself to sleep in Thomas’s arms the night before. He was joking around with Alby and Minho while the three of them loitered around the East entrance to the Maze. Like nothing happened. Newt’s even leaning on Alby, left arm balancing on the leader’s shoulder.

So despite Chuck’s protests, Thomas jogs over to make sure everything’s alright. Newt smiles in recognition, and goes back to their conversation. Minho -was that his name?- registers Thomas’s presence, makes Alby aware, and nudges Newt teasingly. Thomas pretends to ignore how pink the British boy’s cheeks get.

“Are you going to check out the Griever?” Thomas asks hopefully.

Now that Ben’s gone, there’s a spot for a new Runner, and as horrible as it sounds, Thomas really wants to be considered for the position. Minho nods curtly. Alby offers no response. They both seem somewhat amused, looking back and forth between him and Newt. Thomas decides not to ask. Newt doesn’t seem pleased with what they’re doing, so Thomas figures he doesn’t want to know. It’s probably about last night, and he doesn’t really want to bring that up again.

“Don’t die,” Newt says quietly, nodding the both of them off as Alby and Minho make for the Maze. “Both of ya.”

Minho grins. “I’ll try my best. You don’t die, either.”

Newt smirks, and nods pointedly. It seems like a thing they do. Thomas doesn’t ask. Alby offers some reassurance, and then he and Minho run off. Newt watches them go. He stares at the Maze blankly until they round that first corner. And then he waits another minute. And then he turns to Thomas.

“How’s it goin’, Tommy?” He manages.

Thomas can tell he’s worried. Probably super stressed. Thomas isn’t going to bring that up, since it’s clear that this isn’t one of those moments, but he notes it all the same.

Thomas just shrugs. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even really know why he snuck around. At this point, Chuck’s made his way over, trying to tug him along for breakfast. Thomas tries to wave him off, tell him to go by himself, but the kid stays firm. Newt finds that amusing. Thomas pretends to be annoyed, but he can’t really complain. Chuck’s like a little brother to him at this point.

“Just wanted to…y’know, see how you were doing,” Thomas says nervously. Why is he being so awkward about this? Newt’s obviously fine.

Newt grins, tilting his head to the side. “How are you doin’?” He asks instead of answering. “With Ben n’ all. Can’t bloody imagine how you’re feelin’, mate.”

“I’m..I’m okay,” Thomas says. He’s not. He’s anything but okay, but Newt doesn’t need to know that. No one needs to know that. “It’s all a little confusing, I guess, but that’s okay.”

Newt doesn’t seem convinced. He’s good at calling people’s bullshit. Which is fair enough, because Thomas is good at calling his.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Newt says quietly. “What happened with Ben. He got stung. Regardless of what Gally says, it didn’t have anythin’ to do with you.”

Thomas isn’t convinced. Two people who had gone through the Changing hated his guts. Said they’d seen him. It certainly seems like his fault. But he doesn’t say that, because he knows that Newt’s never going to agree with him. And, quite honestly, Thomas doesn’t want him to.

Eventually, Chuck gets bored of their conversation and leaves. It seems that was what Newt had been waiting for.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “by the way. For last night.”

Thomas smiles gently. “Really seemed like you needed some comfort. Sorry if I was too… bold, I guess, or anything. I just wanted to help.”

“And you did,” Newt says quickly. “You really bloody did, Tommy.”

Thomas’s smile gets a little bit bigger. Funny, how one person can do all that.

“They did include you in that discussion, right?” Thomas prompts.

Newt rolls his eyes, elbowing him in the ribs. “Yeah, they did. Prolly thanks to you, mate.” He pauses. “Alby said you didn’t let ‘em take me. Cause you thought I didn’t wanna go with ‘em.”

“Was that out of line? I feel like that was out of line. I shouldn’t have done that, right?”

“No,” Newt cuts off his rambling. “I really appreciate that, slinthead. It was real bloody good of ya, yeah?”

Thomas pauses, and then he smiles again. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

“Just, yunno, don’t tell anyone about that,” Newt says, a little more firm than the rest of their conversation had been. “I dunno what the other shanks would think if-”

“Right, totally.” Thomas cuts him off. “I wasn’t planning on telling anyone. That was a super vulnerable moment.”

Newt smiles his thanks, tells him to go do something productive, and makes his way over to the gardens.

Thomas briefly considers checking to see if the girl’s awake, but then decides to go bug Chuck instead. He’ll probably appreciate the distraction.

Gally hasn’t approached him yet today. He looks angrier than ever. He was friends with Ben, Thomas is sure, and he obviously blames Thomas for the Banishing. (Which, by the way, Chuck has since told him is actually a thing.)

“Gally looks like he wants to murder you,” Chuck says, obviously more amused than he should be.

Thomas sighs. Guess he’s not the only one that’s noticed that, then.

“I don’t wanna talk about Gally,” Thomas says.

Chuck shrugs, looking around. “What d’you wanna talk about, then?” He pauses, a sly smirk coming onto his face that Thomas just knows means trouble. “How about the girl? She definitely recognized you. Did you recognize her?”

“You know I did,” Thomas says blankly, not liking where this was going.

“But you like her, don’t you?”

“No,” Thomas says.

Sure, maybe they’d been friends before all of this, but Thomas definitely didn’t like her like that. He might have, at some point, but certainly not anymore. He couldn’t describe it, but his head just felt angry at him for even suggesting romantic attraction to her. He decided not to say any of that out loud, since Chuck would never let him hear the end of it, and the kid had more than enough blackmail on him as it was.

“Really?” Chuck asks, confused. “I’m pretty sure every guy in here wants to get with her.” Thomas questions whether or not Chuck actually knows what that means. “Except Newt, probably, ‘cause- hey! Thomas, do you like boys?”

Thomas stares at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Y’know, ‘cause you don’t like the girl!” Chuck explains. “It’s okay if you’re gay. That doesn’t matter to me.”

Thomas frowns pointedly. “I’m not gay, I just don’t like the girl.”

“Really?” Chuck asks, incredulous. “You’re not into Newt?”

“No!” Thomas says a little too quickly and a little too loudly. Where did Chuck even get that idea!? It was preposterous! “Why would I be into Newt?!”

Chuck shrugs. “You always wanna be around him, and weren’t you guys in the Deadheads last night? Alone?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Thomas is quick to correct. Again, he wonders if Chuck even knows what he’s insinuating. “We were talking about Ben.”

He’s most certainly not going to go into detail or explain what actually happened in that forest, especially now that Newt’s asked him not to disclose that information.

Chuck shakes his head, obviously not believing him. Thomas decides against protesting further, realizing he wasn’t going to be able to change the kid’s mind. Besides, now he had to wonder; just how many people thought he was into Newt? Because he wasn’t. No way. Newt was just a good guy and easy to talk to. Everyone thought that, and it was apparent. That didn’t make him gay.

Then again, how many people spent their nights cuddled up with the second in command? How many people did he trust enough to see him that vulnerable? Thomas shakes his head, shaking the thoughts from his mind. He didn’t have time to think about stuff this trivial. Not when everything was clearly going to shit. He’d only been here for a couple days and he knew that.

“What d’you think Alby and Minho are gonna find with the dead Griever?” Thomas asks instead.

Anything to get his mind off Chuck’s speculations. Anything to get his mind off Newt, really.

Chuck just shrugs. “Dunno. The Runners don’t tell the rest of us very much about the Maze. I don’t think they’re allowed to.”

“Huh,” Thomas says.

Chuck looks at him and winks. This isn’t going to go well. “But, y’know, they’ll tell Newt when they get back, and Newt will prolly tell you even though he’s not supposed to. Y’know, ‘cause you guys are doing each oth-”

“No, we’re not,” Thomas interrupts. “And I dunno if they’ll tell Newt, anyway. They don’t really talk to him about the Maze, either.”

“Weird.”

“It is, yeah,” Thomas says. “Bugs him. But what can you do?”

Chuck shrugs again. And then he grins. He reaches into his pocket. Immediately Thomas dreads to find out where this is going. Chuck produces a worm from his pocket. A giant one that's easily half a foot long and wriggling. It grosses Thomas out just looking at it.

"You should stick this down Gally's shirt," Chuck says lightly.

"Absolutely not."

Chapter Text

The gardens were quiet. Peaceful. Tranquil, compared to the chaos the rest of the Glade was typically enveloped in. Maybe that was the real reason Newt loved working there so much. It gave him a break from everything that made him feel helpless. He got to watch as the seeds he’d planted sprout into full bloom.

This garden was something he actually had control over. It took his mind off of everything that he couldn’t bear to think about.

Today, that was his two best friends in the Maze. And whether or not they would return. Seeing Minho off every day had been hard enough, stressful enough, but now Alby was with him, too, and Newt didn’t know what he’d do if he lost the both of them. No one would be able to pry him off a wall this time, anyway.

Newt shakes the thought out of his head. He couldn’t try that again. Too many people depended on him now. There’d be no one left to take control of the Glade if he kicked it, too.

“You think Alby’s gonna find anything?” Zart asks.

Newt just shrugs. As hard as they’ve tried to hide it from him, Newt knows there’s no way out of the Maze. He’s not going to say that, though.

“Maybe,” Newt says instead. “This is the biggest clue we’ve got so far. Somethin’ has to come of it, yeah?”

Zart nods. He’s a realistic guy. He probably knows that this is going to be a dead end just as much as Newt does. But neither one of them is going to say that out loud.

Newt goes over to tend to the tomatoes. He’s spent a lot of time taking caring of those plants, and it always brings him a special kind of relief to see them growing so strong and tall.

He looks up. He doesn’t even mean to. He doesn’t even know what compelled him to do it. But then he spots Chuck and Thomas, and just can’t bring himself to look away. Thomas's face is bright red, obviously because Chuck had been teasing him. Thomas is waving his arms in the universal “no way” and he loudly protests against whatever Chuck is saying. Chuck doesn’t relent, continuing on and on about whatever’s making Tommy so embarrassed.

Newt hears the girl be brought up and instantly feels a wave of disappointment wash over him. And then he gets mad at himself for feeling disappointed. Just because he didn’t feel any romantic draw to the girl doesn’t mean that nobody does.

He watches Thomas and Chuck for another minute, feeling already more amused and at ease than he had a couple minutes ago. He felt so drawn to Tommy. Maybe they’d been friends before all of this. They had to have been, right? Maybe that was why Newt felt so comfortable around him and trusted him as much as he did. They had to have been best friends.

His brain seems moderately offended for having come to that conclusion. Like he’s verging on the truth. Like their prior friendship had been so blatantly obvious. Or whatever they’d been. Newt doesn’t want to dwell on it. He doesn’t have time. He doesn’t want to hope.

So he goes back to his tomatoes before Thomas can catch his eye. Tomatoes never disappoint. Tomatoes never change, either. The only constant. Unfortunately, now that he wasn’t focusing on Thomas, all he could focus on was Alby and Minho, which was significantly worse. So as much as he didn’t want to, Newt brought his gaze back onto Thomas and Chuck.

Chuck was waving him over, obviously having the time of his life teasing Thomas over whatever was going on. Now that Newt was involved, he figured Chuck was doing to Thomas what Minho and Alby were doing to him.

“Hey, Newtie,” Chuck says, choking back a laugh, “Thomas here needs to tell you something super duper important.”

Newt ignores the rest of his statement, instead focusing solely on the greeting. “I see you’ve been talking with Minho,” he says. Chuck does not deny this.

“Thomas has nothing important to say,” Thomas says, his ears burning red.

Newt laughs, frankly just as amused as Chuck was.

Chuck rolls his eyes. “It’ll all feel better when you say it,” he sing-songs.

Thomas sighs, exasperated. “Chuck here thinks that I have a crush on you,” he explains, smiling apologetically at Newt. “I, in fact, do not have a crush on you. He’s just being annoying. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

Newt falters, but then regains his smile. Obviously he didn’t. But did he have to go and say it that outright? Newt shakes his head, more of a response to his own thoughts. Why was he so upset about that? It shouldn’t matter to him. He has a lot bigger fish to fry right now.

“You’re fine, Tommy,” Newt says quickly smiling hard. “I really don’t have anythin’ goin’ on right now. Was amusin’, if nothin’ else.”

Chuck winks, he takes a step closer to Newt, gesturing for him to bend down. He does, a little confused.

Chuck leans in closer. “He’s in denial,” he whispers in his ear.

“I am not in denial!”

“Yes you are!”

Newt laughs again. And then he waves. Not even the gardens are going to help with this. So he goes to the kitchens to help Fry, instead.

“Hey, man,” Fry says in recognition. “You doin’ alright?”

Newt shrugs, coming around to the other side of the counter to help peel potatoes.

“I dunno,” he says. Was it that obvious?

“What’s goin’ on?” Fry asks. “Anythin’ I can help with?”

“Prolly not,” Newt says. “I just… I dunno what’s really goin’ on to begin with.”

Fry frowns pointedly, looking up from the cutting board to make eye contact with him. “Need any help figurin’ it out?”

“Sure,” Newt says. “I think… I might have-”

“A crush on the Greenie?” Fry prompts, cutting him off. “Yeah, I know.”

Newt frowns, taken aback. “What d’you mean you know? I don’t even really know for sure yet!” He exclaims. And then he freezes. “If you know, does that mean everyone bloody knows?”

“Nah,” Fry says, waving a hand in a “nevermind” gesture. “Every shank here’s too shuckin’ oblivious for that. Prolly hasn’t even crossed their minds that guys can like guys like that. Slintheads.”

Newt shrugs, discouraged. “Well, it doesn’t buggin’ matter anymore, anyway,” he says. “Tommy’s not gay, so-”

“Are you serious?” Frypan asks, incredulous. “Didn’t you two spend the whole night cuddlin’, or somethin’?”

Newt grimaces, exasperated. “Bloody Minho,” he mutters. And then he raises his voice a little bit. “No, he actually outright told me he doesn’t like me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Fry says, obviously not believing it. “He’s head over heels in love with ya, man. He just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

Newt says nothing to that. Because quite frankly, he doesn’t even know if he wants this thing to work out. There’s no time for this. And there probably never will be. So he goes back to peeling potatoes, joking around with Frypan for the rest of the day.

It doesn’t do much to deter his stress over his possibly-dead friends, but it eases some tension, which, really, is all Newt can hope to accomplish at this point. They’ll be fine. Actually, they might not be, but Newt doesn’t want to think about that possibility. He couldn’t.

Lunch time passed, and Newt was beginning to worry even more. This was supposed to be a quick thing. Should they be gone this long? Maybe something happened? Or maybe they found some other lead thanks to the dead Griever. Maybe they’re absolutely fine. Maybe everything is going to be okay. Or maybe they’re dead.

“You wanna help with dinner, too?” Fry asks, gesturing towards a half-prepared chicken hopefully.

Newt shrugs. “Why not?” He offers.

Anything to keep his mind off of everything that made him want to rush back into the Maze and finish what he started.

Chapter Text

“Did Newt seem upset to you?” Thomas asks. “He seemed upset, right? Like maybe mad at me, or something?”

Chuck rolls his eyes, obviously a little amused at Thomas’s despair. “Yeah, he’s sad because you said you didn’t love him,” he says blankly. It’s so stoic and void of emotion that it’s hard to believe the kid’s still joking.

“I don’t love him,” Thomas says blankly.

His brain seems oddly offended by that statement. Thomas tells his brain to shut up. Chuck doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Thomas didn’t love Newt, and Newt certainly didn’t love him.

“You were cuddling him last night,” Chuck dead-pans. “I heard you, too. ‘I know and I love you’ and ‘I’ll protect you. Even if it’s the last thing I do’. You’re actually being ridiculous.”

“It wasn’t like a romantic thing, though,” Thomas protests. And then he pauses. “How did you even find out about that!?”

“You talk in your sleep,” Chuck says lamely. “You dream about Newt a lot, dude.”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes you do!” Chuck argues. “It’s so hard to sleep next to you! All night, it’s ‘oh, Newt!’ and ‘oh, you’re so ti-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Thomas shouts, his face burning hot. “But I’m not in love with him, or anything! Don’t be ridiculous!”

Chuck quirks an eyebrow. “Okay, I see you’re still in denial,” he says. “You’ll get out of that phase eventually.”

That, Thomas decides to ignore. He wouldn’t be able to deter the kid, anyway, so he gives up. He looks at the East entrance to the Maze. Surely Alby and Minho should be back by now, right? He looks over to the gardens, trying to see if Newt was worried about their timing, too. Only Newt wasn’t in the gardens anymore. All that he gained from the situation was Chuck realizing he was looking for Newt, earning more relentless teasing. Wonderful.

“You think Minho and Alby are okay?” Thomas asks, cutting off a very sexual implication that should not be coming out of a kid’s mouth. “They should probably be back by now, right?”

Chuck shrugs. He’s probably not amused by the more serious subject being brought up, but he’ll just have to live with that.

“Maybe they found something else,” Chuck says blankly. “Or maybe they’re dead,” he adds, just as emotionless as the first part.

Thomas hesitates before shaking his head, excusing himself from the conversation. Maybe Newt knows better. Or Frypan. At this rate, he’d be better off asking Gally. (Who, Thomas had later learned, had a massive black eye, courtesy of whatever Newt had done to him.) He makes his way to the kitchen, deciding that at the moment, he’d rather have Frypan sugar coat it than be told the truth. He’s seen enough death for the time being, thank you very much.

I don’t want to watch people die anymore. The words Newt had said to him ring through his head relentlessly, like an alarm. Yeah, Thomas was inclined to agree with him.

It’s only luck that Newt’s in the kitchen, too.

Frypan nods in recognition, muttering “speak of the devil” under his breath. Thomas doesn’t ask, especially considering how red Newt’s face is.

“Are Minho and Alby back yet?” Thomas asks before anyone can jump to any conclusions.

Newt hesitates. His face falls, but he fixes his composure just as quickly. So he’s back to bottling up his emotions, then. He’s obviously stressed beyond all measure, if how aggressively he’s peeling potatoes is anything to go by. Thomas chooses not to comment on that.

“No,” Newt says quietly, “not yet.” His voice grows a little steadier. “But they’ll be back, Tommy. Don’t you worry about it.”

Frypan doesn’t look as convinced. Hell, Newt doesn’t even look convinced, and the words are coming out of his mouth. Thomas doesn’t press. Alby’s Newt’s best friend, and he seemed pretty close with Minho, too; obviously he doesn’t want to think about what could be happening out in the Maze right now.

“They’ll be back,” Newt says again, albeit a little quiet this time, less certain. “They’ll be back. They have to come back.” He says the last part to himself more than to Thomas, but the latter doesn’t point that out.

Frypan hesitates, and then he nods. “Course they will,” he says. He’s agreeing, but he doesn’t sound particularly in agreement. “Minho’s the Keeper of the Runners. If anyone can handle a dead Griever, it’s him.” He pauses. “And he’ll have Alby as back up. Those two are the most capable shanks in the Glade.”

Newt nods. It’s his curt, I’m-nervous-as-hell nod, but Thomas decides against stating that. He obviously doesn’t want comfort right now. He can’t afford to be vulnerable when he’s in charge. And Thomas understands that. He just hopes the other knows he’ll always be there to catch him when he falls. His heart feels a pang of unwarranted sadness at that thought, like he’s on the verge of remembering something important. But he shakes his head, because that’s surely not important right now.

“Has the girl woken up yet?” Thomas asks, changing the subject.

At least this was something Newt had a little bit more control over. And, honestly, Thomas was curious about it, anyway; after the multiple dreams he’d had about her, he wanted to know if those dreams had actually been memories. And who better to ask than the girl who starred in all of them?

“No,” Newt says. “We’re not quite sure that she will wake up, frankly.”

“The Creators wouldn’t send up a dead person,” Frypan says. And then he frowns pointedly, and he turned to look at Newt. “Would they?”

Newt just shrugs. “Maybe she wasn’t dead when they put her in there? I dunno.”

“I keep having these dreams about her,” Thomas says, trying again to explain the memory-like visions that had been plaguing him. Frypan snorts. “Not like that!” He exclaims. “It’s almost like… like they’re memories, or something.”

Newt frowns, taking a step closer to him and leaning his left side against the counter. “Yeah, you were tellin’ me about those yesterday, yeah? You had another one?”

“I think… I think she’s our ticket out of here, or something,” Thomas says. “She’s gonna be important. I.. I can tell.”

Newt doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he isn’t outright calling Thomas a liar, which he counts as a win. He likes Newt, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if Newt didn’t like him.

“She’s our first girl,” Newt says, “and there’s the note she came up with… yeah, she’s important alright.”

Thomas smiles gently, glad Newt was agreeing with him.

“I’m gonna go find Chuck,” Thomas says eventually. “Are you okay?”

Newt ignores Frypan nudging him and winking, assures Thomas he’ll be fine, and waves goodbye. Thomas repeats the action, and heads off to find Chuck. He might be nosy and delusional, but he’s coming to be like a little brother to Thomas.

“It’s getting late,” Chuck says, frowning pointedly. “The Doors are gonna be closing soon.” He’s staring at the South entrance.

Thomas grimaces, biting his lip. “But Alby and Minho are still in the Maze,” he says.

He risks a glance over at Newt, who’s standing by the East Entrance with Frypan and Gally. He’s leaning against Fry, tapping his bottom lip. Thomas has noticed that that’s a nervous habit of his.

“I know,” Chuck says nervously. “They’re gonna make it, right?”

“...yeah,” Thomas says, very uncertain. “Yeah.” He looks over at Newt, who looks like he’s about to start sobbing again. “They’ve got to.”

Thomas leads Chuck over to the East Entrance, coming to stand on Newt’s other side, right by the doors.

Thomas follows Newt’s gaze around the bend of the Maze that prevents you from seeing anything else. His other hand’s at his side again, fingernails digging crescents into his palms. At this rate, they’re going to start bleeding.

Thomas reaches down, squeezing his hand tightly. Newt looks over at him, initially surprised, but then grateful. He squeezes back. Thomas squeezes again, and then rubs his thumb back and forth across Newt’s hand, hoping that’s as comforting as he intends it to be. It seems to be doing the trick. Newt still looks like he’s about to cry, though.

Then Thomas hears the malicious, god-awful creaking of mechanisms turning. The doors are closing. They didn’t make it. They’re as good as dead.

“No one survives a night in the Maze,” Gally says.

He sounds more melancholy than Thomas has ever actually heard him. It’s unnerving. Newt bites his lip. Thomas squeezes his hand tighter as a distraction. It doesn’t seem to be working. Or, at least, not to the extent that Thomas needs it to work.

The creaks and screeching of the walls continue, growing louder and louder as the walls close more and more. And then-

“Look!” Chuck exclaims. “There they are!”

Thomas looks up. Sure enough, they were just rounding the corner. Alby was barely conscious, if at all. Minho was dragging him along, looking panicked and ragged.

They might have been able to make it if Alby was running. If their lives weren’t depending solely on Minho’s strength. Minho might be able to make it if he left Alby. But they wouldn’t be able to make it like this.

And seemingly, everyone else realized that, too. There’s scarcely a couple inches between the two doors. They’re not going to make it. They’re going to die.

I don’t want to watch people die anymore. The words ring through his head like a siren. If that’s how he felt about Ben’s Banishment, Thomas couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through his head now that it was his two best friends.

So Thomas rushes forward. Into the Maze. He’d wanted to help. But then he hears the clicking finality of the doors creaking shut behind him. No one survives a night in the Maze. 

“Good job, Greenie,” Minho says, finally stopping a foot away from him. “You’ve just killed yourself.”

Chapter Text

As sunset drew nearer and nearer, Newt only began to panic more and more.

Eventually, some time after dinner, Frypan suggested that they go wait by the East Entrance for them. Newt, though he wasn’t sure whether it would make his anxiety worse or better, agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Newt was a good five feet away from the walls. He might have gone closer, but he also might have started crying if he started doing that. Frypan didn’t push. He just stood next to Newt like his obviously augmented tension didn’t show. Newt shifted a little closer to his friend, leaning on him for support because shuck, his leg was killing him today.

At some point Gally came to join them. He stayed silent. So did they. They didn’t need to say anything. The tension and worry was unanimous. Newt kept his gaze fixed on the corner of the wall. The turn Minho and Alby should be rounding any minute. Should have rounded hours ago. He taps his bottom lip- it’s a habit he’s been trying to break, but he doesn’t see it happening any time soon. Especially if those walls close before his friends get back into the Glade.

Chuck and Thomas came over just a few minutes later. Thomas comes to stand beside him, barely a couple inches away. Newt appreciates it a lot more than he probably should. He brings his free hand back to his side, clenching it into a fist, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to distract himself from everything that was going on. His nails dug into the flesh easily, hard enough to draw blood.

Thomas squeezes his hand tightly. Newt freezes. It was just as comforting as it was panic-inducing. But then he breaks his gaze from the Maze, bringing it over to Thomas. And he smiles, grateful. Because at least it was a distraction from his possibly-dead friends. And he squeezes back. Thomas squeezes again, this time brushing his thumb back and forth along the back of Newt’s hand. Newt bites his lip, feeling almost guilty for how this is consoling him.

And then the Doors start closing. The constant creaking and screeching and grinding of gears and mechanisms ring through Newt’s ears like a warning bell. Taunting him. His eyes go hazy and out of focus as he desperately wills his friends to round that damn corner. But they don’t.

“No one survives a night in the Maze,” Gally says grimly.

He jolts in panic. In fear. Sure, they’d all been thinking it, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to say it out loud. Vocalizing it made it final. And Newt wanted nothing less than for it to be final.

Thomas squeezes his hand even tighter, taking his mind off of it. Or trying to, at least. It doesn’t really work, but Newt appreciates the gesture all the same.

“Look!” Chuck shouts. “There they are!”

Newt looks up. Sure enough, there they are. Alby and Minho. But something’s wrong. Alby’s not even conscious, and Minho’s dragging him down the corridor.

“Alby,” he manages. It’s barely coherent. But somehow, impossibly, Minho catches it. He grimaces apologetically, defiantly. He’s not leaving him. That idiot.

“I’ve got him,” Minho mouths.

It’s not very comforting. Especially with the Maze’s walls just a few inches apart. Then Thomas's hand slips out of his. And Thomas himself slips into the Maze. Newt can barely find it in himself to react. But he has to.

“Don’t do it, Tommy,” he manages. “Don’t you bloody do it!”

He’s already losing Alby and Minho, he can’t lose Tommy, too.

But it’s too late. Thomas is in the Maze, and it’s not letting anyone else in. Or anyone else out, for that matter. And then the doors slide shut. It all ends with a sickening, thundering click that echoes around the whole Glade. It’s so loud that it cuts off all the shouting and berating and pleading from the other Gladers. Everyone had been shouting. Everyone except Newt. Newt, who’s frozen. In shock, in fear; sure. In complete and utter despair. His eyes are filling with tears. The silence is just making it worse.

They’re all as good as dead. Alby, Minho; Tommy. They’re all gone. Everyone. The three people he let in. He let slip past the walls he’d built up around his heart. They’re dead. Or they may as well be.

People start clearing out just as quietly as they’d all filed around the entrance to begin with. Not Newt. He stays where he is, crying silently, shoulders heaving with every sob. He stares at the ground, because he can’t bear to look at anything else. Because it should have been the last thing he ever saw.

There’s muffled murmuring behind him. He doesn’t even know who’s talking. He doesn’t care. He can’t hear much of anything over the ringing in his ears.

“We can’t leave him alone.”

“Chuck, you stay with him tonight, okay?”

“Wh-”

“Just do it, Chuckie.”

And then there’s grass crunching. And silence yet again. Bitter, horrible silence. Newt’s often looked to silence for solitude; for peace, tranquility. Now he’d give just about anything to have the Glade filled with ruckus and chaos like it always was.

There’s a hand on his shoulder. A small one. Undeniably Chuck’s. It’s not a comfort. Not like it would have been if it was Tommy. Oh, Tommy.

“I-it’s okay,” Chuck whispers. It’s almost too loud in the unnaturally silent Glade. “If anyone can survive a night in the Maze, it’s Minho and Thomas.” Whole lotta good that does Alby. “They’ll take good care of Alby,” Chuck adds, like he’s read Newt’s mind.

Newt just shakes his head. He barely has enough strength left to do such a simple action. “No one survives a night in the Maze, Chuckie,” he manages. “Not even Tommy.”

“Thomas loves you,” Chuck says defiantly. Newt’s about ready to choke out something about this not being the time for teasing, but Chuck continues- “and you can do the impossible when it’s for someone you love. So he’ll be back. And so will Minho, and so will Alby.”

Newt smiles sadly. It’s all he can manage. Chuck seems to notice this. The kid sits down beside him, head leaning against his shoulder. The blond sighs, dropping his head on top of Chuck’s. Minho used to tease him about acting like the Glade mom (and stills does). Now he can kinda see where the Runner was coming from.

“I’m scared, too,” Chuck confesses.

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat it,” Newt says. “We both know how unlikely it is that they’ll come outta that Maze in the mornin’.”

Chuck nods. Newt feels it more than sees it. “I know,” he says. “But Thomas is just…different, y’know? I think that if anyone can survive, it’s him.”

“One can hope.” Newt swallows hard.

At some point, Chuck had started crying into his shoulder. Newt patted him on the back, trying to get him through it. He himself wasn’t crying anymore. He didn’t feel much of anything now. Just empty. Numb. And cold. And useless. His friends were fighting for their lives in that maze right now. Alby wasn’t even conscious. They were going to die. And there was absolutely nothing that Newt could even hope to do about it. And when they didn’t show up the next morning, he’d be totally on his own to run the Glade. Forever. Forever was a long time. Newt hated that word.

Forever. They’d be trapped in this damn Maze forever; he’d be looking after every shank in here forever; he’d be on the verge of snapping forever. He was losing his friends. Forever. Damn. That set him off again. He doesn’t like to cry. He hates it. (Really, though, no one particularly enjoys it, do they?) Especially not in front of others. Especially not when they’re depending on him. When they need him to be strong.

He stays as quiet as he can. He’s breathing a little heavier than normal. That’ll probably turn into a panic attack later tonight. Hopefully he’d be able to drop Chuck off with Fry before that happened. But he’s not audibly crying, which he counts as a win. The tears are still there, though, and it’s only going to get worse. How’s he going to manage the Glade by himself? Sure, he voiced opinions and contributed to Gatherings, but at the end of the day, it had been Alby who finalized those decisions, and Nick before him, but not Newt. Never Newt.

How was he supposed to do this? He’d always depended on Minho and Alby. And then, after a time, on Tommy, too. How was he supposed to do this, any of this, without them? Without him?

“Hey, you two. It’s getting pretty late, y’know.” Frypan. Of course he’d have come to check on them. He was the best guy in this Glade, as it stood. “Waiting out here isn’t gonna change anything. Maybe you guys should get some sleep.”

Chuck looks at him. Frypan’s probably less than a foot away from them; Newt can tell without having to look, which he doesn’t. He doesn’t want him to know how much he’s crying. That kind of weakness is alright with a kid, especially one that was as close to Thomas as he was. But not with people who weren’t supposed to see him like this.

“Chuck, why don’t you go get some sleep?” Fry asks quietly.

“But what about-”

“I can take care of him just fine.”

Newt frowns pointedly. He’s not particularly a fan of being someone that needed to be looked after. Chuck gets up slowly. Frypan ruffles his hair as he walks away, and then he sits down beside Newt in the grass.

“You don’t hafta babysit me,” Newt says.

“Yes, I do,” Fry says. “It’s what Alby would want me to do.” And he’s in no way wrong, but that doesn’t mean Newt has to like it. “You’re all we’ve got now. We need you.”

Newt sighs, disheartened. He scowls at a passing beetleblade because, really, it’s at fault for all of his problems. “Why can’t someone else do it? You’ve got a whole Glade o’ people. Why’s it gotta be me?”

“There’s not a single shank in this Glade that can do it like you can,” Fry says, “and you know that. Everyone knows that. I know that, Gally, though he’ll never admit it, knows that, Chuck knows that. Minho knew that, Thomas knew that, Alby knew that-”

“No he didn’t,” Newt cuts him off. “Alby only made me second in command so he could bloody watch me at all times.”

Frypan sighs. “If he only wanted to keep an eye on you, he would’ve just forbidden you ever leave his side. You have your freedoms. You’re the best second in command this Glade has ever seen, dude. Way better than Alby used to be. You actually connect with everyone, and it shows. It helps.”

“Helps them, maybe,” Newt says bitterly. “I connect to people, and this bloody happens. Lucky me, losin’ my closest friends all at once.”

“We don’t know they’re dead,” Fry says. “Not for certain.”

“Might as well,” Newt says, sullen.

“Okay, we’re doing this the hard way, then,” Frypan says, exasperated.

He gets up. Newt goes to ask him what he’s talking about, but then he’s being heaved over the cook’s shoulder and dragged away from the walls. Newt frowns, trying to kick out of his grasp.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing!?” He demands.

“Getting you away from that wall before you try climbing it again?”

Silence.

“Who told you about that?”

“Alby,” Frypan says. “This morning. Said that I had to watch you if he didn’t come back. Make sure you didn’t try anything.”

“I’ve got nothing to live for,” Newt says, defeated. “Not anymore.”

“You’ve got lots to live for,” Frypan corrects.

Newt sighs. He hadn’t really wanted to say any of this out loud. He’d never have dared to say anything of the sort to Alby, or even Minho, but for whatever reason, Fry was just different. Newt never felt like he had to watch his mouth around him.

“I’ve got no one to live for,” he corrects himself.

Because, really, there’s tons of things that depend on him. Frypan was right; he did have lots to live for. But the people he needed, the people who needed him more than anything… they were gone. Most certainly dead.

“If they’re alive, they’ll come back like nothing happened, and everything will go back to normal,” Fry says. “And if they’re dead, then we’ll have to make some adjustments. But we’ll move on. We’ll survive. We always have. It’s the way we’ve always worked.”

Newt doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t want to think about life without Alby. Without Minho. Without Tommy. He couldn’t do it without them. He didn’t have any reason to. If they were dead… There was virtually nothing that could keep him off the walls this time. And unlike the first attempt, he’d keep going until he got the job done.

Frypan finally stopped, dumping him on the empty table in the Map Room. “I know Runners are s’posed to be the only ones in here, but I figured you wouldn’t want the others to see ya like this.”

Newt manages a sad smile in thanks, pulling himself up to sit, legs swinging off the edge of the table.

“I can’t do this on my own,” he confesses. “I’m not even-”

“No one said you were gonna do it on your own,” Gally says, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll be the first to admit I wouldn’t make a good leader, but I’ll enforce the decisions you make, slinthead.”

“But I-”

“You know what’s best for the Glade,” Fry agrees. “If, for whatever reason, people fight against your judgment, we’ll take care of it. You just do what you best. Keep us safe. Keep us civil.”

Newt sighs. He doesn’t want to think about this. It makes everything feel a hell of a lot more real. And he doesn’t like it. His mind still hasn’t ruled out the possibility that they’re all alive, no matter how illogical it is. He’s in denial, to state it in the simplest way.

He laughs weakly, looking at Gally. When had he even popped into this? The dry sob he lets out overpowers the temporary semi-joy. “You’re not even supposed to be in here,” he says.

“Neither are you,” Gally says, shrugging. “And who’s gonna stop us?”

Newt laughs again, even weaker than the first time. He can’t really breathe anymore. He can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears either. His vision’s getting blurry, but he doesn’t know if that’s from crying or lack of oxygen. He'd been fine a second ago, and then... then everything started swimming. 

“Oh, shuck- is he-?”

“Yeah- a panic attack…”

“What do we-?”

“Newt? Hey, Newt? Can you hear me? Newt!”

“Newt, dude? Try to calm down. You have to breathe.”

It’s all a muffled addition to the ringing. There’s too much going on. Too much at once. His head hurts. Before he can stop himself, he’s falling forward.

And everything goes black.

Chapter Text

“Huh?”

“You’re the shuckiest shuck-faced shuck there ever was,” Minho continues, as if that explains absolutely anything.

“Um… okay,” Thomas says, not really sure how to feel about that.

Minho doesn’t say anything else. He turns around again.

“What are you doing?” Thomas demands.

Minho turns to look at him, unamused. He dumps Alby’s still-unconscious body at the foot of the wall, directly at front of the east entrance. His expression tells Thomas he should understand what’s going on, but he can’t even begin to piece it together.

“You’re leaving him for dead?” Thomas asks, incredulous. “Isn’t he one of your best friends?”

“Yeah,” Minho says blankly. “But so is Newt. And now he’ll at least be able to find one of our bodies when the Doors open in the morning.”

"There's no way we'll survive?"

Now it's Minho's turn to look incredulous. "Haven't they taught you anything? Surely Newt showed you the Griever?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Yeah. There's a bunch of those. So many we don't even know how many are in here. And we're in their territory. They want nothin' more than to eat us. We're deader than dead, Greenie."

Thomas doesn't look entirely convinced. He mustn't, if Minho's scoff is anything to go by. But there has to be some way to survive. The ivy might not go all the way to the top of the walls, but surely they went high enough to hide from the Grievers?

"What about-"

SCREECH

“Klunk,” Minho swears under his breath. “We gotta get out of here.”

“But what about-”

But Minho’s already run off in another direction. This is probably easier for him. He’s a Runner. He knows the Maze. He knows where to go, where to hide. Thomas only knows what’s in front of him. But he knows that he can’t leave Alby on the ground to get devoured by Grievers. He wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan, but Newt would never forgive him if he let that happen.

He couldn’t even bring himself to consider any other logical possibility, like Minho had, before he started rigging the leader up in a makeshift harness of ivy. It was an agonizingly slow process. Trial and error. Tying Alby up in the ivy, then untying him limb by limb as he rigged him up higher. It got to the point where Thomas has to hike up the ivy, too, to keep up with him. It makes it slower, more difficult. But they’re getting up higher. High enough that they just might survive the night.

And then he hears the unmistakable screeching of a Griever, coming his way. He has a few options; he can wait it out up here, climb down and run away discreetly, or run away really loudly to draw the creature away from Alby.

He decides to wait it out. He’s not sure how fast Grievers move, and running, which could draw its attention inconsequentially, and might just be the thing to get him killed. The metal slug rounds the corner, and now, from Thomas’s place up high, he sees it in all its glory. It ventures down the narrow corridor of the Maze a little faster than Thomas would have originally thought it capable of.

But it doesn’t look up. Thomas isn’t even sure it has a head. But for the time being, he and Alby are totally safe up in the ivy. Why had no one thought of this before?

But then the Griever makes it to the edge of the hall, and slowly starts climbing, its body straightening vertically, like it’s walking on the wall as it makes its way up to Thomas. Thomas and Alby. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Thomas tries to move as fast as he can through the rows of ivy. It’s not very fast. The Griever’s catching up to him. How’s he supposed to get the slug away from Alby and stay alive at the same time? Maybe Minho was right; this was a death sentence after all.

Fortunately, his panic has caused enough noise that the Griever’s totally given up on Alby, and moved its focus onto Thomas, instead. Thomas swung himself around on the vines, putting as much distance between him and the creature as possible. He doesn’t exactly fancy dying tonight. Not like this. Not when he made such a big scene trying to save people’s lives.

The Griever was getting closer and closer. Thomas sighs, taking a firm hold of the ivy root he was clinging to, and pushes off the wall, swinging to the other side of the corridor. His feet hit hard on the wall as he lands, probably a sprain or even a break, but it’s a lot better than dying.

He quickly slides down the wall, pushing off once his feet hit the ground. And then he darts in the other direction, only then registering the pain of the gash the Griever had ripped across his back. It takes everything in him to keep from stopping and doubling over in agony. But if he stops running, he’s as good as dead. The Griever’s not very fast, but it’ll catch up to him. And then eat him. Or whatever it is Grievers do when they catch you.

Thomas keeps running, silently grateful that he hadn’t been stung. Small miracles. Small positives. They were the only thing keeping him moving as night poured on, and the Griever maintained the exact same distance behind him.

Until it slowly started catching up.

And then Thomas turned a dead end.

He looks between the Griever and the wall blocking him off. He was dead. So, totally, utterly dead.

He sighs. Well. He lived a good life.

Maybe. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember. But he spent the entirety of the previous night cuddled up with the prettiest boy in the Glade, and that was about as good as it got around here.

But as the Griever creeps closer, he gets an idea. A potentially life saving one. And it was the only plan he had. His only shot. So, being the ever impulsive person he’s learning he is, he goes for it.

He flattens himself against the side of the wall, sucking in a breath as he waits for the inevitable, feeling as underprepared as ever. This was a terrible idea. But that had never stopped him before, and it certainly wasn’t going to stop him now.

The Griever gets closer and closer. It’s barely a few feet away now. It’s time to put his plan into action. So just as the creature jumps at him, he dives out of the way- back behind the Griever. The metal slug crashes into the dead end, but it’s going to take a while to get itself back in order, and Thomas has already taken off in the opposite direction, pounding his feet into the ground as hard as he possibly can in an effort to get away quicker.

He’s running so fast that he crashes into Minho without even noticing. The Runner’s hands fly to his shoulders to steady him.

Thomas is surprised, but thankful that they hadn’t crashed to the ground. Thomas turns around just in time to find the Griever crashing into the wall at full speed, smashing. Breaking. Dying.

“Shuck,” Minho says quietly. He sounds... impressed. “Come with me, Greenie. I have an idea.”

Thomas doesn’t once question refusing him, following instantly as Minho rounds another corner, leading him god-knows-where. He actually knows where he’s going and how to get there, which is better than Thomas had been doing.

Minho takes him to the Cliff. The very same one Alby had been threatening to throw him off of since day one.

It’s essentially a giant hole at the end of a dead end of a corridor. It’s practically a void. Thomas decides he really doesn’t want to get thrown off that.

“Think you can pull another one of those?” Minho asks.

“We can…” Thomas begins, his voice trailing off. “That’s a good idea. A really good idea.”

Minho flattens himself against one side of the wall. Thomas mirrors the action on the other. Then they wait for the stampede of Grievers. How many were there? Two, three, four? More than one, anyway. Thomas wasn’t sure if they could pull this off. But if it worked…

Thomas waits for Minho’s signal. He keeps his eyes off of the Grievers as they creep closer and closer. He just stares at the Runner. It’s a little less nerve wracking that way.

“Now.”

Thomas jumps to the other side, the same as Minho. He flattens against the opposite wall, wanting nothing more than to be able to permeate through it. 

He watches in almost awe as the Grievers, one by one, jump into the Cliff. Or, more specifically, a smaller square in the center of it. The last of the Grievers fall in. Thomas watches in disbelief as the clicking and screeching stops.

It all falls eerily silent.

Thomas drops to the ground. And he sobs. Cries and screams. It’s all a whir of emotions. Too much at once. He’d been through a lot these past couple of hours.

And Minho doesn’t say a word about it.

He really appreciates that.

Chapter Text

This was a hard night for all of them. But it was worse for Newt. The panic attack he was easing into was proof enough of that. He’d been fine. Cry-laughing, but laughing still. And then his breathing had hitched and become so labored that it was all that could be heard in the Map Room.

Then he stopped responding to them. Like they weren’t even there. Or if they were, just background.

“Oh, shuck- is he…?” Frypan asks.

“Yeah- a panic attack…” Gally says, anxious.

This is bad. Gally doesn't know how to deal with a panic attack. And Newt sure as hell doesn't want anyone else to see him like this. What are they supposed to do? Can he even hear them right now?

“What do we-?” Frypan begins, only to never finish it.

“Newt? Hey, Newt? Can you hear me? Newt!” Gally shouts.

“Newt, dude? Try to calm down. You have to breathe,” Frypan says.

But instead of heeding any of their advice, Newt just panics harder. He brings his hands up to wipe at his eyes, and then inconsequentially breaking his own balance on the table. He fell forward. Gally winces as he hears a crack. The heavy breathing stopped. Everything stopped.

“Did he black out?” Frypan asks, actually scared. “That crack was his head hittin’ the ground, right? I didn’t imagine that?”

Gally shakes his head, dropping to his knees. “He definitely ain’t conscious,” he says. “Think his head’ bleedin’, too. Go wake up a Medjack. We’ve already lost Alby tonight. And Minho. We can’t lose Newt, too.”

Frypan nods pointedly and rushes off. Now came the hard part of transporting Newt. He wasn’t conscious, so he wouldn’t be any help. Gally also wasn’t sure if it was safe to move him. So maybe the Medjacks would have to come here.

Luckily, Fry thought ahead and predicted that. Jeff comes rushing in behind him, obviously still half-awake, but equally panicked.

“What happened?” He asks, kneeling down beside Gally.

“He had a panic attack,” Frypan explains quickly, “and then he fell. Hit his head on the way down.”

“On… what?”

“The floor,” Gally says.

Jeff frowns, hands checking over the head wound. Assuring there’s a pulse. He goes back to the head, pressuring it. Blood oozes through his fingers. Frypan winces. Gally doesn’t flinch. Head wounds always bleed a lot. It doesn’t mean much.

“What’s the verdict?” Gally asks instead.

Jeff sighs. “I’d say a concussion. Prolly just a mild one,” he says. “He’s lucky. Could’ve been a lot worse. He has lost a lotta blood, though, so we gotta keep on eye on that. Try and wake him up, if he’s been unconscious for too long.” He pauses, hands shifting. “I can check his heartbeat, if you’re worried about bloodloss,” he begins, his non-bloody hand just about hovering over the blond’s chest, which seemed to rise and fall with a bit too much struggle.

Gally smacks his hand away. He’s one of the few who actually knows Newt’s secret, and he’s not about to let that get out. “I’ll do it,” he says. He’s sure the second in command will appreciate him stopping people from feeling up his chest while he’s not conscious.

He places a hand over his heart, for long enough only to assure it’s still beating at a regular pace. It is. He’s sure his constricted breathing doesn’t have to do with only his prior panic attack. He doesn’t say that. He just nods to confirm everything’s alright, and asks Jeff and Fry to help him get Newt to the Medjack Hut.

He doesn’t wake up in the hour-long excursion. Gally’s starting to get worried. He’s never been this worried about Newt before. Never had much of a reason to be. First time for everything, he supposes.

~~

Newt wakes up a few hours later. He’s too weak to do much complaining, or even ask any questions.

He doesn’t protest even half as much as he would have normally when they tell him he won’t be able to get up for when the Doors open in an hour or so.

“Promise you’ll send ‘em over here,” he says quietly. “Yunno. If they make it.”

Gally nods pointedly. “You betcha,” he says.

And then he and Fry go to wait at the Doors with Chuck and the others. Even though Gally’s fairly certain they’re only going to be disappointed. No one survives a night in the Maze.

“Where’s Newt?” Chuck asks quietly.

Gally and Frypan exchange nervous looks.

“He had a bit of an accident,” Fry says eventually. “Jeff thinks he got a concussion.”

“But he’ll be okay?”

Gally nods quickly. “Yeah,” he says. “Just fine.”

The Doors are going to open any minute. In the time they’re waiting, Gally has some time to think. Mostly about Newt and his unexpected compliance. Which, really, could only lead to-

“Nothing’s happened yet, yeah?”

Frypan sighs, feigning disappointment. “You’re not supposed to be out here,” he says. “You need to lie down. Especially if you have a concussion.”

“Can’t very well miss this, can I?” Newt protests. “And if they don’t come back… I’ll hafta be on my feet anyway.”

He’s not looking his best. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, cheeks still stained with tear-tracks. The back of his head is still stained with his blood from last night, but he doesn’t seem to care about that, either.

He’s just standing there, biting his lip and staring at the Doors, like he’s willing them to open right now instead of the thirty seconds later when they’re scheduled to.

The creaking starts. Metal mechanics turning and whining as the Maze wakes up. Though, with the night they’d had, maybe it never went to sleep. The Doors are always the last things to open, and normally, Gally never would have thought twice about that. But now… he almost wants to push them open himself.

Maybe Newt’s panic is rubbing off on him a little. Just a little. But that’s not anyone’s fault. The blond’s never anything other than calm and collected. Him falling into a state of despair is enough to freak anyone out.

The Doors open. Slowly. Ever so slowly. It’s practically agonizing. For some, it probably is. There’s no one there, though. No Alby, no Thomas, no Minho. Gally couldn’t even catch sight of a body.

But then they rounded the corner.

Chapter Text

Hearing the Doors creak open in the morning drew all the weight from Thomas’s shoulders. He’d had a lot of close calls that night, him and Minho. But they’d survived. And no one has ever survived a night in the Maze. Not before now.

They shared a single glance as the mechanisms began turning.

Then they nodded, and took off back towards the east entrance to the Glade, keeping one another’s pace. They wouldn’t be there right when the Doors opened, but it’d be close enough.

Thomas winces as he sees all the discouraged faces come into view. Chuck’s crying. Newt looks like he’s done nothing but since last night. He’s staring at the ground, obviously trying to keep calm. But then Gally spots them running back, and smacks him to get his attention.

The blond looks up. His eyes seem to light up as Thomas and Minho come into view. Chuck’s noticed at this point, too, and starts cheering loudly. Everyone’s cheering, really. But only one person meets them halfway down the corridor, regardless of Frypan and Gally yelling at him to take it easy.

Newt practically crashes into Minho’s arms, hugging him tightly. Thomas feels a tad hurt that Newt went to Minho first, though he can’t really explain why. And then he chides himself for it; they were best friends. Of course Newt was going to Minho first. It only made sense.

Newt pulls away, just a little, and starts hitting the Runner’s chest. Thomas doubts there’s much, if any, strength behind it. Minho jerks back teasingly, pretending that there was. The blond’s probably crying now, but Thomas is too far away to actually be able to tell.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Newt finally says, hugging him one last time.

And then he moves on to Thomas. He’d been expecting maybe a pat on the shoulder. A whole rant about how much of an idiot he’d been.

But Newt hugged him just as tightly as he had Minho. Maybe even a little more so. And Thomas hugged back even tighter. They were pressed practically chest to chest. Thomas could feel the unsteady, rapid pounding of the older boy’s heartbeat. He definitely was crying, too. Thomas could feel it against his neck. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds him tighter. He’s crying, too, after all.

Newt pulls away, much to Thomas’s dismay.

“Please don’t hit me,” he says lightly, hoping to get an eye roll or sarcastic laugh in return.

The blond just smiles sadly. And then his brow furrows. “Do you know how bloody stupid that was?!” He demands. “Running into the buggin’ Maze like that!? You could’ve died! I- I thought you.. I thought you had.”

“Are you quite done?” Minho prompts from behind them. “We’ve still gotta get Alby down.”

“You- we- what?”

Thomas blinks, remembering what he’d done last night. “Oh, yeah! I tied Alby up in the ivy so the Grievers wouldn’t get him. We should get him to the Medjacks before it’s too late.” He looks over at Newt. “Wanna help?”

He sees the evident falter in the blond’s expression. He hears Minho whisper something to him, and then call over to Gally for help.

The Builder gets a team of his own, stopping at Newt’s side. “Why don’t you get these two to the Medjack Hut?” He prompts. “And you should stay there, too, like you were supposed to.”

Newt rolls his eyes, muttering something about desperate times.

Thomas is more than happy to help with Alby, but the second in command grabs him by the wrist and physically drags him out of the Maze. Minho goes with him willingly. Gally punches him in the shoulder as they pass. Thomas does his best to keep his balance, but ends up crashing into Newt anyway. The blond stumbles, but catches himself before they both fall. Thomas smiles apologetically.

“Why’re you supposed to stay with the Medjacks?” Minho asks, quirking an eyebrow. He’s trying to play it off, but Thomas can tell he’s actually very concerned.

“It wasn’t anything like what you’re thinkin’,” Newt says simply. “Just a little accident. Hit my head. ‘S not that big o’ a deal.”

Minho doesn’t seem convinced. “An…accident,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Newt agrees. “Fell off a table.”

This, Minho doesn’t question. He just laughs, asking the second in command how he had possibly managed to fall off a table. Thomas doesn’t join in, knowing it was likely a panic attack because of their being trapped in the Maze.

“We’ll get you two patched up, but we’ll hafta have a Gathering, I reckon,” Newt says, leading them into the Hut.

“A Gathering?” Thomas asks.

Minho nods. “Right,” he says. “I mean, only Runners are s’posed to be in the Maze. Gotta figure out what we’re doing with you.”

Thomas doesn’t like where that’s going. He doesn’t even know what any of that means, and he still doesn’t like it.

“S’alright,” Minho whispers to him. “Newt’s acting leader now, and you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

Thomas makes to protest that he does not, but at that point Clint’s already come to check them over and patch them up. Thomas was going to ask where Jeff was, since they usually seemed to be together, but he figured it probably had to do with Alby.

Once Newt disappeared half-way through their check-up, he felt his suspicions were correct.

“You guys are lucky,” Clint says. “You could have died out there.”

“How’s Alby?” Minho asks instead of answering.

Clint shrugs. “Jeff’s given him the serum by now, so he’s prolly goin’ through the Changing. Sure Newt’ll give ya the update at the Gathering.”

“Right,” Thomas says, a sinking feeling overwhelming him.

It was almost time for the Gathering, and that would determine everything.

Chapter Text

Thomas was sitting in the chair by the door in the front of the room, just like Newt had asked him to.

They were supposed to have started the meeting a couple minutes ago, but Newt had turned up late and shaken. Frypan muttered something about him needing to rest. Newt waved him off. Concussions probably weren’t the best thing for a leader to have.

“Alright, we all know why we’re here,” Newt finally says, regaining enough of his composure to start the Gathering. “This bloody shank broke the rules and went into the Maze. What do we do with him?”

“But I-”

“You’re just here to make it more intense, Tommy, you’re not supposed to do any talkin’,” Newt cuts him off.

“But-”

Newt physically stops him this time, putting a hand over his mouth. Thomas bites his tongue. It’s taking a lot of willpower to not lick the palm of the blond’s hand.

“Keepers?” Newt continues, moving back to his place, trusting Thomas isn’t going to interrupt anymore. “I think we’ll leave this to a vote. I believe Banishment is a popular opinion-” Thomas shudders. “But we’ll keep this at a yes or no.”

Frypan speaks first. “I think we should let him off the hook,” he says. “Sure, he broke the rules. But if it weren’t for him, Alby wouldn’t be alive. He saved the shank’s life.” Thomas doesn’t miss the way Newt smiles at him. Grateful.

“I say no,” Zart agrees. “He’s a good kid. He was just trying to help, even if he ended up breaking the rules.”

Thomas presses his lips into a thin line, kicking the ground in front of him as a distraction. This was a lot of faith he put in these peoples’ hands. In Newt’s hands. He hadn’t realized how much noise he was making until Newt turned around and looked at him, unimpressed.

He smiles apologetically and stops kicking.

“I say yes,” Gally says without hesitation. Of course he did. “He broke the rules. Our most important rule. Newt, you know that if Alby was here, Thomas would have already been Banished.”

Newt sighs. “Maybe, but Alby’s not here. I’m in charge, and I’m leavin’ it to a vote.”

“I’ve seen him-!”

“Bloody hell, we are not havin’ this argument again,” Newt cuts him off. “I’m not bloody Banishing him ‘cause of some gut feeling you’ve got that gives us virtually no insight.” He sighs. “Alright, let’s continue.”

Clint frowns. “I think no,” he says. “Or maybe yes. I’m not sure. Everyone’s making good points. Yeah, he saved Alby’s life for the time being, but he still might not make it. And he did break the rules. We’ve never let rule breaking slide before now.”

“It’s ‘cause Newt’s in love with the Greenie,” Gally snaps. “That’s the only reason we’re at a standstill. If it was anyone else, they’d be Banished. But Newt’s always gonna protect Tommy, so he can’t bear to let him go-”

“We’re havin’ a Gathering ‘cause Tommy saved Alby’s life, Gally,” Newt interrupts. “And ‘cause he survived a night in the Maze, and if you’ve forgotten, he and Min are the first to ever do that.”

“I say yes,” Winston says. “We implemented these rules to maintain order. And Gally’s right. Alby would have Banished Thomas right away. It’s what he’d want.”

Winston!

Thomas frowns, unamused. What did he ever do to Winston? Is this because he didn’t want to chop up that pig?

Minho snorts. “No it’s not,” he says.

He seems to know something about Alby that Thomas doesn’t. He waggles his eyebrows at Newt, who rolls his eyes and mutters something about this not being the time.

“Min, perfect,” he says instead. “You’re our tiebreaker, I s’pose. You were in the Maze with him, what d’you reckon we do?”

“Thomas saved Alby’s life,” Minho says, crossing his arms. “That was all him. I bolted, and he stayed behind and kept that shank alive. He also figured out a way to kill a Griever. All on his own. We’ve got leads in the Maze that I never would’ve figured out without him, even if he was acting foolishly and doing some suicidal klunk.”

“So you’re saying…?” Newt prompts, eyes gleaming with amusement. He already knows what Minho’s saying.

Hell, Thomas knows what Minho’s saying. To some extent, anyway.

Minho just shrugs. “I say we make him the Keeper of the Runners,” he says blankly.

Thomas’s eyes widen, jaw dropping. He must have heard him wrong. What was Minho doing? This was too far, wasn’t it? No one would go for that.

“Okay, this is ridiculous-”

Newt holds up a hand to stop Gally’s premature argument. “Min, continue.”

“I dunno if he’s brave, or just stupid. But whatever it is, it’s gotten us a lead,” Minho explains. “There’s somethin’ about the Cliff. I think it’s where the Grievers go during the day.” He pauses. “And really, this Greenie’s done more in the Maze in a night than I have in two years.”

“Alright, then,” Newt says. “Tommy, I s’pose you’re a Runner now.” He pauses. “Just… don’t make me regret that.” He already sounds exasperated.

Thomas grins. “Won’t let you down,” he says, exaggerating a salute and winking. The blond rolls his eyes and turns away again.

Gally groans. “You’re not serious? If he’s gonna get rewarded, what’s going to stop him from breaking all of our rules?! This is what’s kept us alive and functioning since day one! Why are we abandoning that!?”

“No, you’re right,” Newt continues. “Tommy broke the rules. And he needs to be punished.” He turns to face Thomas. “24 hours in the Slammer.”

“That’s it?!”

Minho stands up. Newt looks at him, unimpressed, but doesn’t order him to sit down. “Don’t talk to him like that,” he snaps. “Newt’s acting leader. If that’s the decision he’s made, I’m sticking by it. Thomas saved my ass. I’d argue for even less of a punishment, actually.”

“We need a new dictator, then!” Gally argues. “One that’s not biased and concussed!”

Thomas frowns pointedly. He’s not liking this whole ‘gang up and insult Newt’ approach Gally’s taking. He stands up and squeezes the blond’s hand tightly. Attempting reassurance. Newt takes his hand back, shaking his head. Not the time.

“Gally, you’re being a shuck psycho,” Minho protests. “Newt’s doing absolutely fine. He’s just confirming the vote we made.”

“He’s being ridiculous, is what he’s doing.”

“Thomas might just be our way outta here. Can’t you see that!?”

“We should’ve held off on this till Alby recovered. Newt’s obviously not in the right place to be making big decisions right now,” Gally continues.

Newt scowls, clenching his jaw. “Stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right here. I’ve made my decision. Tommy’s spending 24 hours in the Slammer, and then he’ll be a Runner. That’s that. I’m not changin’ my mind.”

“Newt, that’s a horrible idea! How are you this shu-”

“Okay, Gally, that’s enough,” Minho cuts him off. “Why don’t we settle this outside?”

“Finally, a good idea!”

Minho makes to leave, but Newt shoves him back inside.

"Absolutely not. You're both gonna sit here and we're gonna talk like mature adults," he snaps. "You're buggin' Keepers. You can settle this without beatin' each other bloody black and blue. This Gathering ain't over yet."

Gally scowls. "Fine, then we'll settle it right here!"

"You will not." Newt takes a step forward, effectively in between them. "You will sit down, and we will handle this properly, or you're all gonna be in the Slammer tonight. Understood?"

They sit back down. That's not to say they stopped arguing, though. Thomas was pretty sure this was only going to make it worse, but he's not going to question Newt's judgment. At least he took care of the situation. Sort of.

"You're all shuckin' blind if you can't see what's goin' on here!" Gally continues. "Thomas is behind all this, and he's... he's seduced Newt into always taking his side! Can't you see it? We're all bein' manipulated!" He looks at Thomas. "I don't buy your klunk, Greenie. I-"

"Slim it, Gally," Minho snaps. "You're actin' like a shuck psycho. That's what we all see! Thomas ain't behind anythin', except maybe the way outta here!"

"I saw him!"

"This shuckin' argument again? Do I hafta beat sense into ya!?"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Fine, then! Let's take this outside!"

They both stand up again. The others hadn't even really had a chance to sit down. Minho and Gally pass Newt on their way out. The latter looks none too pleased about what's going on right now. Actually, he looks furious. Thomas is a little scared. 

Newt frowns pointedly. “Min-”

“Sorry, Newt, but this was a long time coming,” Minho says, swinging the door open and leaving without another word. Gally’s right behind him.

Everyone falls silent. Thomas sits back down, suddenly feeling very awkward. Most of the eyes are on him, and he doesn’t like it.

“Um,” Newt says quietly, “meeting adjourned.”

Chapter Text

“You’ve gotta stop bein’ so bloody impulsive,” Newt chides, holding a bag of ice to Minho’s fresh black eye. “That was a horrible buggin’ idea, and you know it.”

Minho shrugs. “He deserved it,” he protests. “Did you hear how he was talking about you?”

Truthfully, Newt didn’t much care how anyone talked about him, so long as they weren’t uprooting secrets he wanted to keep buried. But Minho, the ever protective friend he was, wasn’t going to listen if he said that. So he just smiled gratefully and moved on.

"I am concussed," Newt offers, shrugging. "He had a point, there."

"You're still in your right mind," Minho points out. "You made a good call."

"Yeah, well, had to settle down the right riot ya caused, didn't I?" Newt prompts. "Tryin' to make him the bloody Keeper? What were ya thinkin'?"

"That aiming high was better than aiming low." Minho shrugs. "And I was hopin' that it'd piss of Gally so we could fight. I've been itchin' for a fight."

"There are mature ways to deal with problems, yunno," Newt tells him. "I could've handled it."

Minho doesn't look convinced. It's annoying to no end, the fact that Minho and Alby don't think he can take care of himself. One little jump off a wall, and suddenly you're weak and incompetent. Newt fought back the urge to give Minho a second black eye, deciding to turn to more pressing matters, instead.  

“I’m gonna go check up on Alby,” Newt says softly. “You alright on your own?”

Minho rolls his eyes playfully. “Nope. Need ya to keep me outta trouble.”

Newt scoffs, handing him the ice. “Later, Min,” he says as he leaves, heading off towards the Homestead.

He ignores the dirty look Gally shoots him as they cross paths. Newt’s got nothing to say to him right now.

“Oh, good,” Jeff says, ushering him into the room. “Alby’s up now. Figured you’d wanna talk to him, so I was on my way to go find you.”

Newt smiles gently, thanks him, and sits down at Alby’s bedside. The leader looks at him, face seeming to relax when he registers who he is. He looks worn out; purple veins evident in his skin; eyes bloodshot. But he’s alive.

“Newt?”

Newt nods. “Yeah, mate,” he says. “You alright? Gave me quite a scare, yunno.”

“Listen, this- it’s important,” Alby says, cutting straight to the chase. “It’s about Thomas. I saw him. I take it back. Don’t date him. He’ll just break your heart again. Newt, I’m serious.”

Newt frowns pointedly. “What are you on about? You saw him?” He pauses. “What d’you mean again?”

“Can you just trust me on this one thing!?” Newt’s eyes widen. In both shock and hurt. But he bites his lip, and nods shakily. “I don’t wanna have to drag you back to the Glade again! So for once, you need to listen to me.” 

Newt bites his lip a little harder. Anything to keep from crying. Alby’s never been mad at him. Not like this. Whatever he saw going through the Changing… it must have been pretty horrible.

“I need to talk to him,” Alby continues, a little calmer now. “Can you-?”

Newt hesitates. But then he nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’ll go get him.”

Anything to get out of there. Anything to keep from crying in front of his best friend. Anything to keep from crying in front of his best friend because of him. His eyes go glassy as he searches the Glade for Thomas. He finds him sitting with Chuck in a fairly secluded area. Good. The less people seeing him distressed, the better.

“Newt,” Thomas says, seeing him approach. As he gets closer, the younger boy’s face contorts with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Um,” Newt says quietly, cringing as he hears his voice breaking. “Alby’s awake. Wants to talk to you. Says it’s important. I dunno.”

Thomas's brow furrows, urging him to sit down. Newt shakes his head, trying to protest; Alby wants to talk to them. Needs to talk to them. It seemed very important. But Thomas insists, squeezing his hand tightly in an effort to calm him down.

Eventually, Newt relents, sitting next to him and Chuck.

“What’s going on?” Thomas asks, drawing him into a sideways hug. Newt wasn’t sure when they’d even become this physically affectionate. But it felt right. Muscle memory, or something. He’ll just break your heart again. Had they been friends before the Maze? Had Alby remembered that? It may be a bit odd, this draw he feels to Thomas. That’s not to say he doesn’t fall into the hug willingly, head resting on the younger boy’s shoulder and arms wrapping around his middle.

“‘S dumb,” he manages. “He’s just…he’s never gotten mad at me before. Not like that, anyway.”

“I’m sure it’s just cause of the Changing,” Chuck supplies. Newt laughs gently, moving one hand to ruffle up the kid’s hair.

Thomas runs a hand up and down Newt’s forearm. “It’s alright,” he says quietly. “Now, what did Alby want me for?”

“Said he saw you,” Newt says, straightening up and pushing out of the embrace. No more weakness. He’s exceeded the daily limit for that. “Durin’ the Changing. Asked me to find ya for him, ‘cause it was important. I really dunno what he wants to tell ya, though.”

Newt wonders if this is what Gally was constantly insisting on, too. If this whole thing really was Thomas's fault somehow, and they'd all be in the wrong for fighting back against Gally during the Gathering. Perhaps the worst part was that Newt didn't really care whether or not Thomas was behind this, since he certainly wasn't anymore. 

Thomas nods. He pulls himself to his feet, extending a hand to help Newt up. He waves the younger boy off, pushing up on his own accord. Chuck makes to follow them, but Thomas dissuades it, likely remembering what Ben had looked like all too well. Newt agrees with the protest, not wanting to subject Chuck to a sight like that.

“You’re coming, right?” Thomas asks him.

Newt hesitates, and then he nods pointedly. “‘Course I am. There’s no bloody way I’m not going with ya.”

“It’s not like how Ben was, is it?” Thomas asks.

Newt’s quick to shake his head, assuring him that it’s not that bad. Clearly that sight had impacted him more than Newt had realized. It wasn't a pretty sight, but Alby seemed to be taking to the Changing a lot better than Ben had. That was a good sign. Maybe he, like Gally, would go back to normal soon enough. Or, at least, close enough to normal that everyone could pretend everything was totally fine. 

Newt opens the door, trying to set the scene and test the waters so Thomas doesn’t have to. Alby nods in recognition as they enter. That’s a good sign. Hopefully.

“Newt,” Alby says, staring at him directly. He ignores Thomas for the moment, completely disregarding him. “Do you mind leaving us alone?”

Newt hesitates. He glances over at Thomas, making sure he’s comfortable with that. The younger boy looks unconvinced, but he catches Newt’s stare and nods slowly. A little hesitantly the first time, but more assured the second.

“It’s alright,” he whispers.

Newt’s less convinced than Thomas is, which only makes him feel worse. He should be able to trust his best friend to act mature. Not freak out on Thomas like he had with him. But he nods, and he leaves the room, leaving the door open a crack. He stays right there, just in case. Because god damn it, call him paranoid, but he just knew that something was going to happen.

Jeff shoots him a questioning look, but Newt silences him, a finger hovering over his lips, before he can make any sound. Alby can’t know how little Newt trusts him right now.

Especially with Tommy.

Chapter Text

“Newt says you saw me,” Thomas says quietly. “During the Changing.” He pauses. “Just.. just like Gally. Am I-? Is it just like he said? Him and Ben?”

Alby hesitates. Then he nods. “This is all your fault,” he says. It’s simple. A statement. Matter-of-fact.

That makes it feel a lot worse than it had when Gally had just been wildly accusing him. Thomas feels his heart drop. This was all his fault.

“Do you,” Thomas begins, not knowing where to go from there. “What did I-? How-?”

“You,” Alby continues, “and the girl.” He pauses. “The both of you. You’re the ones that-” but he cuts himself off by wrapping his hands around his throat.

His eyes are practically bulging out of his head. He’s trying to kill himself. The worst part? It’s like he’s being forced to do it. Like his brain is trying to stop him from giving Thomas this information. Was it that essential he didn’t figure it out? He stops thinking about that pretty quickly. He can dwell on that stuff later, when Alby’s life isn’t at risk.

He tries to pry Alby’s hands away from his throat, but ends up getting tangled in the mess and making things worse. There’s no one else to step in. Thomas was sure Jeff, at the very least, was somewhere nearby. Newt likely was, too. But were they close enough that they’d be able to stop this in time?

“What are you doing?!” Thomas demands, trying to bring Alby back to his senses. It’s not working. Okay. Now he can really seriously freak out.

Luckily enough, his loud exclamation draws enough attention and makes enough noise that people realize something’s wrong. Newt and Jeff rush into the room practically instantly at record speed. It was like they’d been waiting right outside the door, or something.

Jeff helps Thomas out of Alby’s hold, then moves on to help Newt get Alby’s hands off of his throat. It seems to be taking a lot of force. And it doesn’t seem to be working. Thomas goes to help again, but then Alby catches sight of them. Their concern. Newt’s concern. And he seems to come back a little bit. He seems more himself again. His hands relax. He looks disoriented, confused, like he couldn’t recall what had just happened.

He takes in the scene. And then he looks back at Newt. Thomas has never seen any trace of guilt or concern on the leader’s face; not for any one person. But as he stares at him, the blond biting his lip to keep from crying and eyes glassy, Alby’s face contorts with worry.

“Hey,” he says quietly, bringing one of his hands up to rest on Newt’s cheek. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Newt hesitates. He bites his lip so hard even Thomas can tell that it's bleeding, and he shakes his head. "Don't lie to me," he says. "I'm not a bloody idiot. You almost just killed yourself. A-and Tommy."

Alby pauses. "I did?"

"You did," Thomas says serenely, nodding. "You were trying to tell me what you saw during the Changing, and then... it was like your brain was trying to stop you from doing it, I guess."

Thomas frowns. This had to be important information. But Gally certainly wouldn't tell him, and if Alby physically couldn't... how was he supposed to figure everything out? Well, there was one surefire way. Thomas just didn't like it. He decided that would be his if-all-else fails plan. And that he shouldn't tell anyone about it until it was too late for them to stop him.

"That's... it's alright," Newt says eventually, breaking the terse silence. "We can figure that out another time."

Alby looks at his hands like he doesn't trust them. Like he doesn't trust himself around them.

Newt seems to understand the skeptical look in his eyes. He puts his hand on Thomas's shoulder and squeezes once in consolation. "Come on, Tommy," he says gently. "Let's let him rest." He nods at Jeff as they leave, who Thomas is vaguely sure waves back. He probably doesn't want to deal with this, either, but understands that Newt has other stuff to do.

"It must be hard," Thomas says quietly, shutting the door behind him as he follows Newt out of the room. "To see him like that."

Newt stays quiet for a moment as they walk down the hall. Thomas isn't sure if he's supposed to follow or not, but he figures he shouldn't leave until the second in command answers his question, at the very least. "I s'pose I always knew somethin' like this could happen," he says finally. He's still guiding Thomas down the hallway. Thomas didn't even know the hallway was this long. "Doesn't make it any easier, though."

Thomas nods slowly. He wants to know why they're loitering outside a random door in the Homestead, but he doesn't want to change the subject and appear inconsiderate.

"I think you ought to see the girl," Newt explains. Good. He was wondering how long they'd be standing out here before one of them broke. "You're special. Yunno? Ben said so, Alby said so. Gally will never stop sayin' so."

The girl. The one in his dreams. His dreams that surely couldn't be anything but memories. Maybe this would trigger something. Help him remember.

"Maybe," Thomas says, not wanting to seem too eager.

He'd also like an elaboration on what Gally meant in the Gathering- why he'd decided Newt was in love with him. He'd also like to figure out why that seemed to resonate with him so much. He probably shouldn't care about anything Gally says, let alone something that pointless. It just doesn't feel very pointless to him.

Newt opens the door, leading Thomas inside, blissfully unaware of the younger boy's internal turmoil.

The girl's still undoubtedly unconscious. She's pale and probably a little too skinny. But she doesn't look dead anymore. Which is typically a good sign.

Tom?

No way. He had to have imagined that. There was no way she'd said anything.

But that was unmistakably a girl's voice. Maybe he'd been hallucinating. It wasn't like he'd gotten his eight hours last night, so it was certainly possible. Or maybe she was talking? Had she woken up? Or maybe heard her talking in her sleep?

"Did you hear that?" Thomas asks.

Newt looks over at him, confused. "Hear what?"

"Someone said my name," Thomas says. Maybe he had just imagined it? Though as he thought about it more and more, it seemed less probable that he'd made it up. "I thought it was her. I heard a girl's voice."

Newt frowns, looking slightly more uncomfortable than he should. "Um," he says tensely, "I said your name a minute ago. You zoned out. Got a little worried, yunno?"

"Oh," Thomas says. "Maybe... didn't sound like you, but I guess I was a little preoccupied."

Tom, everything is going to change.

"Was that you?" Thomas asks.

Newt's brow furrows. He takes a few steps closer, stopping roughly a foot away from Thomas. He puts a hand on his forehead. "Are you alright, Tommy?" He asks. "You haven't got a fever, but it might be some sort of PTSD-"

"No, I think the girl said something again!" Thomas exclaims. "She keeps saying my name, and that everything's going to change. Are- can you really not hear that?"

Newt hesitates, then realization dawns in his eyes and he smiles comfortingly. He hugs Thomas to his chest, rubbing circles on his back before pulling away. "Oh, I see," he says gently. "It's alright, mate. Why don't you go have a lie down, and try to get some rest? I'm sure that'll help."

"What, no, I-" Thomas begins, frowning pointedly. "Newt, I'm not crazy. I haven't lost it."

Newt pauses, but then he nods again, patting him on the cheek. "'Course you're haven't, Tommy," he says softly. "Why don't you walk me down to the Medjack Hut, though? Prolly shouldn't be doin' all this with a concussion."

"Newt, I know what you're trying to do!" Thomas argues. "I'm not losing it! I actually heard her!"

He still doesn't protest though, when the blond takes him by the hand and drags him out of the Homestead, leaving it and the girl behind.

Newt leads him into the Medjack Hut. Clint looks at them skeptically, quirking an eyebrow. He mutters something about not having STD tests before the blond cuts him off.

“Think the reality’s finally hittin’ him,” he whispers, gesturing slightly towards Thomas. “Been through a lot, yunno? But now he’s tellin’ me he’s hearin’ voices, so I figured I’d check him in here.”

Clint nods, frowning pointedly in consideration. “Yeah, just drop him on the bed over there. He’ll be fine after some sleep.”

Newt thanks him, nods his confirmation, and gently leads Thomas to the bed, one hand on his bicep. Thomas would be lying if he said he hated all the extra attention the second in command was giving him. Maybe being crazy wasn’t so bad.

Thomas sits down on the bed, legs swinging over the edge. He notes Newt’s hand hasn’t left his arm. He’s not complaining.

“You feelin’ any better?” Newt asks. Thomas looks up at him. He’s leaning over slightly to make eye contact, left arm propped up on the bed and have his eyes always been that pretty? And when did he even start having thoughts like those?

“Um- yeah, I’m just ga- peachy! Just peachy!”

“You’re not losin’ it, are ya?” Newt inquires, tilting his head to the side. “It’d be a right shame if ya were, Tommy. I like ya.”

Thomas shakes his head adamantly, doing his best to ignore how hot his cheeks were burning. Unfortunately, Newt seems to notice. He presses his hand to Thomas’s forehead again, checking for a fever. Coming back empty handed, he sits down next to Thomas, defeated.

“You haven’t got a fever,” Newt says. “So what’s up with ya?”

“I dunno,” Thomas says honestly. “You just kinda fry my brain sometimes.”

He clamps his hands over his mouth, immediately questioning why he’d let that slip. How he’d managed to let something like that slip. Especially in front of Newt. Newt smiles uncertainly, cocking his head to the side even more than the first time. God, he’s so pretty. He doesn’t say anything, but he seems to be less convinced Thomas has lot his mind, which is definitely a win.

“I’d better get goin’,” he says eventually, pulling himself to his feet. Thomas frowns, noticing the way he winces when his left foot hits the ground, but Newt waves him off before he can even say anything. “Lots to do, now that Alby’s off. Feel better.”

“Anything for you,” Thomas chirps, offering another exaggerated salute.

It’s worth it to hear the laugh the blond lets out as he walks away. The second he’s alone he starts thinking about the girl again. She’d certainly said something. How hadn’t Newt heard it? There was no way Thomas had just imagined that. Maybe it was just in his head? Not in a crazy way, but a…

No. He was definitely losing it.

Chapter Text

“Alright, Greenie,” Minho says, pounding on the wall behind him excessively to wake him up. Huh. He must have actually fallen asleep in here after Newt left. Odd. “Time to do yours, ya delinquent.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he pulls himself to his feet and follows Minho out of the Medjack Hut and towards the Slammer. He spots Gally watching from a distance, obviously loving every second of what’s happening.

“Guess someone’s having fun,” he says sarcastically.

Minho barks out a laugh, murmuring his agreements so Gally doesn’t hear him. The Builder is littered with bruises from his fight with Minho, but it matches pretty well with the stubborn black eye Newt gave him a few days ago that hasn’t yet gone away.

Although it’s not like Minho walked away unscathed, either. Apparently (according to Minho’s amused and teasing whined complaints) Newt wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. How he needed to “stop being so bloody impulsive”. The sentence was carried with a very horrible imitation of the blond’s accent that was so botched Thomas couldn’t help but laugh at it.

“Oh, shuck,” Minho says quietly, wiping a joyful tear from his eye. Okay, it had been funny, but not that funny. “Don’t tell Newtie I said that. He’ll break my knees.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Thomas says, rolling his eyes. “Just keep making fun of him,” he adds sarcastically.

Minho stops abruptly, placing his hands on Thomas’s shoulders. The Runner looms forward, forcing eye contact as he dead stares him. “I’m serious,” he says gravely. The instant mood change almost makes Thomas laugh, but he refrains. “He’ll do it.”

Thomas, quite frankly, didn’t doubt it. Newt looked like the kinda guy that could kick anyone’s ass- even Minho’s. He’d figured it was a joke because they seemed like good friends, but apparently that wouldn’t stop him. Thomas made a mental note to never piss Newt off more than necessary. He quite liked his knees the way they were.

They stopped by the Slammer. Thomas felt inclined to ask if he got a phonecall, but he couldn’t even remember what a phone actually was, so he decided against it. Minho led him underground to their rows of cells. He playfully pushes the younger boy into the first one, closing the door behind him and locking it.

“I think this is dumb,” Minho says eventually, waiting for Thomas to get situated. “But, y’know, Gally might’ve rioted if you got off without punishment. And, y’know, Alby prolly would’ve Banished you. Newt got you off easy.”

Thomas feels his face heat up at the Runner’s selected wording- something Minho doesn’t miss.

He smirks evilly, eyebrows raised. “Seems like you’ve got some stuff to sort out, anyway,” he says teasingly. “Maybe this time alone will do ya some good, Greenie.”

Thomas rolls his eyes as he watches Minho leave, shutting the door behind him. It gets a lot darker after that. He doesn’t even really know what Minho’s talking about, but he’s probably doing the same thing as Chuck. Trying to ruin his life.

Good thing he’s got twenty four hours to figure out exactly what Minho and Chuck meant by their relentless teasing. It seemed Alby was in on it, too. Thomas was smart enough to know this was about him and Newt. And Alby and Minho had been bugging the second in command about this, too- not just him. But Chuck seemed mighty certain that he had a crush on Newt, or something.

He didn’t. Did he? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t remember a whole lot about his life before the Glade, but he’d certainly have figured out if he was gay or not by now- what, with being trapped in a Glade full of guys.

Or maybe… Maybe he had.

Right? He hadn’t thought about anyone else the way he thought about Newt. He certainly hadn’t thought about anyone as much as he thought about Newt. Maybe the girl, but even that was a more intrigued curiosity that plagued his thoughts, not admiration. Not…passion?

Okay, so.

So maybe Chuck was right. But that didn’t mean he had to act on it.

Because even if this slight possibility became more set in stone, there was simply no way Newt reciprocated that. And he didn’t want to ruin one of his only friendships in here. He didn’t want to make things awkward.

So, on the off chance that Chuck had known what he was talking about, Thomas decided he’d just stay quiet about it. He wasn’t quite ready to ruin the thing they had yet. And even still… he wasn’t a physically affectionate person, and he could tell Newt wasn’t, either. But they were with each other. A lot.

And, really, that was enough for Thomas. Lingering touches and occasionally clasped hands… he could get by on that until he got rid of this crush.

He sighs, realizing that he was now actually accepting it as a romantic crush, and not just a figment of Chuck’s imagination. That made it feel a lot more real. A lot more imminent. Damn, this was going to make things awkward.

Chuck came by in the evening to bring him dinner.

Apparently he wasn’t supposed to, but no one had argued against it. Frypan had even helped him pack it.

“I’m mad at you,” Thomas says blankly. He accepts food nonetheless.

Chuck tilts his head to the side, confused. “What did I do this time?” He asks. “I know I didn’t prank you in the bathroom, so-”

“You made me realize I have a crush on Newt, and now I can’t think about anything else!” Thomas cuts him off. “You should have let me pine obliviously!”

Chuck just shrugs. “But you do everything obliviously. I thought maybe you wanted to do something and know what was going on at the same time for once.”

“That’s only cause no one tells me anything!”

“Well, I told you what was going on with Newt, and now you’re mad at me!” Chuck exclaims. “I literally can’t win!”

Thomas rolls his eyes. He reaches through the bars and ruffles Chuck’s hair, just to prove he’s not actually mad. He is panicking, though, and that’s totally Chuck’s fault. And Minho’s. But he’ll blame Gally, just ‘cause.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Chuck asks eventually. “Your crush?”

Thomas frowns pointedly. “Nothing,” he says simply, and it’s the truth.

A relationship in the Glade was nothing more than trouble waiting to happen. Not to mention the fact that his crush was most certainly unrequited.

He was a scared little Greenie, and Newt was… Newt was Newt.

“Nothing!?” Chuck chokes out. His eyes are wide like Thomas has said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You’ve finally realized how hopelessly in love with Newt you are, and you’re not going to do anything!?”

Thomas scoffs. “I never said anything about being in love,” he corrects him. “Having a crush and being in love are very different things.” He pauses. “And, come on, what do you expect me to do? Get down on one knee and confess my love to him in front of the whole Glade?”

“I thought you weren’t in love with him,” Chuck teases, quirking an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t even like me back,” Thomas says, more glum now. “I’d just make a total fool of myself. And things would get awkward between us, and I don’t wanna ruin our friendship.”

“Did he say that?” Chuck asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Thomas presses his lips into a thin line as he stares at Chuck blankly. What was he even talking about? “What do you mean?”

“Did Newt say he didn’t like you back?” Chuck prompts. Thomas hesitates, and then shakes his head. He makes to protest against whatever the kid’s saying, but he continues- “I know I haven’t been here all that long, but Newt doesn’t go around all buddy-buddy with anyone. Not even Alby. Not like how he is with you.”

Thomas shakes his head adamantly. “No, no. If you’re talking about that night in the Deadheads- I just happened to stumble upon him when he obviously needed company. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Yes it does,” Chuck says simply. “All the Greenies stick to Newt, sure, but he doesn’t stick to any of them. And then you come along, and you guys are pretty much always together. Or even touching each other, in one way or another. He loves you, Thomas.”

Huh.

"You don't know that," Thomas protests. "Newt's... he's Newt. He could have anyone in this Glade. He definitely doesn't want me. All I do is break the rules."

Chuck tilts his head to the side, a playful smirk on his face. "Well, at least you're self aware."

"I'm having a crisis here, and it's your fault!"

"It's not my fault that you're in love with Newt," Chuck argues. "I just called you on it."

Thomas sticks his tongue out at him. It's solely because he doesn't have an argument, and he wants to be petty about it. Chuck probably realizes that, but doesn't bite back. He just sits there, satisfied with his work of ruining Thomas's life.

"Newt and Thomas, sitting in a tree, K- I-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!"

Chapter Text

Thomas had decided to spend the rest of his jailtime efficiently, catching up on some much needed sleep. He wasn’t sure how all the other Gladers went about their schedules like this every day. How did they even get up in the morning?

Of course, though, even his subconscious decided he couldn’t catch a break, if his dreams were anything to go by. For the most part, his dreams were nothing more than recollections of memories. Ben tackling him in the Deadheads; the Griever coming at him, full force; Alby with his hands around his own throat. The very things that had shaken him to his very core.

And, naturally, when he wasn’t dreaming of terrors, he was dreaming of Newt. Which, honestly, was just as bad. Because, really, when is it good to dream about your second in command? Especially in that sense?

Thomas is almost relieved when morning light peaks in through the crack of the door. This is his first day as a Runner. He should be excited about that.

He is, really, he is. But he’s just more focused on the girl talking in his head. And, let’s be honest, there was a lot of Newt, too.

“Come on, ya buggin’ jailbird.” Speak of the devil. The blond’s smile makes him feel whole, like the world’s going to be alright again. Yeah. A heterosexual man does not think things like that about his friend. How hadn’t he noticed this sooner?

Newt opens the cell door, head peaking around the corner. His head’s tilted to the side, just slightly, but it’s enough that his hair’s falling over his face at the angle. Thomas stands up, walking over to the doorway. He tucks a strand of golden hair behind the older boy’s ear, smiling contently before he catches himself.

“Have fun?” Newt asks, taking a step back.

Thomas thinks he’s weirded out, at first, but then he notices how red the blond’s face is, and realizes he’s just flustered. Was Chuck right? Was the feeling unanimous? Was his little crush requited, or were all the boys in this Glade so touch starved that the littlest thing had them blushing like schoolgirls? And just how little was his crush, anyway? Cause it didn’t feel very small. It felt…

Almost consuming. Like it was all that mattered. All he could think about, even though just yesterday the thought never would have crossed his mind.

“Yeah, had a blast,” Thomas says sarcastically.

Newt stares at him, dumbfounded. He regains his smirk very quickly. “Was that a joke? Did you, Tommy, just make a joke?”

“Guess I got a new personality in there, or something,” Thomas says, shrugging.

Newt rolls his eyes, playing along. “That’s a right shame, then,” he says, pouting. “Quite liked your old one.”

Huh.

“I thought I drove everyone crazy,” Thomas deadpans, ignoring how hot his face feels.

There was no way Chuck was actually right about this. He didn’t know what he was talking about. As far as Thomas could tell, Newt acted like this with pretty much everyone. Everyone Thomas saw him interact with, anyway.

Newt just shrugs, amused. “Oh, ya do. But it’s quite funny, yunno?”

Thomas doesn’t know how to feel about that. About any of this really. But he decides to extricate himself from the situation before he can act on an impulse and make a fool of himself. Ruin his chances. If he ever actually goes for it, anyway.

So he leads the blond back outside. It’s his first day as a Runner, so Newt must have come and grabbed him early.

He turns to thank him, but he’s already waving goodbye and heading in the other direction. That’s fine. Just as well, really, since he’s got to get to work.

He makes a mental note to ask Minho for another insight on how the second in command actually views him.

He finds Minho eating breakfast, so he sits down and joins him. The Runner nods in recognition, waiting to say anything until he finishes chewing.

“We’re gonna stop in the Map Room first,” he says. “Explain everythin’ to ya.”

“Right,” Thomas says, nodding. “That makes sense.”

Minho sighs. “Don’t worry though, we’ll still get back with lots of time. Wouldn’t want to worry your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Thomas protests, blushing furiously.

Minho notices because Thomas can never actually win.

“Funny that you automatically knew who I was talkin’ about, though,” Minho says, smirking. Cheeky bastard. “And, hey, I’m sure you’d love it if he was your boyfriend.” He pauses, shrugging. “I mean, I’m sure he’d love it, too.”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Stop,” he says, feigning exasperation. They were on their way to the Map Room now. “Just ‘cause I’ve come to terms with it doesn’t mean you can play with my heart.”

“Newt told me you were making jokes,” Minho says, ignoring his teasing altogether. “You sure you haven’t gone bonkers?”

Thomas frowns pointedly, pretending to think it over. “Wasn’t last time I checked,” he says.

“Maybe your boyfriend short-circuited your brain, then,” Minho says, shrugging. “What’d he do? Kiss you goodbye?”

“Still not my boyfriend,” Thomas says, following Minho into the Map Room and shutting the door behind them.

Minho turns around, quirking an eyebrow. “But you want him to be.”

The Runner turns around again, rifling through a storage closest in the corner of the room. Thomas doesn’t ask what he’s doing. He figures he’ll find out soon enough. And, really, if anyone’s gonna know how Newt feels about him, it’d be one of his best friends. This was his chance to get a little more insight. Was Newt totally oblivious, or was he teasing him on purpose?

“Well, maybe,” Thomas says, watching Minho skeptically as he continues to shuffle through the closest. “But it’s not like he likes me back, so it doesn’t matter.” He pauses. “You’re not gonna shove me in there, are you?”

“I might, if you don’t stop being such an idiot,” Minho says instantly. “Anyway, who says he doesn’t like ya back? Never stops talkin’ about you, y’know.” He groans, beginning to mimic the blond’s accent. “Tommy did this, Tommy did that. I swear I know more about you than anyone else.”

Thomas’s eyes widen. “Seriously? You think he likes me?”

“Thomas, dude, I think he’s in love with you.”

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Minho pulls away from the closet (finally), holding a bundle of clothes and supplies. He tosses it to Thomas half-heartedly, who has to jump to the side to actually catch everything.

“A little,” he admits. “But I’ve never seen him trust anyone as much as he trusts you.”

“Everyone says that,” Thomas says, confused. “But I don’t see it. He hasn’t done anything to actually prove that.”

“You walked in on him having a panic attack. If that had been anyone else, he would have ran. Or faked being okay until they left. He cried in your arms that night,” Minho deadpans. “And just yesterday, he risked a riot to make you a Runner. He wouldn’t do that for anyone else.”

“Yeah, but..”

Minho shakes his head, cutting him off even though Thomas had no idea how he was going to continue that sentence. “Nah, man. He really likes you. You’d better not shuck that up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Thomas says. “Never wanna hurt him. I’ve seen him upset more than enough.” He pauses. “Aren’t you supposed to be explaining…klunk…?”

Minho barks out a laugh. “Man, you sound like a slinthead using our klunk,” he says. “But, yeah, you’re right. Gotta introduce you to the life of a Runner.”

“It’s that different?” Thomas asks, quirking an eyebrow.

He's already excited. The anticipation of becoming a Runner has very easily overthrown his concern about the girl talking in his head. And possibly for his own sanity. It all went out the window when he realized that he was finally going back into the Maze. That he was finally getting what he wanted.

That maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to find a way out of here.

“First off,” Minho says, gesturing towards the shoes he’d thrown at Thomas earlier. “More comfortable for lots of running.” He pauses. “On that note, runner undies-”

“Runner what?”

“Tighter. More constricting,” Minho explains. “Y’know, so y-”

“No, no, I got it, thanks.”

Minho cocks an eyebrow. “Aw, you’re all flustered. Man, Newt’s gonna have a field day with you when you two finally cut the klunk and get together.”

“Okay, whatever,” Thomas says, deciding not to focus on the older boy’s teasing anymore.

He’s actually getting pumped about going back into the Maze now, and he doesn’t want to get distracted from that.

Minho grins like an idiot, pleased with himself. “Alright. Because you’re still a little newbie, you’re gonna be runnin’ with me, so you won’t have it too hard. We’re gonna write out the turns we take as we run, keeping everythin’ memorized, and then map it out when we get back here at the end of the day.”

“Right,” Thomas says, nodding. That makes sense.

“Other than that… just don’t die, I guess,” Minho says. “Yeah, dying’s not good. Newt’ll get really mad at me if I let you die. I dunno ‘bout you, but I don’t exactly fancy bein’ on the receivin’ end of his wrath. He’ll kick my ass. And I quite like my ass the way it is. So don’t die.”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “I’ll try my best,” he says.

“Right, then,” Minho says. “Let’s get running.”

Chapter Text

“You’re not gonna claw out your own throat today, yeah?” Newt asks. He’d meant for it to be light, but even he could hear the tremble of fear in his voice as he spoke.

Alby pauses, jokingly thinking it over. He looks a lot better today. More like him. But with the Changing, you can never be too sure. Ben had been on the right track, too. And now he was dead because he’d lost it.

“Not on my schedule, but things might open up,” Alby says.

Newt sighs, sitting down. He’s wanted to ask for clarification about this for the past few days, but he wanted to give the leader time to heal before bombarding him with questions. The last thing they needed was another mishap like what had happened with Thomas.

“You told me not to go out with Tommy,” Newt says quietly. “Said he’d just break my heart again. What did ya mean by that?”

“Dunno how much my own brain will let me say,” Alby says, shrugging. “Just, y’know, you two were a thing, and it didn’t end very well. To my knowledge, anyway.”

“Huh,” Newt says, surprised.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Any of it, really. Because if Alby was right, and he and Tommy had been dating before the Maze, then that little voice in the back of his head was his subconscious still recognizing Tommy as his significant other. And that probably couldn’t lead to anything good.

Newt had seen how Gally had reacted to Thomas saying the girl felt familiar. He could only imagine how everyone would react if he upright announced that he and Thomas had been dating, and his muscle memory had known it all along.

“I ain’t gonna say much,” Alby says, “but I don’t think it’d be wise to go out with him again.”

Newt swallows hard. “Well, how d’you know it’ll end the same?” He asks, feeling braver than usual. “If the Creators took all our memories, are we even the same people we used to be?”

“Some shanks, no,” Alby says. “You, though? And Thomas? You’re the exact same.” His expression hardens. Newt fears for a moment that he’ll go crazy again and try to rip his throat out, but he stays completely still. So far, so good. “This ain’t a star-crossed lovers kinda thing, dude. You’re gonna get hurt. Killed, even. So don’t do it.”

Newt nods slowly, confused. He doesn’t tell Alby that he thinks he’s lost it a little, because it’s not their style. They don’t talk about fears and emotions. Not anymore, anyway. They might have, earlier on. Back during their first days in the Glade. But as they became more prominent in the Glade hierarchy, things became more important than mental health. They had bigger things to worry about.

“It’s his first day as a Runner, yunno,” Newt says, trying to change the topic to something lighter. He doesn’t want to talk about things like this anymore.

Alby sighs. “I dunno why you did that in the first place,” he says honestly. “Shank’s too curious to be a Runner. He won’t do very well.”

“Or he’ll be bloody fantastic,” Newt adds.

“He’ll get himself killed,” Alby corrects, deadpan. “And you know it.” He shakes his head. “Why do you set yourself up for stuff like this? I know how badly you stress about Minho during the day, and now you’ve got Thomas to worry about, too.”

“I’d be selfish if I kept him back,” Newt says softly, staring at the ground. “We both know he’ll make a bloody good Runner. If I take that away from him just ‘cause I don’t want him to die… that wouldn’t make me a very good second in command, yeah?”

Alby shrugs. “Sometimes, you need to keep your best Runners in the Glade. To keep ‘em safe. Alive.” He makes eye contact with Newt the second he looks up. “Eventually, you realize that their true calling wasn’t runnin’ at all. Somethin’ you wouldn’t have figured out if ya hadn’t been a little selfish.”

“Tommy and I are two very different people,” Newt says, instantly understanding the comparison Alby was making. “Tommy belongs in that Maze, yunno? You could just tell. Right from the buggin’ start. Me… well, I think we both know why that didn’t work out, yeah?”

Alby looks at him, a knowing stare blazing in his eyes. He shakes his head. Just slightly, but Newt catches it all the same. “You were a good Runner,” he says. “One of the best.”

“So good I took to climbin’ instead.”

Alby scowls. “You were a really good Runner,” he insists. “But it took too much outta ya. Made ya feel hopeless. I mean, ya haven’t tried again since you stopped runnin’.”

Newt doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he thought about trying again almost on the daily. It wasn’t that being second in command made him happier, it just meant that he had too many people depending on him for him to be able to give up; to keel over and die.

“You’re worried about ‘em, aren’t you?” Alby asks, changing the subject back to its origin. “That’s why you’re here. To take your mind off it.”

Newt sighs, shoulders slumping. “I mean, he practically defied death survivin’ the night in the Maze. Surely it’ll come to make him pay his dues.”

“Minho will take care of him,” Alby says.

Newt doesn’t say anything to that. They both know that in a life or death situation, there’s virtually nothing Minho could do to keep himself alive, let alone Thomas, too. And there was always a chance they wouldn’t come back in the evening.

It just seemed that the stakes were a little higher than they used to be. Ever since Tommy came up in the Box… Jesus, he had to stop listening to Gally’s rants. They were making him think just as ridiculously.

“The girl hasn’t woken up yet?” Alby prompts. Newt smiles, silently appreciating the abrupt subject change to dissuade his train of thought.

Newt shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Tommy was quite certain she was talkin’ in his head. Thought he was losin’ it for a minute.”

Alby smiles knowingly. Newt doesn’t like it because he doesn’t register why. He likes it even less once he understands.

“Funny,” Alby says, “how no matter what I bring up, you always manage to change the subject to Thomas.”

“I do not,” Newt says, even though it’s a blatant lie, and they both know it.

Alby just laughs, shaking his head. He seems to be a bit more back to normal, at least, now that he’s himself enough to start teasing again. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt,” he continues, “so you’d better know what you’re doin’ with him. Be careful, I guess.”

“I thought it was the world’s worst decision to go out with him,” Newt says, quirking an eyebrow. “What changed your mind?”

Alby just shrugs. “You’re in love with him,” he says nonchalantly. “Ain’t klunk I can say to change your mind ‘bout that.”

“I’m not in love,” Newt protests, crossing his arms. “Never said anythin’ ‘bout being in love.”

“Didn’t have to,” Alby snorts. “Lovesickness is written all over your face, plain as day,” he says indignantly. “So obvious that Gally figured it out. No point in denyin’ it.”

Newt frowns pointedly. “I’m not gonna do anythin’ about it, though,” he says, more soft-spoken than defensive now. “No time for somethin’ like that. And, yunno, what if he doesn’t like me back?”

“You’re so oblivious I could laugh,” Alby says, very clearly not laughing. “Shank’s shuckin’ head over heels for ya, dude.”

“Nu uh.”

Alby cocks an eyebrow, saying nothing. He doesn’t have to. Newt already knows how ridiculous he’s being. But, really, he was sticking by his statement. He wasn’t going to act on his little crush (that certainly wasn’t anything more than that, thank you very much). There wasn’t time for it. It’d cause nothing but problems.

“No one would be very pleased if we started dating,” he says.

Alby shrugs. “You two would be,” he says.

“It’d cause a bloody riot,” Newt presses. “We haven’t got the time or the unity for that, and you know it. Not with the Box stayin’ up, and the girl in a coma. Not with Tommy runnin’ amok, doin’ whatever he damn well pleases.”

“I dunno if it’d be that bad,” Alby says. “People might not like it at first, but everyone cares about you. If they realize how happy he makes ya, they’ll come around.”

“Still haven’t got the time,” Newt argues. “It’d only be a weakness. Yunno? Can’t much worry ‘bout yourself and everyone else when you only care ‘bout one person. ‘S got bad idea written all over it, mate.”

Alby just shrugs. “Some day, you’re gonna learn to be a little selfish. You’ll thank me when that happens.”

Newt just smiles, shaking his head. A relationship wasn’t going to work out. Not in the Glade. Certainly not with everything that was going on right now. Maybe some day. If they ever got out of here. If they even lived that long.

But Alby was rooting for them, and that made it feel just a little bit more possible.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be able to survive in here?” Newt asks. “Without the Box?”

“Hard to say,” Alby says. “Not a whole lot longer, I don’t think.” He pauses. “You’d better hope Thomas makes even half a good a Runner as you say.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “If anyone can find a way outta that buggin’ Maze, it’s Tommy,” he says. “You can see it, yeah? He’s different. Special.”

“Must be,” Alby teases, “to have caught your eye.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you bloody know it.”

Alby laughs. It’s a little more distant than it used to be, but surely that was what happened to you when you went through the Changing.

“Yeah. There’s somethin’ about him, alright,” he agrees. “Just dunno if that’s good or bad.” And that was a fair question.

Tommy was unlike anyone Newt had ever met.

Would that lead him to happiness, or to ruin?

Chapter Text

“C’mon, Greenie, we’ll break in another mile,” Minho says. “Not gettin’ tired on me, are ya?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas says. “Not tired. Just a little worried.”

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “Worried?” He prompts, running ahead of Thomas by a foot or two. “Bout what?”

“Everyone back in the Glade,” Thomas relents.

Because, really, it’s been plaguing him all day. He’s had a blast running the Maze, of course, but what was going on back home? What if the girl woke up, or something happened to Alby? What if Newt needed help running the Glade? What if Gally started a riot, or something?

Minho sighs, unamused. “Yeah, stop thinkin’ out loud,” he says, scoffing so loud Thomas could hear it over his panting. “Everyone’s fine. You should be more worried about our asses out here.”

Thomas keeps running, pushing his feet into the ground a little harder, pressing forward to maintain Minho’s pace. He focuses all of his nervous energy into running. It’s a lot healthier to focus on running than stressing about Newt and Chuck back home.

Or the girl. She seemed to be occupying almost as much of his mind as Newt was nowadays. And that was a pretty big feat to accomplish. Had she really been talking in his mind, or was he actually losing his mind? Maybe Newt was right, and all the PTSD from spending a night in the Maze had made him crazy.

But he’d heard her so clearly. Like she was speaking directly into his head, or something. Maybe she had been…? It would make sense. It wasn’t half as crazy as the reality around here, anyway. And it’d account for why Newt hadn’t heard it.

“Alright, break time,” Minho announces, running off to the side, leaning back against the wall and sliding to the floor.

Thomas is quick to join him, eager to get off his feet for a while. Who knew being a Runner was going to be this much work?

Minho’s already eating. Thomas follows his lead. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until he started eating, and then the starvation hit him like a bullet.

“Have you started dating Newt yet?” Minho asks, mouth full of food.

Thomas frowns. “I have literally been right beside you all day. When would I have had time to ask him out?”

“Telepathically,” Minho says, shrugging. “It’s like a soulmate thing, y’know?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works,” Thomas says.

He pulls himself to his feet, deciding to take a look around while they were paused. The walls were covered in ivy, just like they had been in the earlier parts in the maze. This stuff was a little thicker, a little darker. He swears he spots a bloodstain on the ground, but he does his best to ignore that.

He focuses instead on the lettering on the walls, half hidden by the vines. WICKED. And then, below it, World In Catastrophe, Killzone Experiment Department.

“You ever see this?” Thomas asks, gesturing towards the label. Minho looks up for a moment, realizes what he’s talking about, and goes back to eating.

He shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “‘S on pretty much everythin’ we come by, slinthead. The Creators, we think.”

Thomas nods slowly, staring at the wall instead of Minho. A beetleblade scurries along it, head flashing red, illuminating the rest of its body. Labeled the exact same as the walls were.

“You think the Creators are the ones that made the Grievers, too?” Thomas prompts.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Minho says blankly. “Who else would’ve? Don’t really care either way, I guess. As long as we get outta here, doesn’t really matter.”

Thomas quirks an eyebrow. “Not one for exacting revenge, then?”

“Nah, love revenge,” Minho says. “But we’ve got enough to hate ‘em for at this point. Doesn’t matter if they made the Grievers or not.”

“Fair enough.”

~~

Thomas wasn’t sure at what point he had taken the lead, but he had. He was two feet, probably, ahead of Minho. It felt like a lot more than that, with the narrow corridors and the dim lighting. The thick, overgrown ivy.

He goes to round a corner. He hears the unmistakable clinking and screeching. The all too familiar mechanisms of a Griever.

He stops abruptly, causing Minho to crash into him. He stumbles, but doesn’t fall. Doesn’t let the metal slug catch sight of him.

“Griever?” Minho asks in a harsh whisper once he recomposes.

Thomas nods, barely visible in the gloom of the Maze. “Griever,” he confirms.

“Let’s follow it,” Minho says, taking the lead and turning the corner stealthily, leaving Thomas with no choice but to follow. Thomas trails behind him hesitantly.

“Are you crazy?” He asks.

Minho doesn’t respond. He creeps along behind the Griever slowly, cautiously. Thomas follows, already hating this idea. Hadn’t they had enough close calls when it came to Grievers? Clearly Minho didn’t think so. And as absolutely ridiculous of a plan this was, Thomas still went along with it. As long as they didn’t die, or get hurt too badly, it’ll be fine. As long as Newt doesn’t find out about this. Thomas likes his knees the way they are, thank you very much.

“They’re goin’ to the Cliff, I think,” Minho whispers, peeking around a corner. Thomas can’t actually see what’s going on, so he’ll have to take the Runner’s word for it.

“Why?” Thomas asks. “It’s a dead end.”

“Maybe they wanna trap us,” Minho says, shrugging. “But I’m willin’ to bet that it’s for the same reason that they all jumped into that tiny little square when we trapped ‘em the other night.”

Thomas frowns, trying to understand what he’s saying. Minho wasn’t wrong, per se. The other night, all the Grievers hadn’t exactly crashed into the void; they’d jumped into a tiny square in the center of it. And they’d just vanished. There wasn’t any proof that any of those ones had died.

“You mean there’s some sort of portal, or something?” Thomas asks. “You think that’s how they get in and out of the Maze?”

Minho nods curtly. He looks back at Thomas, smiling determinedly. “Sure,” he says. “And, y’know, their way in is our way out.”

“Let’s check out the Cliff, then,” Thomas says, a new spark of determination igniting in him. Is this their way out? Finally? “Or, the Griever Hole, I guess.”

Minho quirks an eyebrow as he turns around again. “The Griever Hole?” He repeats, incredulous. “Seriously?”

“That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

Minho laughs and shakes his head, continuing to run. The Griever’s inching closer and closer to the bit of endless abyss, making to jump. If a Griever could jump, anyway. Thomas wasn’t certain it had that kind of motor ability.

It leaps towards the void, carefully diving through a smaller portion in the center of the darkness. Maybe Minho was on to something with this. Was there some sort of tunnel, or teleportation there? Could this be the way they got out?

“Let’s map this out,” Minho says, sitting down beside the abyss. “Figure out how big of a space we’re workin’ with.”

Thomas nods pointedly, sitting down beside him. They start gathering rocks and tossing them at the void. Some of them clatter, some of them vanish.

They spend the rest of the day tossing rocks off the Cliff, trying to figure out how big their supposed Griever Hole was. Carefully, they inch their way along the border of it. They’ve got a general idea now. Maybe this was something good. A major clue, if not the way out.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” Minho says, incredulous. It’s like he’s in disbelief. “We’re actually gonna get out of here.”

Thomas turns to look at him. “What? You didn’t think we could?” He asks. “You ran this Maze every day, and didn’t think there was actually a way out?”

The look on Minho’s face tells him that he’s exactly right in making that assumption. “I gave up a long time ago, Greenie,” he says quietly. “Just couldn’t give the others false hope.”

It seems that there’s a little bit more to that story that he’s not telling Thomas, but the latter decides not to ask. There’s probably a huge sad explanation that he doesn’t feel like hearing.

“Well, it’s not so false now, is it?” Thomas asks, smiling brightly.

He can’t help but feel accomplished. Proud. He remembers what Newt had told him, his first full day here. Find a way out, Greenie. Solve that buggin’ maze and get home. He’d certainly delivered, hadn’t he?

“No,” Minho agrees, “I guess it’s not.”

“We’re actually gonna tell Newt about this one, right?” Thomas asks.

He’d meant for it to be teasing, but it comes out a little soft. A little guarded; tense. He’s still not very pleased with how Minho and Alby had treated that situation. And maybe he’s still holding a little bit of a grudge, even if Newt isn’t. It hadn’t been fair to him.

Minho sighs. “If we don’t, he’ll end up asleep in the woods with someone new,” he says. It’s just as passive aggressive as Thomas’s comment. Fair enough. That’s probably deserved.

"Okay, next question," Thomas says, changing the subject. "What if we jump through this, and we just die? Get blown up into a bajillion pieces?"

Minho shrugs. "Well, we'll test it before we jump in, slinthead. Not gonna risk that."

"Okay. Well, what if we jump in, and it's a big Griever party and they devour us all instantaneously?"

Minho sighs. "You're just full of optimism, aren't ya, Greenie?"

"I just think we should be prepared for the worst."

Minho barks out a laugh, and continues throwing rocks. Thomas follows his example. He understands the unspoken the response to his question. 

They'll deal with that when they came to it. 

Chapter Text

Thomas and Minho get back to the Glade a little later than they should have. Newt wasn’t particularly worried, but that was only because he had been too busy worrying about absolutely everything else.

The Box still hadn’t gone down. Alby looked and acted like he was on the verge of losing it at every second of the day, like the littlest thing would send him over that edge. The girl still hadn’t woken up, and Newt was pretty sure she was actually dead.

And then there was Gally, still trying to protest against Tommy’s upgrade in status. He’d gathered a few people to his cause. Most of them were Builders, though, so Newt was certain they were only there because Gally had forced them to be.

Everyone was restless. Worried. Things just kept changing. Kept getting worse. People were getting scared. And they had every right to be, so it wasn’t like Newt could tell them not to be. Couldn’t say there was nothing to be scared about when there was, in fact, everything to be scared about.

Things were going downhill fast. Newt wasn’t sure how much longer they’d be able to survive.

And then Minho and Thomas had come back from the Maze, ten minutes before the Doors closed, rambling about something called a Griever Hole.

Newt, originally, worried that he’d been right the other day, and Tommy really had lost it. But Minho quickly leads him and Alby to the Map Room, where he explains everything in further detail, wording it much better than Thomas. Putting it in a light where they weren’t going totally nuts.

Alby looks much less intrigued than he probably should be. He just looks disheartened. “Do we really want to leave?” He asks, when Minho finishes talking.

Newt frowns pointedly, turning around to stare at him. “What are you on about?” He asks. “Bloody obviously we want to leave. That’s what this has been about from day one.” He pauses, regarding Thomas for a second before lowering his voice. “And it’s not like we’ll survive in here much longer, anyway.”

“We won’t survive for very long out there, either,” Alby says at a normal tone, completely disregarding the fact that Thomas's right there, listening intently. “You don’t know. Newt, you… you just don’t know.”

Newt stares at him blankly. “Know what?”

“What’s out there,” Alby says, like that explains everything. “I saw.. the Changing…we’ll all die out there. We won’t stand a chance.”

Newt’s gaze hardens a little bit. “What’s wrong with you?” He demands. He ignores Thomas's sharp inhale. Maybe he was being a little harsh, but this was ridiculous.

Alby had never been like this. He’d never acted this cowardly. He was like a totally new person, now that he’d been stung. And maybe that was getting to Newt a little more than he’d care to admit. This should be the least of his problems, really. At least Alby was alive. That was a lot more than you could say about a lotta guys in here.

But it hurt to see Alby fall apart like this. A lot. Alby’s nonchalant, stoic personality, level head, and clear thinking had been the only thing that managed to calm Newt’s nerves at the end of the day. And now he was just as freaked and jumpy as a new Greenie.

He was falling apart at the seams, and the whole Glade was falling apart with him.

“Newt,” Minho begins. “Maybe-”

“You’re not supposed to act like this,” Newt continues, ignoring Minho altogether. “You’re supposed to lead us forward. You promised me, remember?”

Alby’s face falls. He’s never shown this amount of emotion in front of such a big group before. He remembers, then. The promise he made. The circumstances that had forced him to do it.

“It’s better in here than it is out there,” Alby says instead of answering. “You need to trust me on that. It just is.”

Newt shakes his head adamantly. “Listen, mate, I’ve been tryna keep it under wraps, so you can focus on gettin’ better, but clearly you need to understand how much everything is falling to shit,” he argues. “Gally’s rioting, and he’s got followers. That Box ain’t ever going down, the girl’s prolly dead at this point, and in give or take a few months, we’re all as good as dead.”

His eyes are glazing over, tears threatening to spill. He bites his lip to keep them contained. He can’t cry right now. There’s just too much depending on him. Alby’s already fallen apart, he can’t follow in suit.

People need someone to look after them, and that person has always been him. There’s an endless supply of arguments he can make against Alby’s protest, but he cuts himself off because his voice is getting closer and closer to breaking with each word he says, and he doesn’t want to break down right now. He can’t afford to.

"Dying in here will be a lot better than dyin' out there," Alby says blankly.

Newt shakes his head. He doesn't even have an argument for that. How is he supposed to respond that? Did Alby seriously have no hope for anyone's survival whatsoever? Did he think they were all just doomed to die?

"I can't do this anymore, Alby," Newt snaps. "I can't go around pretendin' everything's fine, tryna calm everyone down, when there's absolutely no reason for any of us to be calm! When absolutely nothing is fine! Don't you understand how bloody stupid this is!? That our only line of defense is lyin' to everyone!?"

Thomas puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. How is he so capable of reading his emotions like this?

“Why didn’t you tell me things were getting so bad?” Minho asks. “I would’ve tried to help out more. You know I would’ve.”

“Need you runnin’ the Maze,” Newt says quietly. “Can’t lose that routine, too.”

“Runnin’ won’t matter if there’s no Glade to come home to,” Minho protests. “You should have told me about all of this. It’s not healthy to keep all that to yourself.”

Newt frowns, turning to look at him. It’s the first time in a solid ten minutes that he’s torn his gaze from Alby’s discouraged expression. “Is any o’ this healthy?” He asks wistfully.

Minho sighs, unable to come up with a response. An argument. Newt just nods solemnly. At least they were on the same page now.

Thomas scoots a little closer to him, putting his hand on the blond’s opposite shoulder and pressing the sides of their heads together.

“Newt…” he says quietly, his voice trailing off. “I’m so sorry. You.. you shouldn’t have had to deal with this all by yourself.”

Newt shakes off Tommy’s apology, because it’s not his fault. Well, some of it is, but Thomas doesn’t need to know that. He’ll just feel at fault and try to help fix everything, and he needs to be running the Maze with Minho. Especially if they think they’re on the brink of finding something. Finding a way out.

Alby catches his eye hesitantly. “I’ll leave you to deal with the Maze stuff,” he says. “I’m the leader. I should be taking care of the Glade.”

Then he leaves, leaving no room for argument. Newt should protest. Should run out of the Map Room after him, yelling his refusal.

But Alby’s right. He is the leader around here, not Newt. Maybe this is what he needs to get back to normal; a routine, and a reality check. And, well, if Newt was secretly glad to finally be trusted to make decisions about the Maze, that was no one’s business.

“You two think this could be something?” Newt asks before Minho can question Alby’s decision instead.

Another person’s logic might bring Newt back to his senses, and he was perfectly fine with the delusion that Alby can go back to normal.

Thomas nods eagerly. “I think so,” he says just as brightly. “It’s how the Grievers are getting into the Maze, and-”

“And their way in is our way out,” Minho concludes, perfectly in sync.

Thomas looks over and grins at him. Newt sighs, willing to bet that they’d practiced their synchronization on their way back to the Glade.

“I trust you,” Newt says simply. “Keep investigating it. Don’t bother runnin’ the whole Maze anymore. Just focus on that. We all know there’s nothin’ new out there, anyway.”

The Maze had been the same eight rotations since Newt had been a Runner. That he was sure of. Minho and the other Runners had been running every day just to keep the peace. To keep the others from finding out how hopeless the situation was.

Newt knew that very well, regardless of how hard his friends had tried to keep it from him.

“Right,” Thomas says. “We really just need to determine whether or not it’s safe for humans to jump through it. Grievers and rocks are fine, but I dunno about people.”

Newt nods curtly. He wasn’t sure how they intended to test that, but he was sure they’d end up doing something ridiculously stupid and reckless. He decides not to ask; there are only so many things he can deal with at once.

“You think Gally would be down to help us? As a definitely not sacrifice?” Minho prompts.

Newt laughs, hoping that he’s actually joking. It was a little more thought out than them diving head first into this rip in the abyss, but Newt didn’t want to put anyone in more danger than they were already in.

But he feels a little more hopeful than he had earlier. Maybe things could look up, at least a little.

He shakes the thought out of his head.

This would turn up as a dead end, and everything would fall apart again.

That was how it always worked.

Chapter Text

“Did you see any Grievers?” Chuck asks eagerly.

Thomas shakes his head to himself, not exactly ready to have this conversation with the Glade Gossip.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “But it’s confidential information.”

“You told Newt,” Chuck points out, pouting.

Thomas shrugs. “Newt’s the second in command. He’s supposed to be told about that stuff, now that Alby’s a little…” his voice trails off. How’s he supposed to explain this without making it seem like everything’s falling apart? “Y’know, just while Alby’s recovering still.”

It was obviously a lie, but Chuck didn’t seem to catch it. And if he did, he didn’t seem to care enough to call him on it. Which is good. Because according to Newt, everything’s falling apart at the seams, and having word get out would only make that worse. Gally would have a much more profound riot, anyway.

Thomas looks around the Glade. He can’t spot an outright protest, but he’s sure it only goes on during the day, when Minho’s not there to shut it down. That’s what Thomas has pieced together, anyway.

Now that Alby’s out, Newt’s in charge. But he’s too busy making sure everything else stays in tact to have the time to even consider dealing with Gally’s bullshit. But Minho would. And Gally seems to realize that Minho’s the only one that could actually stop him. He and Newt seem to have some sort of unspoken agreement. Or dynamic, maybe. And if Thomas is able to pick up on that, everyone else surely has already.

But one thing that Gally hasn’t accounted for is Thomas. Because yes, Newt had told him to leave it like three times, but he had the time on his hands to deal with it. Or, at least try to. Maybe this would make things worse. Thomas wasn’t sure. There was only one way to find out.

“What are you planning?” Chuck asks skeptically, snapping him out of his head. “Do I need to tell on you? Is it gonna bug Alby and Minho, or stress out Newt?”

“Probably both,” Thomas agrees. “But if it works, it’ll be doing them all a huge favor. So I’m willing to take my chances.”

Chuck doesn’t look convinced. “So it’s about Gally’s little protest, then?” He prompts. Was Thomas really that easy to read?

“It might be,” Thomas confesses, hoping Chuck won’t rat him out before he can actually do anything about it. “You’ve noticed that, then? The riots?”

“Sure,” Chuck agrees, nodding slowly. “Everyone has. His protest has grown a little, over the course of the day. But Newt doesn’t seem worried about it, so we’re just ignoring them for now. If it gets worse someone might have to interfere, but I don’t think Newt or Alby want you to do something about it.”

Yeah. Newt didn’t seem worried about it. But he was. Thomas could tell. Even though he’d snapped a little in the Map Room, he’d still been trying to play it off as inconsequential. But Thomas could tell it was bugging him a lot more than he let on. That it worried him a lot more than he’d let on.

“It actually might get worse if you try to help,” Chuck says thoughtfully. “Since Gally’s riot is all because of you.”

Thomas doesn’t argue that, because, really, it’s a good point. Gally’s riot is his fault. By extension, anyway. If he tried to put a stop to it, he just might make it worse. Maybe even draw more people to his cause.

“Okay,” Thomas relents. “Fine. I’ll stay out of it. Let the others deal with it.”

He was pretty sure Minho was going to take care of it tonight anyway. When Newt wasn’t paying attention, obviously, since he’d insisted that he could deal with it on his own. Chuck nods, satisfied with his dissuasion.

Thomas looks over to the other side of the Glade, where Gally and Minho are already in a heated argument. Did he call it, or did he call it?

“Is that your definition of the others dealing with it? Did you guys plan this?” Chuck asks, gesturing towards the debate that had very quickly turned into a physical debacle.

It’s looking a little rough, too. Thomas had figured that it’d turn into a tussle, but this looked a lot more serious. He wonders if he should try to interfere. Try to stop this before someone gets seriously hurt. But then again… it was a little bit satisfying to watch Minho beat that absolute shit out of Gally. So maybe he’d be content to watch for a little bit longer.

For better or worse, Newt catches sight of the scene and breaks it up very quickly. He has to physically divide them by standing in the middle, pushing the both of them away from each other. At this point, they both look pretty beat up.

Newt’s looking pretty pissed though, and really, that’s what they should be more scared about. Maybe it was a good thing Thomas decided to stay indifferent.

“Who do you think’s gonna get it?” Chuck asks eagerly, obviously enjoying the free entertainment just as much as the brunet is.

“Both of them,” Thomas says honestly, observing the scene.

Because, really, the blond looks equally pissed at the both of them. He’s shouting at them, but it’s basically unintelligible for Thomas- because of both the distance and of how thick Newt’s accent is when he’s mad. He’s actually not sure if Minho or Gally can understand what he’s saying, either. Chuck’s also trying to catch wind of what the blond’s saying, but judging by his disappointed expression, he can’t understand it.

“Does it make it more or less scary that we don’t know what he’s saying when he yells at us?” Thomas asks, gesturing towards the scene unfolding in front of them. They look at each other blankly.

“More,” they say simultaneously.

Thomas watches at Minho takes a step back -Newt had gotten dangerously close to him during his rant, and Thomas knew how Minho valued having not-broken knees- and points in his direction. Newt wheels around to look at him. That little shit.

“So you were in on this!” Chuck exclaims.

Thomas very much was not, but clearly Minho had decided to throw him under the bus, anyway. At least Gally seems to be enjoying the new involvement. His smug smile fades when Newt’s elbow catches his ribs, but it looks like that was worth it. Minho sticks his tongue out at Thomas as Newt makes his way over. Uh oh.

The thing was, Thomas liked how his knees were already. He didn’t exactly want them broken. And that was most certainly where this was going to end.

“Tommy,” Newt says sweetly. A little too sweetly. “Yunno that fighting each other is one of our biggest bloody no-nos, yeah?”

Thomas nods very adamantly. “Of course I do,” he says. “Which is why I did not partake in Minho’s violent outburst. You said you could handle the Gally problem, and I had faith in you. Minho, apparently, did not. I was not aware of his plan. Swear.”

“Funny,” Newt says, “since he told me it was your master plan.”

“He lied,” Thomas says. “C’mon, Newt, who do you believe? Me, or that little gremlin?” He smiles brightly in an effort to prove his innocence.

Newt hesitates, looks back at Minho with disapproval, and then turns around and squeezes Thomas’s shoulder. “Right you are, Tommy,” he says lightly, obviously exasperated and overworked. “I should have known better than to believe that slinthead. Sorry, mate.”

“It’s okay,” Thomas says instantly, smiling gently. Newt was so obviously overtired and overworked. He needed help, and he wasn’t going to ask for it. “Are..are you okay?”

Newt hesitates, confused. “What d’you mean?” He asks. “‘M totally fine.”

“When was the last time you, y’know, slept?” Thomas continues, holding the blond’s face in place to get a good look at his bloodshot eyes and the bags under them. He looked really worse for wear. How had nobody noticed this?

Newt just shrugs, eventually succeeding in escaping Thomas’s grasp. “It hasn’t been that long,” he says. That does not help his case. “Seriously, Tommy; you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve got everythin’ under control.”

Thomas looks back at Minho and Gally, who have already resumed where they left off in their fight. He turns Newt back around when he tries to look over his shoulder. They can tire themselves out without needing to worry the blond more .

“Do you?” He asks. Newt’s brow furrows. Thomas feels the need to explain himself. “I mean, sure, you’re taking really good care of the Glade. You always do. But you need to take care of yourself, too. That’s just as important.”

Newt sighs, leading Thomas a little ways away from the others. Chuck seems disappointed that he won’t get the drama, but it seemed like it was boring drama to him, anyway, since he doesn’t try to follow after them.

“I haven’t really got the time to do both,” Newt says quietly, “and the Glade comes first. The Glade always comes first.”

“Fine, then,” Thomas says plainly. He takes Newt by the hand and drags him off towards the edge of the Glade. Ignoring Newt’s questioning, he sits down against the wall, dragging the blond down with him. “I’ll just look after you instead.”

“What-?”

Thomas hooks an arm over the blond’s shoulders, drawing him in. The action feels natural, practiced, like he’s done it a million times before. Maybe he has. Newt leans into him, into his embrace, subconsciously, like it’s muscle memory.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?” Newt finally manages to ask, looking up at him.

He doesn’t exactly seem opposed. His cheeks are flushed, like he’s embarrassed. But he’s definitely not opposed to the situation.

Thomas just shrugs, like the answer’s obvious. “Helping you sleep? You’re not gonna get any rest if I don’t make sure you do, and you can’t man the Glade when you’re on the verge of passing out.”

Thomas lets his hand fall to the blond’s waist, drawing him in a little closer.

“We can’t- I can’t do this,” Newt chokes out, his face even redder than it was earlier.

“Why not?” Thomas asks. “You didn’t have a problem with this last time.”

“Last time was…different,” Newt offers. “Things- there were- I-” He pauses. “There were things I didn’t know that time.”

Thomas tilts his head to the side. “What things?” He asks.

Newt stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Thomas puts his free hand on the blond’s knee, in what he hopes is comfort; reassurance. He’s not quite sure if it is or not. Newt’s usually so easy to read, but right now… Thomas can’t see through the walls he’s built up.

“Nothing,” he says eventually. “It’s not important.”

Thomas is pretty sure it is important, but he doesn’t push. His hand runs up and down the blond’s side, from his hip to the top of his ribcage. Newt doesn’t protest. He just drops his head onto Thomas’s chest, nestling a little bit closer.

“Thanks, Tommy,” he murmurs, his voice muffled by Thomas’s shirt. “Dunno what I’d do without you.”

Thomas smiles softly, feeling strangely relieved when he sees the blond close his eyes.

He sits there for a while. He’s not even sure how long it’s been. It doesn’t matter. He loves every second of it. The peculiarly familiar weight of the older boy sleeping on top of him, the smooth glide of his hand against Newt’s bare skin as his shirt rides up. He’d sit here forever, if he had the opportunity to. Even if Newt asked him to.

And maybe that wasn’t the right way to think about this. They were friends. They’d probably never be anything more. Sure, he was into Newt, but Newt certainly wasn’t into him, regardless of what Chuck and Minho said. There was just no way.

He hadn’t even realized that he was staring at the blond until he looks up. And even then, that was only because someone had approached him. He tensed, knowing that Newt probably wouldn’t be keen on having people seeing him so vulnerable. But he relaxed when he registered Chuck standing in front of him.

“No, Chuck, I don’t like him,” Chuck says sarcastically, doing a very terrible impression of Thomas’s voice. “He just fell asleep in my arms. Don’t worry. There’s nothing there, Chuck.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, taking his hand off Newt’s knee to press a finger against his lips in an effort to shush Chuck. “Don’t wake him up,” he whispers. “He definitely hasn’t slept in days, no matter how hard he’s tried to deny it.”

He quickly puts his hand back on the blond’s leg as he tries to nestle closer- a definite subconscious plan to get Thomas’s hand on him again.

Chuck gives in eventually, sitting down on Thomas’s other side.

“So you’re together now?” He asks, elbowing Thomas in the ribs.

Thomas tries to tense so the movement doesn’t wake up the blond, but they both jostle a little bit. Luckily, Newt’s a deep sleeper.

“No,” Thomas says. “I was just taking an incentive that nobody else would.”

“Because you’re in love with him,” Chuck concludes. “And Newt, who refuses to be this vulnerable around literally anyone, not even Alby, allowed it. Because he’s in love with you.”

Thomas looks down at the blond, the hand on his hip hugging him a little tighter.

“No, he doesn’t,” he says quietly. “And even if he did, now would be a really bad time for something like that.”

Chuck nods slowly, going quiet for a minute. Thomas takes this as his effort to go to sleep, but he’s probably going to end up being mistaken. Chuck loves talking the night away. Thomas just hopes that he’ll do it in a whisper tonight.

“Minho said you guys have a way out,” Chuck says eventually. “Do you really think we’re going to get out of here?”

Thomas looks at him. He didn’t exactly want to tear his gaze off of Newt, but this situation was definitely going to require it. “Sure,” he says. “Seems like we’re really onto something here.”

“You think our parents miss us?” Chuck asks.

Thomas stares at him, baffled. Where had that come from? How long had Chuck been thinking about something like that? Thomas had been here for a while, and not once had he tried to remember his parents. He hadn’t even thought about them.

“You remember your parents?” Thomas asks.

“Well, no,” Chuck says. “But I’ve got have them, right? Everyone has parents. And ours…they probably miss us a lot. Right? And we don’t miss them, because we can’t remember them. I feel kinda bad about that sometimes.”

Thomas lifts his hand off of Newt’s knee to put it on Chuck’s shoulder in reassurance. “It’s not your fault. That you can’t remember them. We can blame the Creators for that,” he says. “We’re doing everything we can. We’re doing all that we can.”

“When you get out of here, will you find my parents?”

Maybe it was the wording that freaked Thomas out. That concerned him. When you get out. Not when we. Did Chuck seriously think that he wasn’t going to make it out of here?

“When we get out of here, you’re going to find them yourself,” Thomas says. “I promise you that. We’re all gonna make it out.”

“I dunno about that,” Chuck says softly. “But you’re strong. You’re going to survive, Thomas. So, y’know, if I don’t… find them for me. Make sure they know that I was.. I was trying to think about them.”

Thomas squeezes his shoulder. How long had he been thinking about this? That was so awful, for someone to think about. Let alone someone Chuck’s age. Thomas couldn’t imagine having that little hope for his own survival.

“Okay,” he promises. “But you are going to make it out, Chuck. And you will find your parents. I promise.”

“Okay,” Chuck says quietly.

He probably doesn’t believe Thomas. But he sounds a little more convinced than he had earlier, and Thomas supposes that that’s really all he can hope for. Maybe he’d get Newt to give him a pep talk tomorrow, or something. Newt was way better at this than he was.

Thomas keeps his hand on Chuck’s shoulder, no matter how inviting Newt’s leg is. The blond has curled into him even more, his face buried in the crook of Thomas’s neck and arms wound around his middle. He looks so… small. Smaller than Thomas ever could have imagined him. Newt trusts him. A lot. He must, to feel comfortable being this vulnerable around him. To trust Thomas to keep him safe.

“You’re so pretty,” Thomas whispers, thumb brushing up and down the blond’s hip.

He rolls his eyes when he hears Chuck’s teasing, exaggerated gag from beside him.

“..Love you.” He’s asleep. Thomas smiles gently, wondering what kind of dream he must be having, to confess something like that. “...Tommy.”

Thomas’s eyes widen. And then he looks over at Chuck, just to make sure he hadn’t just hallucinated. Did hallucinations count when it was audio? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Because judging by Chuck’s shocked (and very smug) expression, that had been reality.

“Well,” Thomas says, still recovering from his shock. “What do I do with this?”

Chuck laughs at him. Thomas doesn’t really mind.

Sleep comes a little easier that night. And if that was because of the blond boy sleeping on top of him, breath hot against his neck, well, that was nobody’s business.

Chapter Text

Tom.

He wasn’t quite awake yet, but he wasn’t asleep, either. So why was he dreaming? Maybe he wasn’t? But then there was no logical explanation for this. For that girl to be talking in his head.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes, focusing on the grass in front of him in an effort to fully awaken. He feels very light. Lighter than he had when he’d fallen asleep. He looks to his left- Newt’s gone. He feels a jab of disappointment at that, but tries to ignore it.

Chuck is still on his right, just as asleep as Thomas’s arm is, now that the kid’s been laying on it all night.

Tom, I just triggered the ending.

There it was again. So he wasn’t crazy. He couldn’t be. And what did she mean “the ending”? And why him? Out of all the boys in the Glade, why was Thomas the only one that could hear her?

“You’re up,” Minho says. “Finally. We were gonna be late.” He sighs. “Gotta stick to routine, even at a time like this. Newt’s orders. We can’t afford to freak out.”

Thomas frowns pointedly, sitting up straighter. It’s a little dark in here. Darker than it usually is, anyway. Normally he wouldn’t be able to look up at Minho this early in the morning, but he has no problem with it today.

“A time like what?” He asks groggily. “What’s going on?”

Minho gestures at the disarray the Glade is in. How had Thomas not realized how badly everyone around him was panicking? Minho then points at the sky. Thomas looks up, following the gesture. That’s when he understands.

There is no sky. It’s just a blank, gray, concrete ceiling.

The sky has literally disappeared on them. What do they do with that?

I just triggered the ending. The words ring through his head like an alarm. Is that what she’d meant? Had that girl, comatose as she is, managed to do something like this?

Thomas pulls himself to his feet. He gets ready quickly, which proves to be quite difficult, given the utter chaos the Glade has dispersed into. People are calming down, bit by bit. Seeing most of the elder Gladers acting so calmly is definitely helping everyone else fall back into routine.

He should feel scared. Terrified, even. But all Thomas feels is excited. Anticipation. What’s going to happen next, and how can he play a part in it? How can he help fix it? And, most importantly, how is this playing a role in their way out?

“S’pose you’ve noticed our bloody armageddon, yeah?”

Thomas turns around, stomach twisting with a different kind of anxiety when he comes face to face with the blond. Newt’s standing barely half a foot away from him, his composure clean and well-kept. As always. He must have practice in faking things while everything’s unraveling, because he’s doing one hell of a job of it now.

Thomas feels weird talking to him like nothing happened. But, really, did anything happen? Newt’s totally unaffected. He’d been asleep. He didn’t even know what he’d accidentally confessed the night prior. Thomas can’t act weird about that. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

“So, do you think the sky’s gonna come back?” Thomas asks. “And, also, if there was no sun, how did the plants grow?”

Newt stares at him blankly for a moment before bursting into laughter. It’s not sharp or harsh like it usually is, when it’s forced. It’s genuine. Thomas is happy about that. Newt had seemed like he could really use a laugh like that.

“Oh, I shouldn’t be surprised,” he says, straightening up. “You never waste any time being scared, do ya? Straight to the logic.”

Thomas shrugs. “Well, I want to help,” he says. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not unless you can bring the sky back,” Newt says grimly, lips pursed into a thin line as he takes in the chaos of the Glade around them.

Minho claps him on the back as he jogs past, stopping abruptly. Thomas stares at him, waiting for him to say something. But he just stands there. Like Newt, he’s keeping his composure well. But Thomas can see the worry gleaming behind his eyes. And Newt’s, too, really. This was just another thing they had to worry about. And they had enough already to stress over.

Tom, I just triggered the ending.

Thomas wants to tell them about what the girl had said. But they’d think he’s lost it. That’s the conclusion Newt had drawn when he’d tried to explain it before. So he’ll keep that to himself until someone asks for his input. Maybe that means that the girl’s going to wake up soon. Maybe she’ll have all the answers they need.

“Well, Thomas,” Minho says, “I might have to push you into the Griever Hole today to see what happens. We clearly don’t have as much time as we thought we did.”

Thomas forces a smile. “That’s really kind of you to let me have the honors,” he says sarcastically, positioning his eye roll so only Newt sees it.

The blond laughs, but it’s a little more forced than before.

“Don’t die out there,” Newt says, winking at Minho. It’s their thing. That’s what Thomas has deduced, anyway.

But then he smiles at Thomas, and he can tell that he actually means it. That he’s more worried about them during the day than he lets on.

Minho laughs. “Don’t you die, either,” he says. Again. It’s their thing. It’s kind of weird, but Thomas decides not to ask. It was routine for them. It was special.

“Alright,” Newt says finally. “Get your shuck asses out there and run.”

“On it,” Minho says with an exaggerated salute.

He grabs Thomas’s wrist and bolts in the other direction, giving Thomas no opportunity to prepare himself to chase after him. He doesn’t face plant, though. Which is good, because he wasn’t looking forward to making a fool of himself in front of his crush who might just be the love of his life.

“Let’s find this way out, then,” Thomas says, acting as though his stumble was totally on purpose.

He hears Newt laughing behind him. Genuine again. That just eggs him on.

~~

“You’re not actually going to throw me in there, are you?” Thomas asks, peering down into the Griever Hole. “‘Cause I dunno how I’ll be able to confess my undying love if I do.”

“Your undying love,” Minho repeats. Thomas isn’t facing him, but he can hear the smirk on his face. “And whomever is that for, I wonder.”

Thomas looks back and glares at him. “You’re so funny,” he says. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“Is it the guy you cuddled with all night, or is it the girl you continually insist is talking to you inside your head?” Minho asks teasingly, tossing a rock at him. It hits him in the knee. Maybe Newt isn’t the only one that breaks knees.

Thomas rolls his eyes. “You’re going to hate the fact that she was talking in my head again today, then,” he says. “She said she “triggered the ending”. And then the sky turns off. Not exactly a coincidence.” He pauses. “Don’t tell Newt, though. He’ll think I lost it.”

“And you expect me to tell you that I think differently?” Minho prompts, cocking an eyebrow and crossing his arms. “Also, seriously? Talking about a girl when I know my best friend is into you? Not cool, dude.”

Thomas raises his hands in surrender. “Listen,” he says. “I don’t like the girl, I’m just freaked out by her telepathy, or whatever. Newt? I really like him. I feel like maybe I was into him before the Maze. Or dated him or something. And he said that he loved me in his sleep last night.”

Minho raises both of his eyebrows in a “and you love him?” kind of gesture. Thomas hesitates, and then he nods a little reluctantly. Not that he’s questioning the love thing, but he isn’t sure if telling Minho, who is one hundred percent going to make fun of him about it, is the right call.

“Dude,” Minho says finally. “How did it take you this long to put two and two together? That’s not even cool, man! You’ve been stringing him along! You’d better kiss him the second we get back!”

Thomas raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, um, actually not going to do that one,” he says tersely. “Thanks for the suggestion, though.”

“He’d like it,” Minho assures him. “Definitely needs that kinda attention, if you know what I’m saying. We’d all benefit from him not being so uptight.”

Thomas shoots him a glare. “If the next words that come out of your mouth are ‘loosen him up’, I’m going to throw you into the Griever Hole.”

Minho raises his hands in surrender. Thomas hears him utter “well, I won’t say it” before continuing to throw rocks and food crumbs at the Griever Hole to test its limits.

They’d moved on to random things they found along the Maze, just in case only certain things would disappear. So far, it had been taking everything they threw at it. That was a good sign. Thomas wasn’t exactly confident enough to jump in just yet, but he was sure that eventually he’d work up the nerve to test that, too.

“He does love you, by the way,” Minho says eventually, breaking the too-quiet silence. “Newt. He’s just scared to let you in. There’s a lot about him that you don’t know, that he doesn’t want you to know. Lots he’s really scared that you’ll find out. So just… y’know, don’t push him. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

Thomas doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, but he figures he can guess. At least a little bit. He can only assume that it has to do with mental illness. But he’s not going to push. The last thing he wants is to upset Newt.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’d never want to hurt him.”

“Good.”

Thomas stares at the Griever Hole absently. He wondered how chaotic the Glade was right now. How bad things were getting. They'd already been bad, and surely now they were getting worse. How much more could the Gladers withstand? 

"You think Gally will blame the sky turning off on me?" Thomas asks instead of voicing any of his legitimate concerns.

Minho shrugs. "'Course he will."

"Wow. No hesitation there."

"Nope," Minho continues. "It's Gally. Heard him blamin' you on the hole in his shoe yesterday. As far as he's concerned, you're at fault for everything that's ever happened ever."

Thomas tilts his head to the side in consideration. Yeah, that sounds about right. Gally loves to blame him for things. Maybe Thomas should throw everyone in for a loop and blame Gally for the sky turning off. See how Gally likes that. 

"So, if there's no sky, does that mean we're underground?" Thomas asks, moving on to the more pressing question.

Minho stares at him for a minute before laughing.

"All questions, aren't ya?"

"I've been told that once or twice."

"Just today, or over all?"

"...The first one."

Chapter Text

“Listen, I know we thought she was dead,” Jeff says, “but she’s definitely going to wake up, and I think you and Alby should be there when she does.”

Newt frowns pointedly. “Me?” He repeats. “Alby, I get. He’s the leader ‘round here. But me? What’ve I got to offer?”

“Well, you make people a lot more… comfortable than Alby does,” Jeff says. “And, y’know, she’s a girl, so I thought… maybe you could… relate a little better to her… hygienic…questions…”

Newt rolls his eyes, elbowing him in the ribs. “Could ya be any more awkward ‘bout this, mate?” He asks. Jeff just blinks at him. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Someone get Tommy in here too, when he gets back. I think he’s pretty important in all o’ this.”

“Okay,” Jeff says, happy for the subject change. “I’ll send Chuck to bring him in. No biggie. Can you…?”

“Yeah,” Newt says, “yeah. I’ll go get Alby, and we’ll go wait. Don’t you worry.”

Jeff shoots him and thumbs up and rushes off to find Chuck. Newt follows after him. Where did Alby even hang around these days? He was such a loose canon now. Hard to predict. But Newt finds him pretty quickly anyway.

“Hey,” Alby says, looking up at him in recognition. “What do you need?”

“Jeff wants us there when the girl wakes up,” Newt says, wasting no time on pleasantries. Alby seems big on them now, even though he’d always skipped them before. Someone has to upkeep that tradition. “And apparently that could be any minute.”

Alby cocks an eyebrow. “And not Thomas?” He asks. “You’d think he’d be all over that. Always saw him and the girl together. Durin’ the Changing.”

“Not here yet,” Newt says. “Still in the Maze. Gonna send for him when he gets back.”

Alby nods, and follows him back to the Homestead. That’s another new one. Newt never led the way when it was him and Alby. Never. And now it was always like that.

“She’s on the verge of waking up,” Newt says, gesturing to the girl. Her fingers are twitching, her facial muscles constricting and tensing. Her jaw’s clenched. “Could be any second now.”

Alby just nods again. Maybe this was the real reason Jeff wanted him here. Sure, the other stuff, too, but Alby… Alby just wasn’t what he used to be anymore.

The girl’s eyes shoot open. She’s too weak now to move around completely, but she cranes her head to look at them, eyes filled with fear and skepticism.

“Who are you?” She croaks. “Where am I? Why can’t I remember who I am?”

Newt’s eyes widen. He hadn’t expecting this to be this immediate. He’d hoped he’d have a little time to prepare some sort of speech before she woke up.

“Why don’t we start with the basics?” He offers, trying for a comforting smile. “I’m Newt, this is Alby. What’s your name?”

“...Teresa,” she manages. “My name is Teresa.”

Her gaze hardens a little bit. She’s not as wary of them -of Newt, at least- but she still looks like if she had the motor ability, she’d bolt out of the room as fast as she could. Newt looks over at Alby, silently asking if he wants to take the reins. He shakes his head, gesturing towards Newt again. The message is clear. You should take this one.

“Well, it’s right lovely to meet you, Teresa,” Newt says hesitantly. “Welcome to the Glade.”

Teresa doesn’t look pleased with the greeting, but she doesn’t ask for an elaboration, either. She just stares at the both of them, trying to figure them out. Newt launches into the explanation unprompted, trying to be as gentle as he possibly can. It’s probably not easy to take all of this in, especially after being in a coma for days on end.

“So I’m trapped here,” Teresa says. It’s not really disheartened or upset. It’s just a statement of fact. Not at all how Newt had expected her to react.

Newt nods. “Would you like a moment alone?” He offers. “To, yunno, process?”

“Sure,” Teresa says, nodding affirmatively. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

Newt stands up, tapping Alby’s shoulder as he passes him. The leader follows him out. Again. Following. Alby never followed. That bugged Newt more than it probably should.

~~

They weren’t exactly far. They were standing just outside the Homestead, leaning against the wall. Just in case something happened. Maybe Teresa would end up having a breakdown, or something. Who knew.

Thomas and Minho weren’t back yet. Newt was sure they’d get home soon, though, considering they weren’t even really running the Maze anymore. They’d be back soon, no doubt.

But then Teresa darts past them. She was fast- impressively so, seeing as she’d just woken up from a coma. Newt reaches out and catches her shoulder to stop her. This didn’t look so good. And, y’know, she was running towards the Maze, which was only a fun bonus.

Teresa stops abruptly and turns to glare at him. “What are you doing?” She demands.

“What are you doing?” Newt presses. “You can’t go out in the Maze. Especially not right now. Doors’ll be closing soon, and you’re not a Runner.”

Teresa frowns pointedly, shaking Newt’s hand off her shoulder. She’s not going to bolt, though, so that’s a good sign. Hopefully.

“I need to see T-”

“There you are!” Jeff exclaims, rushing out of the Homestead, panting. “It was like- one second you were there, and the next you… you were gone!”

He takes a few steps closer, trying to catch his breath. There was only one way in and out of that room. How had Jeff possibly managed to lose her?

Teresa just stares at him blankly, like she’s unimpressed with his explanation. “You forgot the part where I kicked you in the groin and ran,” she says simply, crossing her arms and leaning into her right hip.

Newt’s eyes widen. He looks from Teresa, and then back to Jeff, who’s flushed as red as a tomato now. He almost laughs, but he manages to keep his composure. “Congrats,” he manages. “You’re officially the first bloke here to get their ass kicked by a girl that just came out of a coma.” Seriously, though- how did she get all of her strength back so quickly? Newt wasn’t exactly an expert on comas, but he was pretty sure they didn’t normally work like that.

Teresa doesn’t skip a beat as she turns to look at him. “You can be next, if you want.”

Newt catches Alby’s eye. The older boy shakes his head in disapproval. Newt looks back at Teresa, pretending to have not seen him. “As much as I’d love to see you attempt that, we’re on a bit of a time crunch.”

“What? You think I can’t do it?”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m saying,” Newt says quickly. “I’m sure you’re very capable, it’s just…” his voice trails off. Alby shakes his head a little firmer this time. “A little impossible.”

Teresa looks him up and down, a little puzzled. Her gaze softens a little bit after awhile. She manages a small smile. “I think I get what you’re saying,” she says. “But I’m not gonna say it out loud, in case… y’know, someone overhears.”

“What? It’s that obvious?”

“No,” Teresa says quickly. “Of course not.”

“Right,” Newt says. “Well,” he adds, changing the subject. “Lemme show you around, yeah? Since you’re obviously strong enough to be up and about?”

Teresa smiles. “Sure,” she says.

Newt leads her towards the Box. That’s where the tours start, right? Or maybe it’s at the Homestead? Whatever. He’ll figure it out. The order doesn’t really matter, does it?

“So, are you like, the leader around here?” Teresa asks.

Newt shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “That’s Alby. But he’s been… kinda passive since he got stung. Off, I s’pose. So takin’ care of everything’s on my shoulders now.”

Teresa nods slowly, looking around the Glade. Things aren’t as chaotic as they had been this morning, which is progress. But the sky is still gone, so there’s not a whole lot Newt can do to dissuade panic. At least there’s still a little bit of order being maintained.

“Well, I think you’re doing pretty good, given the circumstances,” she says. She doesn’t ask for any elaborations, probably assuming that they’ll come without asking questions. She’s like the polar opposite of Tommy.

Newt just shrugs. “Well, the buggin’ sky turned off this morning, so everyone’s a little nervous. Glad things aren’t as bloody chaotic as they were earlier.”

“So I’m really the only girl here?” Teresa prompts, sensing the grim change of mood.

Newt smiles at her, thankful for the subject chance. “You are,” he says tersely. “Hopefully no one tries anything…”

“I’ll just kick their asses,” Teresa says lightly, shrugging her shoulders.

Newt nods his approval at her plan. He didn’t think anyone would try something like that, but with a Glade full of teenage boys… you could never be too careful. That was another reason Newt was always as cautious as he could be when it came to guarding his secret.

“Where’s Thomas?” Teresa asks.

“He’s still- you remember him?” Newt presses, confused.

Sure, he’d felt an admittedly strong tug of familiarity when Thomas came up in the Box, but he didn’t remember his name like Teresa had. Was that a good thing? Or bad, maybe? Maybe Alby had been wrong, and he’d been with Teresa. And maybe Teresa still wanted him?

“I remember his name,” Teresa confesses. “Nothing else, though. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

Newt tilts his head from side to side. “Well, he’s got dark hair, and amber eyes, and tanned skin, and..uh, and he’s really quite sweet. He’s always tryin’ to help you out. Trusts too easy, but ya can’t fault someone for being trusting.”

“You like him!” Teresa exclaims, mouth agape. She’s grinning like she’s never heard anything better. This will not end well.

“I do not,” Newt says back, crossing his arms.

Teresa quirks an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on her face. “Really? Then why were you smiling like an idiot when you were talking about him?”

“‘Cause Tommy’s a nice guy.”

“And you’ve given him a nickname! You’re totally into him!”

“No I’m not!”

Teresa sighs, elbowing him in the ribs gently. “Yeah, we’ll work on your denial,” she says simply. Like it’s not even up for discussion. “‘Cause I’m willing to bet that Tom likes you, too.”

“Well, you’ve given him a nickname, too,” Newt says. “By your logic-”

“I do not like Tom,” Teresa assures him, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “I don’t even remember him. I can’t like someone if I can’t remember them. Trust me, he’s all yours.”

Newt quirks an eyebrow. “Just wait ‘till ya see him, then,” he says. “You’ll be singin’ a different tune once he gets back here.”

Teresa doesn’t look convinced. Newt doesn’t know how anyone can stand to not be attracted to someone like Thomas. Did they look at him close enough? Maybe that was the problem. Surely there should be more people clambering all over him. Though Newt’s really not complaining, if he’s the only one pining. No one to be jealous of, at least.

Maybe that would change when they got out of here. Maybe Thomas would meet someone else outside of the Maze. Newt didn’t want to think about that.

“So, that Alby guy,” Teresa says, changing the subject. “You said he… he’s kind of different now? More passive?” Newt nods. “What was he like before that? Everyone seems to… look up to him, I guess.”

Newt shrugs. His gaze follows Teresa’s, over to where Alby was telling Gally off for trying to start another riot. Minho had shut down the bigger ones, and most of his protesters had given up for fear of getting their asses handed to them. But Gally was still trying his best.

“He was the leader,” he manages. “Strong-willed, didn’t take klunk from anyone, mate. Dauntless and blunt. Lots of blokes ‘round here were scared of him, actually, but… not me. He saved my life, yunno,” he looks over at Teresa. He’s not going to say anything more about that, but it’s important to mention nonetheless. “He always took care of me. I owe a lot to him.”

Teresa’s gaze hasn’t left Alby the entire time Newt was speaking. Newt too saw the way the leader turned to look at him after dishing out Gally.

“He’s trying,” she says softly, “to be how he used to be.” Newt can see that, and he appreciates the gesture, really. It’s just… it’s too obvious of a farce to convince him that things could ever get better. “And he’s trying for you.”

Now that bit was new information. He’s trying for you. Why would Alby do that? Newt could obviously take care of the Glade- is that what Alby was worried about? That everything would fall apart? Or…

Maybe this was because of the fall. Christ, he’s been lying to people about it for so long that he’s convinced himself. This was because of his jump. Because Alby didn’t want to be the reason Newt tried again.

“He cares about you,” Teresa continues. “A lot. More than you realize, I think.” She’s finally taken her gaze away from the leader and focused it onto him. “He loves you, Newt. Maybe not in a romantic way, but he still loves you. He doesn’t want you to worry about him.”

Newt tears his gaze away from Teresa, focusing back on Alby. The leader shot him a reassuring smile before continuing his work. Just like he used to. His smiles always made Newt feel special, since Alby didn’t smile at anyone but him. Now they just made him feel longing.

Teresa takes a step closer to him. He can almost feel her breath on his ear. “‘Cause he and I both know you’re worrying about enough as it is.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Newt says.

He doesn’t touch on anything else because he’s not sure he can do so without breaking, and that’s not something he’s ready to do in front of anyone but Tommy. Teresa just sighs, keeping a little more distance between them. Newt releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“You shouldn’t have to do this by yourself,” she says simply. It’s not even an “I’m worried about you” kind of thing. It was just matter of fact. Sure, there was some sympathy laced within her words, but it was more of a statement than a pity. Newt liked that about her.

“I don’t do it by myself,” Newt says back. “You think I shut down Gally’s riots? That was all Minho. And Alby’s been helpin’ keep the peace, since I can’t make my rounds anymore.”

Teresa quirks an eyebrow. “And…Tom..?” She asks slyly, a smug grin appearing on her formerly nonchalant and slightly sympathetic expression. “He help you… relax?” She wiggles her eyebrows as she adds the last bit. Dear God, she’s just as bad as Minho.

“You did not,” Newt says.

“I did,” Teresa says back.

Newt rolls his eyes as he turns around to look back over at the East entrance. That’s where Thomas and Minho were supposed to come from today. Newt hoped they’d be back soon, but really, they might just decide to have another sleepover out there.

“You’re waiting for him to come back, aren’t you?” Teresa’s voice breaks his train of thought, snapping him back to reality. “My God, you’re adorable. You’re so in love. It’s so cute.”

Newt scoffs, crossing his arms. “I am not,” he says. “I’m just waiting for the both of them to get back here to give a report. ‘S got nothin’ to do with Tommy. Other than the words that come outta his mouth, I guess.”

“Are those words 'I love you'?” Teresa teases, elbowing him in the ribs.

Newt doesn’t say anything in response. He just stares at the Maze, almost willing Thomas to round that corner. He can’t exactly protest against what Teresa’s saying, anyway, since really, he wouldn’t be opposed to hearing those three words leave Tommy’s mouth.

“I swear,” Teresa says carefully, “if you two don’t end up together? I can’t. I just can’t.”

Newt looks over at her and smiles gently. He liked her. She was a lot cooler than he’d thought she’d turn out to be.

Chapter Text

“The girl’s awake, by the way,” Chuck says as he leaves the map room. “Newt asked me to grab you the second you got back, but I forgot.”

Thomas’s eyes widen in surprise. He looks over his shoulder at Minho, who was still drawing out their maps and writing notes about the Griever Hole. Thomas had wanted to help- really, he had, but Minho had insisted he go talk out his feelings with a certain blond Glader he might just be in love with.

“The girl,” Thomas repeats. “Like, the girl?”

Chuck frowns at him like he’s stupid. Okay, fair. He’d asked a stupid question. “Obviously,” he says. “She’s awesome, too, dude. She and Newt seem to be getting along really well. I don’t think they’ve been apart the whole day.” He shudders. “That’s a scary thought.”

Thomas feels a pang of jealousy when he hears that, though he’s not sure why. Is it that he’s jealous of the girl, or of Newt? Who exactly does he want to stay away from who, and since when had that become his decision?

Chuck points over towards the Homestead. Sure enough, Newt’s standing with the girl. They’re both laughing about something, and Newt’s laugh is real and genuine. It took Thomas days to get Newt to laugh like that. Yeah, okay, maybe he’s jealous of the girl.

Then he realizes why Chuck thought their friendship was so scary. They were both easily the scariest people in the Glade. Teaming up? Even scarier.

Thomas makes his way over to introduce himself, and maybe ask the girl a thing or two (and maybe warn her to stay away from Newt, once they were alone). Her eyes widen in surprise as he comes to stand barely half a foot away from them.

“Tom,” she says instantly.

Newt looks at her with his eyebrows raised. Thomas feels the same emotion. How had the girl known his name? And why had she already nicknamed him?

Thomas manages to smile tensely. “Um, you’re awake,” he says.

Newt looks between the two of them. He squeezes Thomas’s shoulder and mutters some half-assed excuse about going to check on Alby, and make sure Gally’s not planning any more riots. Thomas doesn’t believe a word of it. Especially when he sees the blond slip into the kitchen, probably to gossip with Frypan. He shouldn’t even be surprised when he sees Minho join them scarcely thirty seconds later.

“I’m Teresa,” the girl says. “I… I remember you.”

Thomas looks at her, frowning pointedly. “What do you mean?” He asks.

Sure, Teresa feels familiar to him, but he doesn’t outright remember anything about her. She looks much prettier awake than she did comatose. Not that that changes any of his current sentiments towards her. If anything, he’s apprehensive.

“Well, I don’t remember remember,” Teresa continues. “But you feel familiar. I recognize your face, and your name. I have no idea who you are, but somehow I managed to figure out where to find you.” She laughs quietly. “Would’ve run straight into the Maze if Newt hadn’t stopped me.”

“You two seem to be getting along,” Thomas says grumpily.

He hadn’t actually intended for that to slip out, but really, when has he ever had any impulse control whatsoever?

Teresa hesitates. She quirks an eyebrow, smiling playfully. “What?” She teases. “You jealous? Think I’m gonna steal Blondie away from you?”

“He’s not mine,” Thomas says defiantly, crossing his arms and sticking out his tongue at her like a child. “And anyway, you’re dancing around the point. You did something.” She stares at him, bewildered. “You’ve been talking in my head,” he offers. “Newt send me to the Medjacks ‘cause he thought I was crazy! It wasn’t cool!”

Teresa just grins as she registers what he’s talking about. So it had happened after all. Of course it had. He’d never lost it. He briefly considered rubbing the fact in Newt’s face, but decided to just do that to Minho, since he couldn’t even consider the idea of being anything but kind to the blond.

“Right,” she says. “Well, it got boring in that coma.”

“You said you triggered ‘the ending’,” Thomas prompts. “What does that mean? Are you the one that turned off the sky?”

Teresa looks almost taken aback by the accusation. It had been passive. Just a question, really. But she looks offended by the insinuation.

“I don’t remember,” she relents. “I don’t remember anything. I…I barely even remember talking to you, really. I just… I’d get flashes of memory, I guess.” She sighs, rolling her sleeve up her arm. “I wrote this out when nobody was looking. Figured it might be important.”

She shoved her arm in Thomas’s face, which he considered a little bit rude, but decided not to comment on it. It’s definitely not the worst first conversation he’s had with someone in this Glade, and that’s saying a whole lot. Inked in black, in big, bold letters across her arm is “WICKED is good”.

“What does that mean?” Thomas asks. He recognizes the name, the abbreviation. Of course he does. It’s on the beetleblades, and almost every wall in the Maze. WICKED. World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment Department. The Creators. Whatever you wanted to call them.

“I don’t know,” Teresa says. Thomas looks in her piercing blue eyes and finds no dishonesty. She’s telling the truth. “I guess… WICKED’s good? They’re who put us in here, right? Then they must have done this for a reason. I think we can…trust them?”

Thomas stares at the ground in front of him, mulling it over. WICKED is good. WICKED is good. WICKED is… good? He’s on the verge of something. A break through. He just can’t find the final piece that allows him to put it all together. It’s really very frustrating.

“You.”

Thomas hadn’t even noticed Alby approaching them, but now his gaze has hardened and fixed on Teresa.

“What the hell did you do?”

Teresa barely has the time to ask for clarification, for him to repeat, before Newt and Minho rush in to the rescue. Newt has a hand on Alby’s shoulder. Probably for comfort, consolation, but also to hold him back if he decides to lunge at Teresa.

The leader rests one hand on the small of the blond’s back. Thomas can’t even see it, and he doesn’t like it. How touchy feely they are. He has literally no claim, but he just can’t bear to witness it. To see anyone touch him in any way.

“What’s goin’ on?” Minho demands.

He looks upset. He probably is. Even Thomas knew better than to interrupt his gossiping sessions with Newt and Fry. They were basically his only solace. Actually, Thomas was pretty sure it was the only thing the Runner got actual joy from.

“It’s her fault,” Alby insists, turning away from Thomas and Teresa to look at Minho.

Newt’s biting his lip a little too hard, gaze switching between Alby and Teresa uncomfortably. He and Teresa were already good friends. He and Alby were best friends. Obviously he wouldn’t want to pick sides with this. His stare finally lands on Thomas. It doesn’t drift, doesn’t waver. Thomas finally catches the skepticism behind his stare. The distrust. Uncertainty and a hint of betrayal.

Thomas maintains the eye contact, hoping that that betrayal isn’t directed at him.

“I triggered the Ending,” Teresa confesses. “I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know how to stop it. I just… I just know I did.”

“What you did,” Newt says slowly, “is get us all killed, mate.”

Thomas finally realizes that Newt had never been staring at him in the first place, but rather over his shoulder. At the Maze.

Thomas wheels around. The Doors aren’t closed yet, but it’s not too late in the day. There’s still time. Thomas doesn’t understand why Newt and Alby are so worried about the Maze. Maybe it’s because of the sky. Everyone’s on their last nerve.

His confused gaze settles back on Newt, who understands it immediately.

“What time is it, Tommy?” He prompts.

Thomas checks his watch.

Oh.

The Doors should be closed by now. The doors should have closed half an hour ago, actually. And they’d been so caught up in everything else that they hadn’t even realized it.

They were all going to die.

Chapter Text

“What do we do?” Thomas asks quickly.

It’s only a matter of time before the Grievers make their way into the Glade, and they need to be prepared for that. They need to find some way to hold them off before everyone dies.

Alby’s gaze hardens. “First order of business,” he says, “is to take the girl to the Slammer, and keep her there before she does any more damage.”

He nods at Minho, who understands. Teresa looks like she’s ready to fight the Runner, but she catches Newt’s betrayed stare and complies, walking off with Minho. Shit, Newt’s good at guilt tripping people, and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“You can’t do that!” Thomas argues.

Teresa didn’t even know what she was doing. She couldn’t be held accountable for something she did while she was comatose. She didn’t have any control over it. And the Ending…. Only good things could come from something like that, right?

Alby frowns pointedly. “What? You wanna join her? You both little traitors?”

“She’s not…” his voice trails off as he looks at Newt for backup.

He and Teresa were friends. Surely he’d take their side. Wouldn’t he? He understood how unreasonable Alby’s orders were. But Newt doesn’t come to his aid. He doesn’t defend Teresa or insist that she was innocent. He just rests one hand on Thomas’s shoulder and smiles sadly.

“She’s prolly safer down there than we are up here,” he says. “C’mon, Tommy, let’s get everyone into the Homestead.”

Thomas shakes off his hand and backs away. Sure, Newt and Alby were really close. But that didn’t mean Newt should side with him when he was blatantly in the wrong. This wasn’t right. Teresa didn’t even really do anything. They didn’t know for a fact that this had anything to do with her.

Hurt flashes over Newt’s face before he recomposes. He stares at Thomas more distantly than he ever has, nods stiffly, and walks off. Thomas’s heart drops into his stomach, but he doesn’t even feel it. He can’t feel anything other than anger at the unfairness of Teresa’s situation.

Alby doesn’t say anything to him before following after Newt, but the disapproving glare he sends Thomas’s way does enough talking. Look what you did. Yeah, maybe Thomas made things even more messy than they needed to be, but Newt shouldn’t have sided with Alby when his demand was that unreasonable.

Thomas shakes his head as he goes off to find Chuck and help the other Keepers prepare for a Griever attack.

Maybe Newt was a little right. At least Teresa would be safe from the Grievers behind bars. Unless those Grievers were stronger than the bars were.

Thomas reconvened with Minho inside. There hadn’t been a Griever attack yet, but really, it was only a matter of time.

The Runner shot him a look almost instantly, and Thomas knew immediately that it was about Newt. You hurt him. Yeah, well, Newt had hurt him first.

“If we survive tonight,” Minho says as he and Thomas help some of the Builders board up the windows and doors, “you’re going to apologize to him. You’re going to make sure he knows you love him, because I don’t think…” his voice trails off. “I don’t think he can lose anyone else.”

Thomas doesn’t say anything to that. “I know,” he says. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have done that. I was… I was upset, okay?”

“So was he.”

Thomas sighs. “I know. I know.” He runs a hand through his hair nervously. “He’s just trying to do what’s right. I can’t expect him to take my side just ‘cause I love him.”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Yeah, say klunk like that when you’re apologizing. You’ll butter him up real nice. You should prolly kiss him, too. Right now. Do it.”

“He’d hit me,” Thomas says. And it’s totally true.

Besides, maybe Thomas is still feeling a little spiteful about how he and Alby had totally screwed over Teresa. Surely Newt understood how unfair locking her up was. But could he really fault the blond for siding with Alby for the same reason he wanted Newt to side with him?

“Probably,” Minho says, shrugging, “but he’ll hit you either way. Best to get it over with, if you know what I mean.”

“I’d rather not be publicly humiliated, actually.”

“Everyone’s had their asses handed to ‘em by Newt. No shame in that.”

“Probably a little shame.”

“Nah. If you’re not at least a little scared of Newt, you’re a psychopath. That’s just the facts. Is what it is,” Minho says nonchalantly. “You could ask any shank in here if they’re scared of him, and they’ll say yes without hesitation, Greenie.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows but doesn’t continue the conversation. He should be worried about how screwed his shot with Newt is now, but all he can focus on is Teresa. Is she scared? What if something happens to her? Thomas wouldn’t even know until it was too late. They shouldn’t have locked her up. Thomas is standing by that. It wasn’t right for Alby to make that call, and it wasn’t right for Newt to have backed him up. Why couldn’t they see that? Why couldn’t anyone see that Thomas was in the right here?

“Things are gonna get messy tonight,” Minho says quietly. “That’s all I’m saying. We don’t know what’s gonna happen. None of us do. Do you really want your last interaction with him to be a fight?”

Thomas frowns pointedly, turning to look at his friend, bewildered. “What? You think one of us is going to die tonight!?”

“Newt’s smart enough to keep himself alive,” Minho says blankly. “It’s you I’m worried about.” He shrugs. “And, y’know, I wouldn’t want to take my chances. But if you want to die with Newt thinking you hate him, be my guest. I’ll do nothing to dissuade his thoughts.”

“Thanks,” Thomas says sarcastically.

“Just go talk to him,” Minho says. Thomas hadn’t realized that that statement alone was what Minho had been building up to this entire time. “Seriously. He’s really stressed out. He needs a little cuddling. Who else would do that?”

“Why don’t you go cuddle him, then?”

“He’s not in love with me, is he?” Pause. “He’s break my knees, dude. I kind of need those to continue living.”

“Well, thanks for caring about my knees!”

“...Seriously? It’s a code shuckin’ red, and you two are talking about knees?”

Minho bursts out laughing as Alby catches the very last half of Thomas’s statement. The leader doesn’t look amused by their slacking. Thomas finds he doesn’t particularly care. Thomas isn’t amused by Alby’s decisions surrounding Teresa. Call it even.

“We’re talking about Newt, actually,” Minho says matter of factly.

Alby pauses, and then he nods slowly. “Ah. Makes sense, then.”

Thomas wondered if this whole thing about Newt breaking knees was a mutual joke, or if he’d actually broken someone’s knees before. He decides he doesn’t want to find out.

“What’s the plan?” Minho asks, changing the subject. “How are we doing this?”

“Well, I guess we’re trying not to die.”

Minho nods solemnly, like Alby had just proposed a convincing argument, rather than the stupidest statement Thomas has ever heard. And that was saying a lot.

“Ah. The usual code red plan, then. I see you stick to the classics.”

“Hasn’t failed us yet.”

“Good thinking.”

“You’re not bloody serious.”

“Newtie!” Minho exclaims. Newt does not look pleased by the nickname. “Just the guy I wanted to see. Look, Tom-boy here has a very serious thing to say to you. It starts with ‘I love’ and ends with-”

Thomas’s eyes widen. He clamps a hand over Minho’s mouth to silence him before he can finish the confession. Newt doesn’t even look amused like he usually would. Just looks tired. Strained. Exasperated. Done.

“Listen, Tommy, I really don’t have time for… whatever prank you’re tryna pull, okay?” He says wearily. “I get it. You and Teresa. That’s real bloody fantastic, yeah? You don’t… don’t lead me on. Just tell me you don’t see me that way and be done with it.”

Thomas feels his heart drop into his stomach. Him and Teresa? What? There was no way Newt really thought that… oh. Well, okay. Maybe it totally definitely looked that way to anyone that saw them talking. Anyone with eyes and ears. To anyone in the Glade, really.

“Newt, that’s-” Alby shoots him a warning look. “I’m not trying to lead you on,” Thomas says, risking having his ass kicked by the leader. “Seriously. I don’t like Teresa. Not like that. I promise. I wanna be with you.”

Newt’s eyes widen. “You don’t mean that,” he says instantly. “You wouldn’t- not if you knew- you… you don’t mean that. You can’t mean that.”

He sounds like he’s desperate for Thomas to admit that this was all a prank. Maybe Thomas had totally misread everything Newt had said to him. Totally misunderstood everything that had happened between them. Maybe Newt didn’t love him after all.

“I do mean it,” Thomas insists. “I’m… I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

Newt shakes his head. “You can’t. You can’t say things like that. You just… Tommy, you can’t. Okay? I… we… you don’t wanna be with me. I promise.”

“Newt, I…”

But Newt had already rushed away, hands on his face. He almost crashes into a wall. Thomas makes to go help him. To explain better, to start a serious conversation about their feelings. But Alby beats him to it. And with a warning glare from the older boy, Thomas backs off and goes to help Minho prepare everything for the Griever attack instead.

“I tried,” Thomas says sadly.

Minho nods. “You did,” he agrees.

“I failed,” Thomas adds miserably.

Minho tilts his head to the side as he hammers another board into place over a hole in the wall. Thomas wonders if the Gladers are regretting the structural integrity of this place now.

“I wouldn’t say failed,” Minho says. “It’s just the first step. Newt knows how you feel. And he feels the same. He just needs to process everything. Figure stuff out.”

“You said he loved me,” Thomas says.

“He does love you,” Minho says. “He really, really does. He’s just got a lot of other stuff going on. Stuff he has to think about. Stuff he isn’t sure he’s ready to tell you. And he doesn’t think he can have a relationship with you without telling you some of it.”

“He ran away,” Thomas points out. “And I’m pretty sure he was crying.”

“That was a pretty intense way to confess. I’d run off like that too, if the guy I loved sent me on an emotional rollercoaster like you did.”

Yeah, that was a pretty good point. Everything about the situation had been complicated. Thomas should have eased into it, obviously, but given what Newt had said, what Newt had thought…. Had he really had any other option?

“Don’t be slackin’, Greenie!” Gally shouts at him. “Won’t be any use to your little girlfriend if you’re dead!”

Thomas groans, not even turning around to face the Builder. “God, I hate him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s saved our asses a handful of times,” Minho says. Thomas had been expecting Minho to agree with him. He had not been expecting this. “He’s saved Newt a handful of times.”

“He’s still an asshole.”

“Sure,” Minho agrees. “Can’t argue with ya there. I’m just sayin’ there’s more to him than you’re willin’ to realize.”

“He’s a psychopath.”

“Sure. But he’s still just tryna do what’s best for the Glade,” Minho says. “Just ain’t goin’ about it in the best way, is all.”

Thomas sighs. “I don’t like him.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Thomas just rolls his eyes and gets back to work before Gally can shout at him again. The last thing he needs is more attention drawn to him. There’s only one person’s attention he wants right now, and he’s sure as hell not going to get it.

He feels his heart drop into his stomach as everyone’s chatter cuts off. As the all too familiar metallic screeching fills his ears.

They’re here.

Chapter Text

“He said he loves me,” Newt manages.

He’s sitting in the corner of a remotely empty room, curled into a ball with his hands over his face. Crying over this is stupid. Pointless. Definitely not the thing he should be crying about right now, if he were to cry about anything.

Alby nods, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. “He does love you,” the leader says stiffly. He’s obviously still a little apprehensive about the whole ordeal, but Newt appreciates the support. The honesty. Or what he hoped was honesty, anyway.

“He won’t when he finds out.”

“‘Bout what?”

“‘Bout everything.”

Alby brings him into a sideways hug. It’s foreign and a little awkward and nowhere near as comforting as Tommy’s hugs were. That thought just made him feel even worse about everything.

“When you love someone as much as Thomas loves you, nothing else matters,” Alby says matter of factly. “Nothing is ever going to change how much he loves you, for better or worse. You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to, but I know for a fact that you could confess a murder to him, and he’d kiss you and say it wasn’t your fault.”

Newt glares at the ground like it’s at fault for all of his problems. “He said he loved me and I ran away from him.”

“You could always go back.”

Newt shakes his head. “Not yet. I… I can’t. Not yet. I’m not ready to talk to him about this. We haven’t got time for somethin’ like that with all this goin’ on.”

“Talkin’s hard,” Alby agrees. “But you and I both know you’d rather be gettin’ hugged by Thomas instead of me. So face it. Talk it out. Ya don’t have to do anythin’ ‘bout it yet, but at least let him know you feel the same. Keep things the way they are, at the very least.”

“Right. I will.” Newt pushes up to his feet. “Lemme just-”

He cuts himself off when he hears the unmistakable screeching. He recognizes it instantly, even though it must’ve been a year and a half since he last heard it. A Griever. So now it starts. The beginning of the end.

“We’d better handle this,” Alby says, getting up instantly.

So much for dealing with the Tommy situation, then. Newt doesn’t say that, though. Because finally (finally) Alby’s acting like a leader again. Taking control. And Newt doesn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize that.

So he follows Alby around instead, echoing his orders so everyone hears them. Despite taking Alby’s side earlier, he had to worry about Teresa. He did think that her odds were better than theirs, but Thomas had had the right to protest.

Newt had just thought… well, maybe making a big decision like that would make Alby go back to normal. And maybe that was selfish. No, that was definitely selfish. He shouldn’t potentially endanger someone because it might have a positive effect on someone he cares about. It’s not right. It’s definitely not fair.

“This is all the Greenie’s fault! You can’t seriously think I’m still overreacting!?”

Ah, of course. There was Gally, continuing his protest like this wasn’t an extreme life or death situation. Newt and Alby were trying to keep it under wraps, of course they were, but there were only so many lies they could tell before everyone figured it out.

Newt was certain that even Chuck had discovered the real gravity of the situation. He’d have to check up on him later tonight, if Thomas didn’t beat him to it.

“Hey,” Minho says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of Gally. You focus on keeping everyone safe, okay?”

Newt turns around to face him. “‘S not really Gally I’m worried about,” he says. “It’s alright, yeah? You keep an eye out. I’ll deal with Gally. You did it last time, and it didn’t go over very well.”

“Newt, you don’t have to deal with his klunk right now,” Minho protests. “You shouldn’t have to. Let me help you.”

“You can help me by keepin’ everyone alive,” Newt says lamely. “Lemme deal with Gally, yeah? I can take care of it. ‘S prolly better if I do it myself.”

Minho doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and goes off to watch out the boarded windows for a sight of any Griever. They’d heard one earlier, coming into the Glade. It was only a matter of time before it caught sight of the Homestead and tried to attack.

Newt spots Thomas over there with him. He’s stressing over his abrupt confession. Newt vaguely hears Minho telling him to shut up about it, saying that it’s not the time to stress over something that trivial and to get back to work. Newt doesn’t bother intruding on that conversation. He can’t talk to Tommy until they have the time to talk properly. Which obviously isn’t now. Especially not with Gally’s damned riots.

“You,” he snaps, pointing at Gally and then at his feet. “Here. Now.”

Gally hesitates for a moment before swallowing his pride and obeying the command. Resisting would have only made things more difficult.

“If you don’t stop with your bloody protestin’, it’ll be your knees next,” Newt snaps.

He’s not exactly pleased that that’s become more of a running joke, given the background, but it makes it easier to scare people. What had that guy’s name been, anyway? Will, maybe? Newt didn’t remember. He just knew the guy tried to grope him, and the rest was history. The knee breaking was all people remembered now, anyway.

“I know you’re blinded by love, or whatever, but can’t you see how Thomas is behind this!?” Gally demands, taking a nervous step back but keeping his angry composure nonetheless.

Newt crosses his arms, leaning into one hip. “No, actually, I can’t,” he says sharply. “Perhaps you can explain to me how in the bloody hell this is Tommy’s fault? He’s done absolutely nothin’ to warrant your suspicion.”

“I saw him, Newt, I-”

“Don’t,” Newt cuts him off, warning evident in his tone. “Don’t even think ‘bout usin’ that buggin’ argument again. You saw him. Yeah, mate, I see him every day, and he hasn’t done a thing to make me question his loyalties.”

“Newt, you don’t-”

“If you tell me that I don’t understand,” Newt says coolly, “I will break your knees.” He pauses. “Listen, mate, what you don’t understand is how bloody good of a person he is. You say I’ve been blinded by love, sure, but you’re blinded by distrust. The only reason you don’t trust him is ‘cause you don’t wanna.

"Every day, he’s been by my side. Lookin’ after me when no one else did. Givin’ me the information none of ya even thought about givin’.” He sighs. “Tommy’s done everything he can to find a way out. This isn’t his fault. No matter what happens, this will never be his fault.”

Newt wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping to achieve here. Maybe Gally would finally come to his senses and realize how much he’d been overreacting. But he didn’t. His gaze just hardened and he scoffed at the blond.

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself, Blondie?”

Newt swallows thickly. Of course he wouldn’t see things properly. Clearly. This wasn’t Thomas's fault. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. If he was behind this, why would he erase his own memories and send himself in here?

Cause Newt was absolutely positive that Thomas wasn’t lying about amnesia. There wasn’t a trace of dishonesty in those amber eyes. But if that was his argument for Tommy, shouldn’t it be the same for Teresa? Well, obviously Newt didn’t want to think that Teresa was behind this, but what other choice did he have? She’d obviously done something. She’d confessed to that much. But maybe… maybe she was just in the dark about whatever she’d done as the rest of them. If she’d done something before, then, just as Thomas had, she’d be exuded of blame. Who she’d been before doesn’t reflect who she is now, if she’s lost all memory of the person she used to be. Just like Tommy.

That was his argument, weak as it may be.

Tommy and Teresa were trying to help. It didn’t matter who they were before, who they’d been when Alby and Gally and Ben had seen them during the Changing. But that’s not the argument Newt gives the dark haired boy. No.

“I love him,” Newt says shakily. “And that kind of trust isn’t something I give out easily.”

Gally opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a Griever.

A Griever.

It breaks through the window, grabs the Builder with its long, unforgettable metal appendages, and backs off. The sounds of Grievers flood through their ears. It’s all they could hear for a moment. Two.

And then everything goes quiet.

They’re gone.

And Newt stands there, completely frozen.

Chapter Text

Thomas watched them argue from the hallway.

He didn’t want to intrude. Minho had made it very clear that Newt had made it even clearer that he wanted to handle this himself. Minho said it was because everything was changing, and he wanted to feel like he could at least control this one thing. And Thomas understood that.

But he still kept watching from a distance, just in case something happened. Just in case Newt needed help.

But when the time came, when warning was necessary, Thomas couldn’t find his voice. Couldn’t bring himself to shout out. That Griever was getting in. It was going to take someone, and that someone was going to be Gally. The positioning was just too perfect. And as selfish as he may be, he feared that calling out would have them move, and he’d much rather Gally be taken than Newt.

Which wasn’t right. He should have warned them. Shouted.

Even if he had, there wouldn’t have been time before the Griever broke in through the window, wrapped its mechanical arms around Gally, and left.

Thomas hadn’t been expecting all of the other metal slugs to follow it. To just abandon their attack. But they had.

“I guess they’re only taking one a night,” Minho says breathlessly, eyes wide. He was probably feeling just as conflicted as Thomas was. After all, Minho was capable of shouting out a warning, too, and he hadn’t done it, either.

“One Glader?” Thomas prompts. “You mean it’s picking us off, one by one?”

Minho somehow has it in himself to nod. Thomas exhales shakily, trying to take in the damage from where he stood.

Chuck was alright. He looked shaken, since he’d watched everything go down, but physically, the kid was just fine. Which was good. That’s why Thomas had made him stay in that corner in the first place. Chuck wasn’t what was worrying him, no. It was the fact that five minutes had passed, and Newt was still standing there in shock, his whole body trembling.

Thomas is probably the last person he wants to talk to right now. At least Thomas has the ability to acknowledge the fact. But nobody’s gone over to check on him. He’s been standing there six minutes now. And nobody’s spared him a second glance.

Thomas was sure Minho or Alby would have, had they not been busy trying to keep everything under control. So it was up to Thomas.

He puts a hand on the blond’s shoulder before he can stop himself. Before he can see the logic in why he shouldn’t touch him.

Newt wheels around on him, eyes blown wide. He’s biting his lip so hard that blood has bubbled up around his teeth. His eyes are glassy, his clenched fists are trembling. He doesn’t look particularly thrilled to see Thomas standing there, but he doesn’t seem mad about it, either.

“...Tommy?”

Thomas smiles weakly. “Hey,” he says. “You… uh… you stable?” He can’t exactly ask if he’s okay, can he? Newt’s obviously not okay. How could he be? How could any of them be?

“...I guess.” Newt takes a half step closer to him. Thomas tries to think nothing of it. “Um, I’m sorry I ran off. I just…”

“It’s okay,” Thomas says instantly. “Seriously. I get it. I shouldn’t have sprung all of that on you like that. Especially right now. I just… I didn’t want you to think that I… that I wasn’t into you.”

Newt’s hand catches his wrist, holding it in place on the blond’s shoulder. Thomas feels the hot slick blood on the palm of the older boy’s hand- he’d been digging his nails into his palms so hard that he’d drawn blood.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” Newt says quietly. “I… you get that, right? With everything goin’ on…”

“I know,” Thomas says softly. “I know. I get it. I’m not even going to ask you to respond to what I said. I’m not gonna bring it up again until we get out of here. Just… just know that I love you, okay? That’s something that will never change.”

The blond smiles sadly. He nods, pressing their foreheads together. “I was mad at him, but I…” his voice trails off again. “I didn’t want him to die.”

“It’s okay,” Thomas says softly. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done to save him.”

“I was right there.”

“I know!” Thomas says a little too loudly. He’s sure he’s drawn some attention to them, but he’s not breaking his gaze away from the eye contact. “I know. You were so close… and.. and it could have been you. I was so worried, you have no idea…”

Newt looks at him, staring up into his eyes with so much concentration that Thomas almost feels self conscious. “Tommy…” The blond’s free hand comes to rest on Thomas’s bicep. “I’m so sorry.”

Thomas shakes his head, inherently moving Newt’s, as well. “No. No. This is about you. Your friend just got grabbed by a Griever. I’m supposed to be checking on you.”

“We can both be not okay, y’know,” Newt says quietly. “At the same time. You don’t hafta pretend you’re alright just ‘cause I’m not.”

Thomas smiles gently, finally pulling away. He doesn’t want to, but.. But it’s for the best. “You’re one to talk,” he says sarcastically.

“Yeah, whatever.”

~~

“So,” Minho says lightly, packing food into his bag for the day. Newt had insisted that they continue their normal routine, even if Thomas thought it’d be better to stay in the Glade and help out with recon. Whatever. They were close, weren’t they? Really close. “Saw you talkin’ to Newtie yesterday. Looked pretty more than friendly.”

Thomas sighs, peering down into the Slammer to try and catch a glimpse of Teresa. To make sure she was alright. He hears voices- Newt’s, Alby’s, and then Teresa’s. So they are letting her out. That was good. He wonders if his putting Newt into better spirits had influenced that any.

“We’re not together, if that’s what you’re asking,” Thomas says. Minho looks at him like he’s the dumbest idiot to ever exist. “Not yet. We decided that we should wait until we get out of here.”

Minho’s about to protest their conclusion when Teresa hops out into the open Glade, Newt and Alby at her heels. Alby has a hand on the blond’s shoulder, seemingly keeping him balanced. Thomas really wants to go make sure he’s okay, but decides it’s not worth all of Minho’s teasing if Alby has it covered. Newt smiles in greeting when he spots the brunet, and that alone is enough to make this a good morning.

“Tom,” Teresa greets him. “Listen, I have an idea-”

“Wonderful,” Minho cuts her off, “but we need to leave. He’ll catch you this evening. Unless he’s busy with my favorite blondie.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Thomas elbows him in the ribs so Newt doesn’t have to struggle over and do it himself. This must be a bad day for his leg. Thomas supposed that made sense, taking everything that had happened last night into consideration.

Teresa looks like she wants to protest. Newt’s flushing bright red and is suddenly very focused on the ground in front of him. Alby, for probably the first time ever, looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

Teresa opens her mouth to speak, but Minho grabs Thomas’s wrist and drags him out towards the Maze.

Thomas looks over his shoulder and waves goodbye.

Teresa’s hesitant, slightly annoyed wave is absolutely nothing compared to the smaller, content wave the still-recomposing Newt gives him.

“Dude, you are down bad.”

~~

“I just… I don’t think we can do a whole lot with what we’ve got,” Minho says, glaring at the Griever Hole scrutinizingly. “It’s like we’re missin’ a piece of this.”

“Maybe we are.”

Well, they definitely were, actually. There was nothing they could do with what they had unless they were absolutely sure that it was safe for a human to jump through, and there was no real way to test that unless they were feeling particularly risky. Or Thomas really got on Minho’s nerves.

“We should spend the night out here,” Thomas says, eyes lighting up with anticipation. “Since, y’know, the Doors aren’t gonna close anyway. Might as well.”

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “You sure about that?” He asks. Thomas nods eagerly. “Really? Think ya can spend the night in here not knowin’ what’s happenin’ back in the Glade? Back with Newt?”

Thomas hadn’t thought about that. But he had faith. Newt could take care of himself. And if the Grievers were picking them off one by one, then the odds were slim. Newt would be okay. Alby would make sure of that. Teresa was smart enough to keep herself alive, and no one would let anything happen to Chuck. The people he cared about would be fine. He wouldn’t have to worry about their wellbeing tonight.

“Fine,” Minho says, knowing what Thomas is thinking. “How about your safety tomorrow mornin’ when Newt catches you? Your knees, dude. Your knees.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, tossing bread crumbs into the Griever Hole. They teleport just like everything else had. “What’s up with that, anyway?” He asks. “Like, where did it come from?”

“The time Newt broke a shank’s knees?”

Thomas chokes on air. So that had actually happened, then? Thomas has more questions now than he had before. Maybe he was better off not knowing the story. But, Thomas has never let his curiosity not get the better of him. The look he shoots Minho is confused enough for the Runner to begin his explanation.

“Pretty early on, I think. Lot harder to hide klunk back then, so some shank figured it out, y’know? Tried feelin’ him up. Newt had his kneecaps shattered in three seconds flat,” Minho explains. “Good thing, too. I walked in, and that shuckface’s hand was on his ass. If Newt hadn’t done klunk about it, I would’ve killed him.”

Thomas frowns pointedly. “He seriously did that?” He asks. “The guy, I mean. Newt let him off easy. Like, he thought that that was an acceptable thing to do?”

“Shanks get desperate in here,” Minho says, shrugging. “Opportunity presents itself, I guess. Not okay, though. Really set an example. No one else has ever tried anythin’ since.”

Thomas nods slowly. “And, course, you got here, and it was pretty shuck obvious who he belonged to after that. Shanks still pine, but, y’know, from a distance.”

Thomas says nothing to that. He doesn’t like the concept. The fact that people think Newt belongs to him. Hadn’t the blond proved time and time again that he could kick their asses within seconds? Wasn’t the knee breaking thing proof enough?

“It sounded like Teresa had an idea,” Thomas says, changing the subject. “About the Maze, I mean. Like maybe she remembered something.”

Minho just shrugs. “Well, she can tell ya tomorrow morning, then.”

“You really don’t like her, do you?”

“No, Thomas, I do not.”

Chapter Text

“When’s Tom getting back?” Teresa asks. She’d been reluctant to forgive Alby for locking her up for the night, but she found it near impossible to stay mad at someone like Newt.

The blond just shrugs. “Knowin’ that slinthead, it could be in ten minutes, or ten hours,” he says. “Might even decide to spend the bloody night in there.”

“Dunno why you bother with him,” Teresa says, crossing her arms as she leans back against a tree. “Seems like a constant headache to be worrying about him.”

Newt laughs softly. “Yunno, I keep hopin’ that some day, he’ll mature.”

“You’ll be waiting for a while.”

Teresa looks over the Glade. She could remember all too well how it used to look, though she’d never admit that to anyone in here. The Glade had seen better days. They might have only taken one person last night, but they’d still done some serious damage.

She thought about talking to Chuck, but decided against it. With that kid… she might end up letting something slip. She couldn’t blow her cover. So instead she spent her time chatting with Newt. Helped him fix things up, keep people calm. The Builders were hard at work, but Newt was the one bearing all the stress. Teresa figured Alby would be doing most of the heavy lifting, but it seemed that Newt was more in control of the Glade nowadays.

Whatever. Teresa liked spending time with him. Wanted to help him in any way she could. They’d been friends. Really good friends. And they’d been friends for a reason. And even though she’d spent the last few months of Thomas’s time at WICKED convincing him that he didn’t need the others, she’d really missed spending time with Newt. Minho had always been interesting company, but there was no one that related to her the way Newt did.

“Heard he confessed to you,” Teresa says, smiling smugly.

Newt, who had been balancing precariously in order to tend to a tomato plant, face planted through the garden as he sputtered and faltered. Teresa hadn’t meant to cause that big of a reaction, really, she hadn’t. She’d forgotten about the imbalance.

“Right,” the blond manages, sitting up, crossing his legs as he looks up at her. “Well, he wasn’t exactly quiet ‘bout it, was he?”

Teresa laughs gently, sitting down beside him. She’d been trying to keep things light, but with how disastrous everything had been the night prior, there wasn’t a whole lot she could say to maintain the moment of peace.

“Surprising that the garden survived,” Teresa says quietly, looking around. Parts of it had been trampled, sure, but for the most part, the plants remained untouched. It was practically miraculous. Maybe the guys in here would consider it a fully fledged miracle, given that this was one of their only food sources now that the Box was out of commission.

Newt just shrugs. “Dunno how much good it’ll do,” he utters. Teresa stares at him, confused. “I… I dunno, Resa. If the Grievers are just pickin’ us off, ‘s only a matter of time before there’s not enough of us left to do much of anythin’. Yunno?”

“I think you should have more faith in Minho and Tom,” Teresa says. Quite frankly, she’s seriously banking on Thomas’s survival. But she couldn’t tell Newt that. Not when he was about to snap with everything that was already going on. “They’re getting close to something, right?”

Newt frowns pointedly. “I dunno,” he confesses. “Min and Tommy… they’d been real excited ‘bout whatever they’d found. Recently, though… they seem kinda discouraged.”

“I have an idea,” Teresa says. She probably shouldn’t be bringing this up to anyone but Thomas, given how rocky everyone’s trust is when it comes to her. But right now, she feels that Newt will take any reassurance he can get without a second thought.

Newt stares at her blankly, silently intrigued. She’d have to be careful with what she said here, since he couldn’t know that her memory was still in tact, and he’d obviously take everything she said carefully- much more so than Thomas, anyway. But she could manage. And it might be easier to take the idea when it came from Newt rather than her, anyway.

“About the Maze,” she elaborates. “Tom said there were cycles, right? And you guys map them out every day?” Newt nods. “Well, what if the routes aren’t just dead ends, but a code?”

Newt’s eyes squint a little in concentration. Which is fair. The way she’s explaining things is purposely confusing, purposely vague. She can’t know everything, and she can’t be spot on with an intense elaboration, or it would draw suspicion.

“You mean the routes… they spell out a letter?” Newt prompts. “Or each section makes a word? And the different cycles…” His voice trails off, but Teresa can tell that he understands.

Teresa nods pointedly. “Something like that, anyway,” she adds vaguely. Just in case. Newt had always been a little too clever, and she didn’t want him figuring her out.

She expects him to tell her that what she’s said is ridiculous. To laugh, or think that she’s joking, maybe. She hadn’t expected him to take her seriously. To agree, no less. But here is he is, eyes a little lighter.

He takes her hands in his own. “Resa,” he begins, “you’re bloody brilliant.”

~~

She waited for him by the East entrance. Thomas would be getting back soon, she was sure of it. It was hard to tell now, when she didn’t have the time, and the sky simulation had turned off, but several hours had passed since they’d left.

Teresa started counting the seconds. Just to rub it in Thomas’s face when he got back. By the time she got to seven thousand, two hundred seconds, she decided that they were spending the night in the Maze. She quickly goes to relay her epiphany to Newt before he freaks out with worry.

Newt’s not pleased with the decision they’d made. Teresa isn’t, either, even though she understands why they chose to do it. Besides, once night fell, the danger was in the Glade, not outside it.

“You’re not locking me up tonight?” Teresa teases, elbowing the blond in the ribs. She does it as lightly as she can, because looking at him, he looks so fragile and tired and done that the lightest blow might knock him over.

Newt rolls his eyes. “Would you prefer that?” He asks, trying to keep the mood. The worry straining his expression is proof enough that his mind is somewhere else entirely.

“Well,” Teresa begins, tilting her head to the side. She pauses long enough for Newt to start laughing. It’s just barely coherent, but it’s genuine, so she counts it as a win. “Being locked away has its ups and downs.”

Newt quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Teresa says. “Don’t have to deal with all these people when I’m locked up down there. But at the same time, it’s a little safer in here. Sacrifice people if a Griever comes your way.”

Newt’s eyes widen at her blunt remark, but he doesn’t say anything. He just nods curtly and offers a brief apology about locking her up the night before. Teresa smiles softly and squeezes his hand in reassurance.

The blond drags her behind him as he starts walking, probably trying to locate Alby and see how everything is doing. See how long they’ve got until they lose someone else. Newt had been trying hard to hide it, and succeeding, really, but Teresa could tell how hard Gally’s death was hitting him. She’d seen their friendship on the cameras, as rivalrous as it had been. They’d obviously cared about each other. Thomas’s night in the Maze had been proof enough of that.

“How is everyone?” Alby asks him.

“Scared,” Newt answers honestly. “How’s the situation?”

“Horrible,” Alby responds, just as nonchalant of an honest response as Newt’s had been. “Where are Minho and Thomas?”

“Maze,” Newt says. “Spendin’ another bloody night out there.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Buggin’ idiots, they are.”

Alby squeezes his shoulder in reassurance before moving on to assure everything is properly in position. Teresa continues to follow Newt around the Homestead as he checks on everyone. He seemed to have the harder job, coaxing several kids out of panic attacks and assuring Chuck that Thomas is going to be “absolutely fine”.

He was falling apart at the seams, but if he didn’t keep up the put-together facade, everything would crumble. So he kept it up, and he played the part well. Teresa had to admit that he was good at what he did.

“How long will it be?” Teresa asks. Newt looks back at her, confused. “Before the Grievers come?”

She’s not exactly scared, but it’s a lot more nerve-wracking to be in here, rather than just supervising it all with the cameras. Newt rests his free hand on her shoulder, smiling sadly. Teresa has to admit that she feels a little more comforted, a little safer. No wonder he's the people's person.

“Soon, prolly,” he says, his hand leaving her shoulder as he starts walking around again, checking on distressed Gladers as they go from room to room. “But you haven’t got anything to worry about. It’ll be just right.”

Teresa wonders if he’s trying to lie to her, or to himself.

Eventually, Teresa realizes that she’s causing a little more uproar, so she leaves Newt to his consoling duty and goes to check on Chuck. He’s sitting alone, watching the Doors through a crack between two wooden boards that cover the window.

“Tom’s spending the night in there,” she says softly, figuring that that’s who he’s looking out for. “With Minho.”

Chuck nods slowly, tearing his gaze away from the outside and onto her. “Do you think we’re going to die?” He asks.

Teresa can hear the tremble of fear in his voice. Teresa sits down beside him, sighing as her back hits the wooden wall. Chuck’s hands are fidgeting in his lap as she turns to look at him.

“No,” she says honestly. Because she didn’t. The odds were seriously in their favor. “I don’t. Newt and Alby have this under control.”

“The Grievers are gonna come take someone,” Chuck protests. “Nothin’ Newt can do about that.”

Teresa notes that he just says Newt, rather than Newt and Alby. So she wasn’t the only one that had realized that Newt had taken the lead since Alby’s decline. Teresa puts an arm around the kid’s shoulders, hoping that it’s comforting. It was always comforting when Newt did something like this. Hopefully she could be just as endearing, as comforting, as him. Judging by the look on Chuck’s face, she wasn’t as successful as she’d hoped.

“Odds are in our favor,” she says quietly.

Chuck shakes his head. “I don’t know how you can say klunk like that,” he manages. “Someone’s still gonna die, even if it’s not us.”

“There’s nothing more important than your own life,” Teresa says softly. “Nothing.”

“I dunno,” Chuck says honestly. “If I asked Thomas, he would’ve said that Newt’s was more important than his.”

Teresa sighs. “That’s because they’re in love,” she says. “Are you in love with anyone in here?” Chuck shakes his head. “Then you focus on your own life, and let everyone else do the same. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chuck agrees.

Teresa can tell he doesn’t want to. He’s always been like that. The Swipe hasn’t changed his personality one bit. Maybe that’s a small mercy. Something to be thankful for.

“Do you think Newt and Thomas are gonna get together?” Chuck asks.

Teresa can only shrug. She hopes so, for Thomas’s sake. But then again, she hopes not, too. Them falling in love probably never could have been prevented, but it wasn’t going to lead to anything good. Especially if Paige got the go-ahead for the Scorch Trials.

“I hope they do,” Chuck continues when Teresa doesn’t respond. “You should listen to Thomas go on and on about him. It’s kind of annoying now. Even in his sleep. Had to get up and leave once ‘cause I didn’t think I was supposed to hearing the things he was sayin’.”

Teresa looks at him, smiling gently. Yeah, she’d seen the footage of that night. Chuck had done next to everything he could to get Thomas to wake up. Teresa had forgotten how heavy of a sleeper Thomas was.

“And you’ll never see Newt happier than when he’s with Thomas,” Chuck adds. “Never ever. You can’t even compete.”

Teresa keeps smiling, though it’s a little harder this time, more forced. She was happy for Newt, of course she was. And for Thomas. She just… well, she’d been foolish to hope that maybe this time, Thomas would fall for her. But the Swipe just erased memories. Not bonds. Not love.

She’d been fighting a losing battle to even think that maybe Thomas would be into her this time around. He’d never love her. Not when he was so obviously, hopelessly in love with him.

“Yeah, they’d be a good couple,” Teresa manages.

They’d been a good couple, too. Everyone in the compound knew that if you messed with Newt, you were messing with Thomas, too. And vice versa. They were always together, and they were so sickeningly sweet that nobody could even complain. It just so happened that Teresa’s heart had broken into little pieces every time she’d seen them together, too.

The night before the Maze Trials started had been the hardest. Hearing Ava Paige rant about how Thomas had planned this romantic night. Teresa wished it had been her. And seeing Thomas fall apart after the Trials started… seeing how there was absolutely no way Thomas could ever move on, ever get over him... It had crushed her.

But she wanted him to be happy. She wanted Newt to be happy. And if they were happy together, then that was what they deserved.

Not for the first time, Teresa recalls the gemini myth. If Newt and Thomas belonged together, then Teresa’s other half was still out there somewhere. She shouldn’t lose any sleep over Thomas when he had never, not even for a moment, belonged to her. He would always, first and foremost, belong to Newt.

“You alright?” Teresa opens her eyes to find Newt kneeling down beside her.

She hadn’t even remembered closing her eyes. Had she fallen asleep? She must have. Chuck is passed out, leaning against her. Just like old times. Maybe this was muscle memory.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. What was he even talking about? Was her misery really that blatant? That apparent?

Newt blinks at her, unconvinced. He sits down beside her, sighing as his back hits the wall. “No you’re not,” he says. “Anythin’ I can help with?”

“No,” Teresa says. “I’m just…” think of a lie. Think of a lie. “I’m worried about Tom.”

Newt sighs. “That one I can relate to,” he manages.

Teresa looks closer at him, the tension in all his muscles, the apparent strain in his eyes. How has no one else noticed how overworked he is? And worrying about Thomas’s dumb ass on top of all of it? That was too much for one person to handle.

“He’ll be okay,” Teresa says, more to Newt than herself now. Really, she was never very worried about Thomas. He could survive. He would survive. Actually, right now, she was more worried about Newt than Thomas. He looked like he was falling apart at the seams.

“One can hope.” Teresa squeezes his hand tightly, smiling her reassurance. Encouragement, maybe. “Are you alright?” She asks. Newt tilts his head to the side, confused. “You look exhausted. When was the last time you slept?”

Newt frowns pointedly, using his free hand to count. He tilts his head back and forth as he tries to recall. If he has to do this much, it’s obviously been a while.

“When did you wake up?” He asks.

Teresa’s eyes widen. “You are taking a nap. Right now. I don’t care what you need to do or what Alby asks of you. You are sleeping.”

“Can’t,” Newt waves her off. “The Grievers’ll be attacking soon… I wanna be awake for that. In case there’s something I can do to help.”

Teresa grimaces, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Tom wouldn’t want you putting yourself in the line of danger like this. Think about how freaked out he’ll be when he gets back and sees you a walking zombie.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is.”

Newt doesn’t keep up that argument, which was just as well, really, since he was fighting a losing battle. But there’s a new kind of strain and fear in his eyes, something Teresa hadn’t noticed before. Something a lot more striking.

“You’re scared to sleep, aren’t you?”

Of course. She should have assumed. Thomas had told her about the first Griever attack. How they’d stolen Gally in the middle of his conversation with Newt. How Newt had stayed frozen in place for close to ten minutes afterwards, and only moved because Thomas had probably scared him half to death by touching him.

“It’s dumb, isn’t it?” Newt asks, rather than actually responding. “It’s dumb. I just.. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Gally. I can’t believe…”

“It’s not dumb,” Teresa says. “Not dumb at all.”

She risks a glance over at Chuck, who’s still asleep, and then refocuses her stare. Seeing the melancholy expression on her friend’s face, she decides it would be best to attempt to lighten the mood. “Do I need to get Tom to come cuddle you?” She teases, winking exaggeratedly.

Newt manages to roll his eyes, scoffing lightly. Improvement. “I’ll be fine, Resa,” he says. “How’s Chuckie doin’? Seemed a little jumpy earlier.”

“Scared,” Teresa says. Aren’t we all? She wants to ask. Is there a single person in here that isn’t terrified that they’re going to die? But she already knows the answer to that one. Alby isn’t. Newt isn’t, either. Only people he’s scared for are the ones that aren’t here.

Newt grimaces. “Well, can’t exactly blame him there,” he says. His gaze fixes over Teresa’s shoulder at Chuck. “Poor shank.”

Teresa hums her agreement. Though the hum is droned out by the loud, horrifying screeching coming from the Maze.

The Grievers are finally making their appearance.

Chapter Text

They’d been testing the Griever Hole all night.

They’d even gotten brave enough to stick their legs in to see what happened. It seemed to be some sort of hidden entrance, disguised by the darkness of the abyss surrounding it.

“This is it,” Minho says, “our way out.”

Thomas can barely find it in himself to nod. He’s practically asleep on his feet. The only thing keeping him conscious was the fear. Not for himself, or even for Minho, but for everyone back home. Chuck, Teresa, Newt.

“They’ll be fine,” Minho says. “You know they will.”

And he did. Of course he did. But the not-knowing was about to drive him mad. What if the Grievers had taken one of them? Or even Alby. Thomas wasn’t Alby’s biggest fan, but he’s sure Newt would positively crumble if that happened. What if-

“Alright, stop worryin’,” Minho says loudly, pushing to his feet and breaking Thomas’s train of thought. “We’re headin’ back now.”

Thomas pulls himself to his feet and quickly follows after the Runner. It was a good thing that the Griever Hole wasn’t too far away from the Glade- Thomas wasn’t sure he had the energy to do a whole lot of running right now.

“Who d’you think it was?” Thomas asks. Maybe that’s an inconsiderate question. It probably is, actually. But Thomas is curious. Horribly, terribly, curious.

Minho just shrugs. “I dunno,” he manages. “I just know who I hope it isn't.”

Which is the most relatable thing that’s ever come out of his mouth, Thomas thinks, so he doesn’t press. They round the corner quickly. Thomas didn’t think he’d have the energy to run as fast as he did, but the fear drove him to push past his limits.

The second his foot steps back into the Glade, he looks around wildly for the people he cares about. Chuck and Teresa were sitting under a tree, seemingly discussing something very important. It was probably a prank, if Thomas had to guess. Nothing else made Chuck get that mischievous glint in his eyes. How he’d managed to loop Teresa into it, Thomas didn’t want to know.

He couldn’t find Newt. But he assumed he was with Alby, trying to access damages from the night prior. That was how he’d spent yesterday morning, so Thomas could only assume. Only then Alby rounds a corner alone.

“You’re gonna break your bloody neck lookin’ ‘round like that, Tommy.”

Thomas releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He was okay. He was safe. He was alive. He… he was also ridiculously good at sneaking up on people during a moment of distress.

“You’re alive,” Thomas breathes, gripping the blond’s forearms tightly, inherently pulling him a little closer. “You have no idea… I was so worried…” his voice trails off, rendering him unable to complete literally any of his sentences.

Newt raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side and smiling. “You haven’t got any right to rant like that, when you decided it’d be great bloody idea to spend a night in there without tellin’ anyone.” He swats Thomas on the chest. “Are you stupid? I was worried sick!”

Thomas staggers backward, pretending the blow was stronger than it actually was. Newt doesn’t seem to appreciate his efforts, just scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says. “Seriously. We should have thought ahead. We just… well, we got there, and decided it’d be worthwhile. Grievers weren’t really a huge issue anymore, so we wanted to… take advantage of the opportunity, I guess.”

“And?”

Thomas pauses, staring at the blond. What was he talking about? “What… what d’you mean?” He manages.

“Did you figure something out?” Newt asks. “Get any closer with that lead of yours?”

“Yeah, actually,” Thomas says. “We didn’t actually jump in, but we dangled.” He falters when he sees the evident concern in the older boy’s expression. “Not precariously. Obviously. We just wanted to test it. See if we lost those limbs. We didn’t.”

“So you reckon it’s safe?”

“Well, we can settle for not deadly.”

The blond sighs. “Yeah, well, I s’pose that’s all we can hope for these days, isn’t it?” He asks. “‘S a better option than what we’ve got goin’ on, anyway.”

They fall silent. There’s not a whole lot to say to that. Of course there isn’t. They wouldn’t be able to stay here a whole lot longer. They were doomed once things ran out, and things were well on their way to running out.

“How is everyone? Who got taken last night?” Thomas asks.

Not Chuck, not Teresa. No one he really cared about personally, anyway. He’d spotted those few people already.

Newt sighs. “Zart,” he offers, solemn. “Keeper o’ the trackhoes.”

Thomas couldn’t really remember who that was, but he nodded like he did so he wouldn’t upset Newt. He was sure they’d been close, since Newt spent so much of his time in the gardens.

“Everyone else is just right, though,” Newt manages, recomposing himself. “Resa, though… she seemed stressed. Guilty, even, but that’s just my call, so I dunno.”

Thomas doesn’t comment on the nickname. He didn’t doubt that he and Teresa had become friends really quickly. They were alike in a lot of ways, even though most people wouldn’t recognize that. They probably looked after each other last night, when Thomas wasn’t there to do it.

“She’s okay, though?” Thomas asks. Newt nods. He reaches forward, taking the blond’s hands gently in his own. “How are you?”

Newt won’t lie to him. Not at this point, when it’s become so blatantly obvious that Thomas wouldn’t fall for it.

“I’m alive,” he says. “Which is better than a lot o’ shanks in here can say.”

Thomas nods slowly. There wasn’t much more he could have hoped for, really, when everything was the way it is. When everything was falling apart, when everyone was dying.

“How’s Alby?” He asks, hoping that’s a better turn of conversation.

Newt just shrugs. “He’s… not quite Alby anymore,” he offers. “I dunno if that’s ever gonna change. Whatever he saw…” His voice trails off.

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Thomas has interacted with Alby enough recently to know exactly what Newt means. He’s not the same. It’s like he’s an entirely different person. Certainly not the dominant leader he’d been a few days ago. Thomas doesn’t push the subject. Newt’s obviously rocky on the emotional turmoil, and the littlest thing will push him over the edge. Thomas doesn’t want to be the one to push him over that edge. He remembered all too well how it felt to be on the receiving end of Newt’s wrath.

So instead he cups the blond’s face with his hands. Gentle enough that Newt can step away from his touch if he wanted, but he stands firm. “You’re alive,” Thomas whispers. “...I was so worried about you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Newt says.

“I know you can,” Thomas says, “but I’d rather be the one to do it.”

Chapter Text

“Teresa, you’re a genius!” Thomas exclaims.

Minho doesn’t look as happy about the revelation, but he has to agree that this is the piece they’re missing. And, well, perhaps Newt’s agreement pushed his decision a little, since he still feels guilty about how he and Alby had been leaving him out of the loop.

And Newt was totally aware of that, and had been really pushing his luck with the guilt tripping recently. There’s not a whole lot to do for fun in the Glade. Bending Minho to your will was one of those few enjoyments.

“Let’s start mapping things out, then,” Minho says, defeated.

Newt smirks, elbowing him gently so he’ll be more enthusiastic. This could very well be their way out, after all, and that had seemed decently impossible just a few short days ago. Minho should really start being a team player.

Newt didn’t even know why he hated Teresa so much. Really, she hadn’t done much of anything. Well, except turn the sky off, if what she and Alby said was true. But Newt wasn’t so sure he could trust a word that came out of Alby’s mouth anymore, now that he… he was going through whatever was going on.

They’re just about to make it to the Map Room when it erupts into flames.

“Well,” Newt says, uncertain, “that just made things a lot more difficult.”

He’d suggest they stay in here another week, remap everything, but given the fact that the Box was still up, and the sky was gone, and Grievers were picking them off one by one each night… Well, it was pretty obvious that they wouldn’t survive that extra week.

“Who…” Minho’s voice trails off. “Who the hell just burnt down the Map Room?”

“It wasn’t me,” Thomas says quickly. Newt really hopes he was trying to be funny, and hadn’t been mentally influenced by Gally’s constant accusations. Now’s really not the time to ask.

“...Bloody hell…” Newt’s voice trails off.

He knows exactly who was behind this, even though he hoped desperately that he was wrong. Alby was against them trying to leave the Glade, sure, but he’d never do something this drastic, would he? That had never been Alby’s style.

And this could have gone wrong in a thousand different ways, if the fire hadn’t been extinguished so quickly. He might have burned the entire Glade to the ground, and there was no way Alby would risk something like that. …Right?

“It’s not,” Minho says, reading his mind. “...Is it?”

Newt sighs, a lot more sullen than he had been just a few minutes ago. “There’s no other option, is there?” He asks rhetorically.

“Teresa!” Minho supplies unhelpfully. “Always knew there was something off ‘bout her, but you shanks never listened to me.”

“Teresa’s… literally been with us the entire time,” Thomas points out.

“Well then,” Minho says, a little quieter than is normal for him, “I guess we know who did it.”

And Newt did. He’d probably known all along. God, he never should have left Alby on his own. Isn’t this how Alby had treated him after the jump? Wasn’t this the same thing? He couldn’t be trusted when he wasn’t in his right mind.

“...Alby.”

Thomas’s eyes widen. “Alby?” He echoes, incredulous.

“Yes, Thomas, Alby,” Minho answers.

Newt is secretly glad for the interjection, because he wasn’t sure if he would be able to repeat himself without breaking down. There was no one else who would even dare to think about doing this. No one but Alby, in his peculiar state of mind. But would he really stoop this low?

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Minho says quietly, laying a hand on the blond’s shoulder. “We both know who it is.”

“I know,” Newt manages. “I just… Alby.”

“Isn’t that the leader?” Teresa interrupts. “Why would he set fire to his own Glade?” She pauses. “You said he wasn’t like used to be,” she says, turning to face Newt. “Do you think he’s off enough to do something like this?”

Newt hesitates. Honestly, he’s one hundred percent positive that Alby did this. He just doesn’t want to think about that. He knows if he says yes then he’s also inherently admitting to the fact that he agrees that Alby will never be the same ever again. That things will never ever go back to the way they used to be.

“...Yes,” he says finally. “I do.”

“It’s… it’s okay,” Thomas says uncertainly. “Look, people are already putting out the fire.” He points at a group of Gladers that are, in fact, dousing the fire. “It didn’t spread past the map room, and nobody got hurt.”

Teresa’s eyes widen. Her face pales. She looks like she’s discovered that they’re completely and utterly screwed. “The maps,” she says instantly, bluntly.

The maps.

Realization dawns in Thomas’s expression. “Shit,” he curses, obviously not having quite grasped their profanity yet. “We’re so screwed. We’re gonna be in here for another week, at least.”

Now it’s Newt’s turn to feel an overwhelming sense of dread.

“Tommy,” he says quietly, “we’re not going to survive another week in here.”

Chapter Text

“It’s fine,” Minho says instantly, before anyone can get too worked up.

He saw that anxious look cloud over Newt’s eyes and Thomas’s face fall, and he knew he had to interfere and reassure them before one or both of them started crying. He doubted Teresa would break down, especially in front of them. She didn’t seem like the type.

“What d’you mean, it’s fine?” Newt demands. “It is not bloody fine, Min. That’s seven more people dead, at least. And with the Box not goin’ down…”

Thomas nods to emphasize literally every point the blond makes. God, he’s just like a lost puppy. But that’s whatever. Minho knows exactly how to calm them both down, if they actually give him the time to explain why they’re not all going to die.

“The maps weren’t in there,” Minho explains, trying to be fast and blunt so no one gets any more worked up than they already are. “I put them in the Weapons Room last night so the Grievers wouldn’t be able to get them, and then I forgot to move them again.”

Minho can physically see the relief that floods over all their faces. It wasn’t easy, always swooping in and saving the day like this. But something had to feed his ego.

Teresa nods pointedly. “Well,” she says expectantly, “lead the way. Let’s get this thing on the move, then?”

“Right,” Newt agrees.

Good thing those two are staying on topic, because Minho certainly wasn’t. He’d been trying to bask in his new burst of glory. And Thomas… Well, naturally Thomas had gotten distracted by looking at Newt, like he always did. Minho shouldn’t even be surprised by it, at this point.

Teresa leads the way when no one else moves. Minho finds it a little more than peculiar that she knows the lay out of the Glade so well after literally two days. Especially when those two days had been in complete and total disarray. He wants to point this out, but no one else seems fazed by it. Thomas seemed to have instantly clicked with her. Their whole telepathy thing, or whatever.

That’s fine. Thomas is young and impressionable, especially when it came to a pretty girl. (That was something he was not planning on relaying to Newt, of course.)

But Newt? Newt should be a lot more skeptical than he is. Perhaps Teresa is some kind of witch and she’s already jinxed everyone into instantly trusting her, and it didn’t work on Minho for some weird reason. That had to be it. The only reasonable explanation, really.

Because Teresa could not be trusted. Obviously she couldn’t be. She’s the one that turned off the sky! And she probably did more than that, but just wasn’t ready to admit to anything else. Alby didn’t trust her.

But at the moment, Alby was a raving lunatic, so Minho didn’t find much consolation in that. He definitely wasn’t going to bring that up in any of his arguments.

He realizes that he's starting to sound like Gally, and okay, maybe he is a little, but he's actually right this time. This isn't Thomas's fault, and maybe it's not Teresa's, either, but she's definitely behind some of it somehow. The others didn't seem to realize that, and maybe Minho would just have to wait for Teresa to slip up, because trust, she would slip up. 

Teresa could not be trusted. Minho knew that very well. Alby knew it, too, and Gally had probably figured it out before he'd gotten snatched by the Grievers two days ago. 

But if Newt and Thomas didn't realize it, well, Minho would have to watch her until they did. Keep her away from them until they figured it out. 

Minho pushes ahead of the girl and opens the door to the Weapons Room, shifting through one of the trunks until he finds the maps. He grabs them victoriously, handing them to Thomas and not Teresa, because he obviously does not trust her with something this important.

The effort is in vain, however, because Thomas just hands them straight to Teresa without giving them a second glance. She sets them on the table, grabbing a pencil and tracing through one of the routes for section one. Low and behold, it spells out a letter. F.

“...F?”

“Do the next route for section one,” Thomas says eagerly, grabbing the paper and doing it himself. “...L.”

“It’s spelling out a word,” Newt says, drawing the conclusion faster than Minho can. “And every section…”

“It’s a code,” Teresa concludes, smiling brightly.

God, Minho hated how in sync his two best friends were with the girl he didn’t at all trust. There was something about her, something almost… alluring, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Float,” Thomas says. Minho looks at him, frowning pointedly. “That’s the first word.”

“Catch,” Teresa supplies. “The second one.”

Thomas’s eyes widen. “We need to go back out into the Maze,” he says matter of factly. “Minho, we need go now.”

Minho tilts his head to the side, just slightly, brow furrowed. There was no way in hell he was leaving Newt alone with Teresa, even if Thomas was right. He was, of course. They did need to back out into the Maze and check a few things out. But not right now. He wasn’t leaving Newt to deal with all of this on his own. Or, even worse, with Teresa helping him.

“We need to help,” Minho protests, even though he knows they don’t even in the slightest.

“No, Tommy’s right,” Newt says. “You two need to go back out there. I can take care of this. ‘S not exactly very hard, is it?”

“I’ll help Newt,” Teresa offers. They’re already starting onto the third word, which so far has only three letters “B L E”.

Minho doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this at all. But Thomas has already nodded, already wished them luck and rushed outside. Minho sighs, displeased with the turn of events. But he echoes Thomas’s well-wishes and follows the younger boy out towards the Maze.

This was such a bad idea.

Chapter Text

“You think these words actually mean anything, or were they just randomly selected?” Newt prompts, trying to sound more amused by all of this than he actually is.

Teresa sighs, entertaining it. “I dunno,” she says, even though they totally have meaning. “It’s quite a varying selection, isn’t it?”

She knows that Newt’s worried about everything going on with Alby, so she’ll do what she can to keep him distracted. She’s glad that Minho allowed her to help him with this, because she didn’t know what might happen if he was left alone.

And on top of all of this, why did Minho hate her so much? Hadn’t they had something special, back before the Maze? Before Minho got it in his head that Teresa was betraying him? If Newt and Thomas found their way to each other again, why couldn’t they?

Maybe because Teresa was still helplessly in love with Thomas, just like she had been throughout their entire relationship. Perhaps that’s the reason they’d never really worked out to begin with. Or perhaps she was only going out with Minho because he was the version of Thomas that was actually available to her.

She decides not to dwell on it. Minho doesn’t like her now, and that’s just as well. She doesn’t need Minho’s negative sentiments towards her to weigh her down and distract her from what’s really important here. 

Finding the way out, even though she already knows it. Moving them along to the Scorch Trials. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the Scorch Trials, actually. She knew what was going to happen. She knew lots of people would die, she knew Newt would get sick. 

And she didn’t want any of that to happen. But when had Ava Paige ever really listened to reason? Perhaps there had been a time, long ago. But that was before everything. Before the Purge. That was when Teresa had lost all her faith in Chancellor Paige. 

The third word is “Bleed”, Teresa says in her mind. 

She isn’t sure if Thomas knows how to respond telepathically yet, but she waits for a response anyway. She feels a tingling in her mind, like Thomas is trying to get through to her but can’t quite manage it yet. She keeps from laughing, purely because that would look quite odd to Newt, and he’d start to question whether or not he was only capable of befriending crazy people. 

I can’t hear you yet. But I know you’re trying, Tom. You’ve almost got it. Just probe through your mind. Flip the switch. I know you can do it. 

Teresa? Can you hear me?

I can. I knew you could do it. Now, what were you trying to say before?

Just good job. And keep up the good work. And keep an eye on Newt. 

Teresa doesn’t respond to that one, instead just rolling her eyes. Of course he’d use their telepathy link to check up on his boyfriend who wasn’t quite yet his boyfriend. What had she been expecting?

“Is everything alright?” Newt asks.

Of course. She had been abnormally, uncharacteristically quiet for a while. Of course he’d get worried. She shouldn’t have expected any less from someone like him. He’s just so sweet. Frankly, Thomas didn’t deserve him. 

“Yes,” she says. “Just fine.” 

Newt nods pointedly and gets back to work. They’re almost done the fourth word now, and Teresa is sure she can work out the rest on her own. And, really, she knows where Newt needs to be right now. And it’s not here. It’s definitely not here, and he knows it, too. It’s tearing him apart.

“Go,” she says bluntly.

 Newt stares at her, blinking. He’s confused. Which is a valid response, since he has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about or what compelled her to say it. 

“The Glade needs you right now,” Teresa continues. “ Alby needs you right now. I can take care of the rest of this by myself. Go.”

Newt frowns pointedly. “Are you sure?” He asks. “Alby can wait. He’s an arsonist now, and criminals can wait till I see fit to speak with ‘em. This is important, Resa. I don’t wanna leave you with it.”

“I can do it,” Teresa says. “We both know where you need to be, and it’s not here. I’ll let Tom know where you’ll be so he doesn’t freak out when he gets back.”

Newt tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed slightly. He has no idea what she’s talking about.  Has Thomas not mentioned their telepathy to him? Or maybe it’s just his mind blanking, after everything that’s happened today.

Teresa taps the side of her head thoughtfully. Newt hesitates, realization dawning in his eyes. Then he nods, thanks her, and leaves. 

Newt went go figure things with Alby out. Thought I’d let you know so you won’t piss yourself with worry when you get back. 

I see you think very highly of me.

Yeah, yeah, whatever. How are things going on your end? Find anything?

Not really. We think there might be some kind of door on the other side of the Griever Hole. One that will need a code. Have you found the fourth word yet?

Yes. It’s “Death”. Fun, right?

Well, I guess we’ve got a lot of that going on right now, don’t we?

Certainly seems that way. 

How’s Newt?

Huh?

How’s Newt? You said he left to talk to Alby. How’s he handling all of that? He’s not on the verge of a panic attack, is he? He gets like that sometimes. This stuff is hard for him.  Especially when it comes to everything with Alby. He’s taking it pretty hard.

He seemed alright. I told him to go deal with it, and he seemed hesitant. Didn’t want to leave me to deal with the decoding on my own. He didn’t seem very hung up about Alby. Just disappointed.

He is disappointed. Thomas stops talking. Teresa fears they’ve lot the connection somehow, but then he keeps going. Sorry. I thought I was still talking to you but I wasn’t. 

Teresa laughs softly. He’s still so new to the telepathy, even if they’ve been doing it for years.

He can’t remember that. He has no idea how it works anymore.

He is disappointed. He’s disappointed in how different Alby is now. It really frustrates him, but then he feels bad because Alby’s gone through something traumatic and he should be understanding of that, blah, blah, blah. 

Understandable. I guess I’d feel the same way, if I were in his shoes.

Yeah. It’s just horrible. It’s all horrible. Thanks for sending him out to deal with that, Resa. I know he really wanted to skip out and talk to Alby. 

Yeah, well, anyone with eyes could see that much, Tom. Fifth word is “Stiff” by the way.

Is there any correlation between these words, or are they just random things the Creators came up with by looking at random objects in the room they were in?

I think there’s a correlation. The words are too weird for there to be nothing tying them together. And what would the point be otherwise?

Okay, okay, fair enough. 

Sixth word is “Push”. 

Technically, she already knew that. She’d known the code all along, but she had to do all the work and at least pretend to figure it out so she didn’t get discovered. Minho was already on to her, she didn’t need to give him another reason to dig deeper into his investigation. 

Gotta go. Minho’s on my ass for “talking to you like a lunatic” or something. Told me I should stop before Newt starts to think I’m in love with you. 

See ya, loser.

Teresa stares at the maps in front of her, allowing her eyes to unfocus, allowing her mind to drift somewhere else entirely. It’s been a while since she caught up with Aris. Maybe she should do that. She’d have to be careful. Make sure she didn’t accidentally connect to Thomas or Rachel. But she’d never done that before, so it should be fine.

How are things going on your end?

Good. No one suspects me. Harriet and Sonya are too busy making out to realize I’m the one that triggered the Ending, and Rachel doesn’t seem to care. Thinks I have no idea what I’m doing.

Better than how things are going here, then. 

What d’you mean?

Alby burned down the Map Room, so everyone’s stressed about him. Minho’s totally onto me. Newt trusts me for the moment, but the second I break Tom’s trust Newt will take his side because they’re still in love with each other. 

Minho’s onto you?

And Alby. But Alby’s a lunatic at the moment, so Minho’s biding his time until he can convert other people to his beliefs. I think the fact that both Newt and Tom really trust me is throwing him off. But that’s fine. We’re just…

We’re just… what?

We’re doing the right thing here, Aris, aren’t we?

We’re trying to save the world. That’s a pretty good thing to do, if you ask me. A few sacrifices in order to save millions of people… that’s worth it, I think. 

That’s how I thought before, but… but being here makes it feel different. Like, I’m talking to these people that were just subjects on a screen before, and actually getting to know them.

Don’t get to know them. Stick to Thomas. That’s the key. 

But I can’t help it. You know Newt’s gonna get sick when we get to the Scorch Trials. I don’t want that to happen. I watch every day how everyone interacts with one another. How much they care about and depend on each other. It’s so horrible. It’s all so horrible.

We’re doing the right thing, Teresa. And it’s not like we have a choice. We can’t convince Chancellor Paige to cancel these things. But we remember, Resa. We’re their only chance at better survival rates. So let’s do our best, okay?

Yeah… okay. 

You don't sound convinced. Shouldn't you know better than all of us how important this cure is? Don't you remember what your village tried to do to you? What would have happened if those people hadn't saved you?

I don't want to talk about Mark and Trina. And I don't want to talk about the person I was before. I'm not DeeDee anymore, Aris. 

Sure. But her memories are still with you. Don't you want to save other children from going through what you had to go through? From watching their families lose their sanity and turn on them? Try to kill, or even eat them?

Of course I do. You know I do. But I just... we've known these people all our lives. We're all just kids. Surely there's more humane ways we could have gone about this. Seeing it all in person is so... so dawning, I guess.

Dawning. 

Yeah, like, I'm just realizing how horrible this is. We're experimenting on children. We're killing children. And in the end, it might all be for nothing. 

None of this is for nothing, Teresa. They wouldn't do this for nothing. ...Would they? WICKED's good, aren't they?

Teresa stops talking to him after that, but quite frankly, she’s not convinced. 

Chapter Text

“We put Alby in the Slammer,” Winston explains. “Thought he was too much of a hazard to be out in the open, but we’re sorry if that was the wrong thing to do. With you and Minho busy, we had to make a decision.”

Newt smiles distantly. “Nah, you’re fine, mate. That was a good idea. I’ll try to talk to him, yeah? Figure out what he was thinking.”

Winston nods pointedly, leaving Newt to his own devices. This was so hard to do. To face Alby like he wasn’t his best friend. Like he hadn’t saved his life time and time again.

He couldn’t afford to be biased here. He wouldn’t cut anyone else any slack, so he can’t favor Alby. Not when he’d almost burned down the entire Glade. Someone could have gotten hurt. Someone could have gotten killed.

“I was worried they’d send you,” Alby says as Newt shuts the door behind him.

Newt frowns pointedly. “I sent myself,” he says sharply.

It was an important distinction to make, really. Alby needs to realize just how much weight Newt’s been carrying since he got stung. Clearly he hasn’t quite noticed yet. Or, at least, hasn’t registered how much Newt has done for everyone. How they look to him for guidance and not Alby.

“Well,” Alby says sullenly, “have at me.”

Newt wanted to really rip into him. Of course he did. What he’d done was stupid and dangerous and utterly absurd. But when Alby was asking for it, it was really hard to find the right words to say.

“Why were you worried to talk to me?” Newt asks instead. “Surely you’d rather me than someone else. I’d prolly cut you a little more slack.”

Alby just shrugs, staring at the ground. The Old Alby was never scared to make eye contact. “‘Cause you have a way of making people regret every bad decision they’ve ever made,” he says. “I mean, it’s hard to defend myself when you stare at me with those eyes, Newt.”

Newt doesn’t respond right away. He swallows thickly, trying to recover from his initial shock. Sure, he was good at emotional manipulation, but he never did anything on purpose. If he was good at making people feel empathetic, that wasn’t his fault. But with how Alby had worded it, Newt feels the need to apologize.

“Well, you should feel right awful ‘bout what you’ve done,” Newt says. Yes, get on to the yelling. The arguing and the anger. It’s easier to keep from hurting when you’re angry. “Someone could have gotten hurt! Bloody hell, Alby, someone could have died!”

“You haven’t gone through the Changing,” Alby says simply. “You didn’t see what I saw. You have no idea what’s out there.”

“We’re not going to survive in here,” Newt points out. “And you almost killed us all with that stunt. If Min hadn’t moved the maps beforehand, we’d all be as good as dead ‘cause of you.”

Tears are stinging his eyes. He tries to ignore that. This isn’t the time for his supposed “emotional manipulation”, or whatever. He needs Alby to know how shucking stupid he’s being, and that has nothing to do with whatever look of Newt’s he’s downright terrified of.

“See? There it is,” Alby says quietly. “Your look. Your eyes get all teary, and your bottom lip starts trembling. And you just stare at ‘em with this heartbroken stare.”

“Well, if Tommy had been any faster, you would’ve burned him alive,” Newt snaps. “I think that’s a good bloody reason to be upset.”

Alby nods slowly. “Wouldn’t have set it on fire if someone was in there,” he protests. “Really, Newt? You think I would kill someone?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Newt says honestly. “You’re… you’re not even Alby anymore, mate! You’re a totally different person!”

Alby stares at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Dumbfounded. Shocked. Perhaps slightly manipulated by that “heartbroken” look Newt’s still shooting him.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Alby says. “I’m glad you finally let it out.”

Alby meets his gaze. Finally. Eye contact. Now that Newt has it, he has to fight the urge to look away, to stare at the ground instead. It’s a lot easier to yell at the ground than to yell at Alby, after all. The ground doesn’t have emotions. The ground didn’t save his life.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Alby confesses. “Like… an intrusive thought I couldn’t stop from comin' to pass.” He pauses, laughing distantly. “Even as I was doing it, it was like watchin' someone else. I couldn’t control it.”

Newt stares at the ground. It’s hard to listen to your best friend lose his mind. Alby doesn’t comment on the sudden weakness. Newt is thankful for that, at the very least.

“I don’t think I should let you out,” Newt says instead. “In case somethin' else happens. Especially if you can’t control it.”

Alby nods pointedly. “I was going to ask you to keep me in here, actually,” he confesses. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He pauses, long enough for Newt to look at him again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt repeats.

“Don’t apologize,” Alby says instantly. “You, of all people, have no right to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Newt can’t say another word before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

He fears that if he speaks one more word, one more syllable, he will break and never be able to be put back together.

Chapter Text

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Thomas says softly. “What if… What if Gally was right? What if I am at fault for everything? With everything that Alby said, and then what he did…” His voice trails off.

He doesn’t want to think about any of that.

Teresa stares at him, tilting her head to the side. Out of everyone else, she’s the one that’s most likely to let him do what he needs to do. Minho would physically knock him out if needed. Newt would give him that look that makes him want to apologize for every mistake he’s ever made, and then he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Chuck wouldn’t understand, and then would probably go tell Minho and Newt what he was planning, and dealing with the both of them at the same time would be pretty much impossible.

But Teresa, at least, after having been accused of pretty much the same things as Thomas, would understand why he wanted to do it. Why he needed to do it.

“Please don’t tell me you’re…” Teresa stops talking.

She knows what he’s going to do. She’s not going to say it out loud, though. Just as Thomas expected, she didn’t want anyone who could stop him to catch wind of this. She understood why he had to do it. She wasn’t going to stop him. Not physically, anyway. And Thomas was sure she couldn’t give him a “look” like Newt could.

Please don’t tell me you’re going to get stung. On purpose. That’s so totally and utterly stupid, Tom. Newt will kill you, and then resurrect you, and then kill you again.

All probably very true and valid points. But this was something Thomas had to do. He felt it just like he felt that he needed to become a Runner. No one could stop him from going through with it. He’d just have to sacrifice his knees this time.

I have to. You know I do.

It’s a bad idea.

No one will die tonight. If I do. Extra bonus. Newt won’t be more sad. Extra extra bonus.

Newt will still be sad because he’s in love with you and you’re a fucking idiot.

Another very good point. But Thomas can’t be dissuaded. Not about this. Not when he’s made up his mind so very clearly.

“Can you distract him tonight?” Thomas asks. “Newt? I don’t wanna get that look.”

Teresa visibly shudders. “Yeah, there’s no defying Newt when he looks at you like that. Every time he does it, my heart breaks into little pieces.”

“Thank you,” Thomas says honestly. “You’re the best, Resa, really.” He pauses. “I just… I have to remember. I know I do.”

Teresa nods slowly. She knows it, too. Thomas can tell.

"If you die," Teresa says eventually, "I am going to make up a bunch of embarrassing stories about you and tell them to anyone that will listen. Absolutely everyone. Your soul will never be able to rest because of all the humiliation I'll put you through."

Thomas pauses, a little confused and mildly concerned. And then he nods.

"I'm not going to die, Resa," he tells her. "I've got too much to live for."

"Yeah, but I don't think Grievers listen to logic like that," Teresa points out. "Maybe you should just make the smart decision and not get Stung. It'll be fine, and then no one will get mad at you. We'll find the way out without you doing this."

Thomas shakes his head slowly. "I... I don't think we will."

And that's that. 

~~

“Hey,” Thomas says.

He’s spent the day helping Newt and the other Keepers get everything ready for tonight. He’s also spent a lot of time trying to figure out how he can console Newt about what’s going on with Alby when Newt obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

Newt stares at him. “What?” He asks.

Alright, fair enough.

But night’s about to fall. The Grievers will come any minute, and when that happens, he needs to be outside. He needs to be the first one the first Griever sees. He needs to be close enough that no one can get stung before him.

He also hopes that he won’t die. Because dying is probably not the best case scenario here, though it is incredibly likely to occur.

He squeezes the blond’s hand tightly. Newt stares at him still, obviously getting more and more confused as each silent second passes.

“I love you,” Thomas says. Just in case he dies tonight, he wants Newt to know that. Even if he’s already said it a bunch of times. This time will matter more. Newt tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed.

“Tommy, what are you-”

Thomas kisses him. It’s short, chaste, and can barely be classified as a kiss, but Thomas bolts off in another direction the second he pulls away. He had to do it. Just in case he died tonight.

And now would be a great time for Teresa to swoop in and start distracting him.

“Hey, Newt, I think Chuck’s gonna have a panic attack,” she says loudly.

She looks wild and panicked, but Thomas knows for a fact that this is a charade, and Chuck’s been bribed into it. God, they’re both quite good actors. That should probably worry him, but he’s a little more than preoccupied with worrying about what he’s about to do.

Minho, who had been close by, takes over. Newt follows Teresa inside. Minho and the others are just behind them, starting to board things up. Thomas figures they’ve decided that he went inside. Which is good. Because no one can stop him. No one can know he’s not inside, helping the others prepare.

And then he sees it. The first Griever. Luckily for him, it sees him, too.

He barely even feels it as it stings him.

Through hazy vision, he watches it back off. Watches the other ones not even leave the Maze. They’re all going back to where they came from. Back to the Griever Hole. It didn’t kill him. Yet, anyway.

He hears shouting. Minho’s already at his side. He assumes that Newt’s not far behind. The only reason he’s not here yet is probably because of Teresa’s stalling.

And then everything goes black.

Chapter Text

“He’s been stung,” Minho says grimly.

Newt feels his heart drop into his stomach. Teresa has him locked in a sideways hug. Primarily for comfort, sure, but also probably to keep him from doing something stupid. Which he really appreciates. Because right now, adding this onto everything that’s happened already, he’s not sure he can take it.

“Get him to the Medjack Hut,” Minho orders, already looking around for Clint and Jeff. “He needs to go through the Changing now.”

Newt’s really glad that Minho’s taking charge, because he’s not sure he’s capable of doing much more than hyperventilating at the moment.

“Hey,” Teresa says softly, “it’s alright. He’s gonna be fine. If anyone can pull through this, it’s Tom. You know that.”

Newt glares at her through bleary eyes. “You knew about this.” It was supposed to be a firm accusation, but it comes out weak and exhausted.

“He asked me not to tell you,” Teresa says quietly. “I’m sorry, Newt. I tried to get him to stop. Tried to convince him not to do it, but…” Her voice trails off. “He had to.”

Newt tries to exhale, but it comes out as a shaky sob. “He did, didn’t he?” It’s almost heartbroken, the way he says it. Even he hears it. This must be much worse to deal with than the “look”.

“He’ll be okay,” Teresa continues. “Come on, let’s go inside, okay? Check on Chuck. He must be a mess. I think he saw it happen.”

He didn’t see it happen. Teresa made sure of that. Unfortunately, she’d been so busy distracting Chuck that she’d forgotten to distract Newt. And when the time came, the blond saw it all go down through impossibly teary eyes.

“Tom will be just fine. I promise.”

“He won’t be,” Newt says instead. “Not when he wakes up.”

Teresa laughs softly. “If you wanna break his knees, dude, I will hold him down while you do it,” she offers. “Because God, he deserves it.”

Minho joins them not long after. Newt’s glad for the extra company. He’s so scared. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this scared in his entire life, and he can only remember two years of it. Sure, Thomas might survive all of this. But if he does, what happens if he becomes an empty shell, like Alby had? What happens if he’s Thomas, but never Tommy?

Newt doesn’t think he could handle that. It’d be worse than Thomas just kicking it, in some sick, horrible, twisted way.

“Thomas will be fine,” Chuck says bluntly. It had been his exact response when they’d told him what happened, too. “He’s too stupid to die. Or to have anything mess him up like Alby.”

Minho laughs distantly. He’s just as worried as Newt is, but he’s doing a much better job of keeping it hidden. Well, whatever. Newt was finding it harder and harder to care about whether or not people saw him sobbing. Everyone knew how much he loved Thomas, anyway. He had a right to be breaking down. He’d had a right to it for years, really.

“They didn’t take anyone tonight, though,” Minho says, trying to distract him. “So Thomas saved someone’s life tonight.”

Newt nodded slowly. That was a good point. A great point, even. He was just… a little too terrified at the moment to be thinking straight.

“Well, we’ve got everything figured out, though,” Teresa continues. “Once Tom wakes up, and tells us everything he’s remembered, we’ll get out of here, and be free, or whatever.”

That is another fantastic point. Newt wonders if he’ll be able to convince Alby to come with them. Maybe there’s proper therapy or something, out in the real world, that he can get Alby into. Maybe they’ll be able to fix him. And then he chides himself, because Alby’s a person, and he’s not broken. He’s just different. Which is just as well, since he went through the bloody Changing.

“Float, Catch, Bleed, Death, Stiff, Push,” Minho recites, like he’s trying to make sense of it all. “It’s a code, right? That’s what we decided?”

Teresa nods. “What else can it be?”

“Alright, fair,” Minho continues. “So we all take a big risk, jump through the Griever Hole, put in the code, and then we’re free. Just like that.”

Newt nods slowly. He gets how Minho’s feeling. He gets it better than Teresa, and better than Chuck. Two years, the Runners have been trying to figure this out, and it took Thomas and Teresa half a week to do it all virtually by themselves.

Were they really that useless? Or were Thomas and Teresa just genius?

"Thomas is gonna be okay, right?" Chuck asks, suddenly much less sure. 

Newt wraps an arm over his shoulders, hugging him tightly. "You said it yourself, didn't you? Those shuck Grievers haven't got anything on Tommy." 

Chuck nods, but he doesn't look very convinced. Newt couldn't blame him. Nobody could tell, really, whether or not Thomas would walk out of this the same. If he would even walk out of this alive. 

It was the Changing, and everyone reacted to it differently. Alby had become an empty shell; Gally had gone a little mad; Newt was beginning to wonder if the Serum had ever even worked on Ben at all, since the Builder obviously had not regained his senses. 

Thomas might not survive. He might wake up with an entirely different personality. He might become an entirely different person. Would Newt still love him, he wonders, if that happened? If Thomas became someone other than his Tommy?

Probably. Newt didn't think there was a single thing in the whole world that could ever make him love Tommy any less. 

"The Changing ain't what Thomas has to worry about," Minho tells Chuck. "It's Newt that should have him quakin' in his boots now."

Newt rolls his eyes, elbowing Minho in the ribs. But he doesn't say anything. Because they all know it is the Changing that could make or break Thomas. And they all know that they have every right to fear the outcome. 

Chapter Text

He’s a small child. That’s fun.

Well, not really, actually. It’s kind of miserable.

And even as a small child, Thomas knows he feels miserable, too.

“These people are going to look after you,” his mother says. “Because you can’t get sick, and I can. And I have.”

Thomas, at the ripe age of five and a half, has no idea what his mother is talking about. Not really. He just remembers what happened to his father, and that’s reason enough for him to listen to her. He doesn’t want to watch her go all funny like he did.

He need only close his eyes to hear the echoing shouts of his father. Angry. Angrier than Thomas had ever heard him before. Shouting and calling him and his mother all these mean names, some of which Thomas had never even heard of. And then his mother, telling him she's called the authorities, that he's not in his right mind. And then his father getting even angrier.

Thomas doesn't know how the Flare works. He doesn't really know what it is. But he knows that he's going to lose his mother the same way he lost his father, and he doesn't want to be there when his mother grows angry, too. 

That being said, he doesn’t really want to go with these people, either. They’re wearing funny clothes and they look mad. Thomas is only five and a half, but he knows that this isn’t going to go as well as his mom thinks it is.

These people are scary in their big white coats. They're scary as they stare him down like they're dissecting him, like they're looking into his eyes and seeing everything he's ever done. Like they know everything about him and just don't care that he's a little kid.

That he's a scared little kid.

One of the men takes him by the arm so he can’t run away. They don’t speak to him, and they don’t even give him the opportunity to say goodbye before they’re leaving the house.

One looks up at the flickering lightbulb. Then he looks at his coworker. “Hey, why don’t we name him after that guy?”

“Don’t have a Thomas yet, do we?”

~~

He’s eight years old now. They’re walking him to the surgery room, but it’s not going to hurt, they say. Thomas isn’t so inclined to believe them.

He remembers that that wasn’t always his name, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember his life from before.

One boy, one he recognizes to be a young version of Minho, is struggling outside. “Don’t go in there!” He says to Thomas. “They say it doesn’t hurt, but it does! They’re putting things in our brains!”

That’s all he can get out before his handler drags him off to who knows where. Thomas spots the girl. A little Teresa, and he’s seen her around before. She’s not exactly struggling, but she’s not complying, either.

Thomas tries to help her, at least, since it’s too late for him. But he’s only eight years old, so there’s not very much he can do before he’s grabbed again. Oh well.

The girl -Teresa- looks at him with wide blue eyes. “Some day we’ll be bigger,” she says.

And that is all.

Then little Thomas is forced into the surgery room.

There’s someone else in there. A blonde kid, unconscious, bandages wrapped around their head. The chart beside them reads “Natalie” but that doesn’t feel right to Thomas, even those he’s never met this kid.

If only he knew what was about to happen.

If only he knew just how right little Minho was. 

The beeping in the room is loud and intolerable and causing Little Thomas's ears to ring. It's all he can focus on. The scientists are talking to him, probably explaining how the process is going to work, but Little Thomas finds he doesn't really care how it works.

He's long since learned that WICKED will do as they please, whether Thomas wants to comply or not. If WICKED was set on this surgery, there wasn't a single thing he could do to prevent it from coming to pass, even if he was one of their geniuses.

~~

“The Maze Trials are going along well,” Chancellor Paige says.

Thomas knows her name even though he doesn’t remember ever seeing her before. Well, these are memories, after all. Of course Little Thomas knew who she was, even though Old Thomas didn’t. That’s what happened when you woke up in a maze with no recollection of your life before it.

“Are they?” Little Thomas asks.

Paige nods pointedly. “Your support in building the Mazes is greatly appreciated, Thomas. You’re truly a part of the team. You and Teresa both. The Mazes have been built two years faster because of your aid. We’re so close to finding a cure, all thanks to you.”

Thomas stares out at the screen. The beetleblades don’t give them the best view, but it’s not terrible. It’s enough for their variables, anyway.

Even if Thomas isn’t so sure that this was as good of an idea as it had been when Paige had asked him to help.

“Remember, Thomas. WICKED is good.”

He truly couldn’t sink any lower.

Chapter Text

“No,” Minho says instantly. “Don’t be awake yet. Stay unconscious for another couple of hours.”

Thomas’s eyes widen. Just a bit, because they’re straining to adjust to the light, but enough to be sarcastic. Witty. “Gee, love you too, dude.”

“Seriously Newt is not happy right now,” Minho continues. “You’ve been out a couple days, and things are at an all time low. Alby’s still spoutin’ nonsense, and Newt's at his wit’s end.” He lowers his voice. “Dude, he’s been fantasizing about how he’ll break your knees since the moment he recovered from the initial shock.”

Thomas nods slowly. Right. Newt. He didn’t want Newt to be upset with him. He’d done what he had to do. Surely Newt understood that. Teresa did, and if Teresa understood, then Newt would have had to come around in the few days Thomas wasn’t conscious.

On that note, the aftermath of the Changing wasn’t too bad. After hearing Ben and Alby scream, become these empty shells of themselves, Thomas had been scared. But he felt totally fine. Just like normal. Maybe he’d been screaming while he was unconscious. Who knew. He didn’t particularly want to find out, anyway.

He needed to go and apologize to Newt, and then he needed to round everyone up and tell them what he could now remember. If getting those memories back really counted as remembering. It was more like watching someone else’s memories on a video screen. But he’d… Shit.

He’d helped build the Maze. Him and Teresa both. They were apart of this. They were with the Creators. Or had been, at the very least. WICKED. He was with WICKED. This was all his fault, just like Gally had said. Just like Ben and Alby had said. They’d been right all along.

Newt and the others… they’d defended him relentlessly, and they’d done it all for nothing. This was all Thomas’s fault. And Teresa’s.

But if that was the case, if they had been working with WICKED, then why were they in here? Had they pissed them off? Or was this all a part of the plan? A plan they could no longer remember?

No matter. Thomas didn’t want to think about that right now. He needed to go find Newt and apologize. And, hopefully, continue on with the rest of the things he needed to do right away with his knees still in tact.

“Where’s Newt?” Thomas asks Minho.

Minho’s eyebrows go up. “You’re askin’ so you know where not to go, right?” Thomas stares blankly at him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Think he’s talkin’ to Alby. So, in the Slammer, I guess.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Thomas gets out of bed. It takes a lot more effort than he’d care to admit, but he doesn’t let that slow him down. There are lots of things that need to happen in the next few hours, and they’re already on borrowed time as it is.

He rushes down to the Slammer. He stays as quiet and non-disruptive as he can, because he doesn’t want to intrude, but he really wants to see Newt. More than he’s ever wanted to see Newt before, and that’s saying something.

“You have to come.”

“I’m not going,” Alby protests. “I’ve seen what’s out there, Newt, and you haven’t. That’s the difference, and I’m asking you to trust me.”

Newt frowns. “I can’t trust you on this one, mate. Too many shanks have died in here already. I need to put a stop to that.”

“They’ll die out there, too. You don’t want to leave,” Alby insists. “Seriously. Thomas will tell ya the same thing once he wakes up.”

Newt stares at him. “Tommy won’t be able to talk after I’m done with him.”

Huh. So Minho definitely wasn’t lying when he said Newt wasn’t pleased with him. That’s fine. Maybe just the sight of him totally okay will change his mind. Thomas quite likes his knees the way they are, actually.

“You won’t hurt him,” Alby says.

Newt sighs. “Maybe I’ll just kiss him so hard his bloody lips swell up. Or maybe I’ll shatter his knee caps. Haven’t quite decided yet. I’ve got time.”

“No you don’t,” Thomas supplies, making them aware of his presence. 

Newt whirls around instantly, surprisingly light on his feet. Thomas certainly hadn’t been expecting that. Or the look of genuine relief on his face. He broke out into the prettiest, most genuine smile Thomas has ever seen. And it makes Thomas so happy that he starts smiling too.

The blond practically jumps at him, arms wound tightly over his shoulders, head buried into the crook of his neck. Thomas isn’t sure if Newt wants him to hug back, but he loops his arms around his waist anyway, just in case.

He’s shaking. Actually, physically trembling. Thomas feels really bad. He must have scared him really badly. More so even than his first night in the Maze. He’s crying, but it’s silent, so if Thomas hadn’t memorized all the blond’s mannerisms, he wouldn’t have been able to tell.

He hugs him tighter, trying to be just as lovable as he had been before he’d gotten himself stung. Newt (unfortunately) pulls away, making direct eye contact. Which in itself is impressive, because Thomas knows he struggles with that.

His eyes are teary and his bottom lip is trembling. Oh, God, not The Look. He can’t say no to The Look.

“I’m okay,” Thomas promises him.

Newt blinks at him for another second. Two. And then he crashes their lips together, kissing him hard.

It doesn’t last very long. A couple seconds, maybe. But they were the best seconds of Thomas’s entire life, regardless of whether or not he remembered most of it.

Finally, Newt pulls away from him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

He swallows hard. “Don’t tell anyone we did that,” he says.

Thomas raises his hands, imitating surrender. “Lips are sealed,” he promises him.

He doesn’t look at Alby, who seems very amused at everything that’s happening right now, but also kind of… happy. Like, happy for Newt. Which is the only kind of happy Thomas has ever seen Alby be.

“Now,” Newt says, stepping back. “I’ve decided that I’ll let you choose how I break your knees, since I couldn’t pick.”

“And here I thought you’d just be happy to see me,” Thomas says sarcastically, pretending to sound disheartened.

He really hopes that Newt’s actually joking. Newt frowns pointedly, his cheeks puffing out. Thomas wonders if he’s done that on purpose or if he’s just adorable by accident.

“I am happy to see you,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re… you’re still Tommy, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Thomas says.

He knows exactly what Newt meant. He was glad that Thomas was still the same he used to be. Not an empty shell like Alby, not a lunatic like Ben. Not… however Gally had changed. But really, it barely feels like it possibly could have been the same thing they went through.

Thomas felt totally fine, and he made sure that Newt knew he wasn’t lying when he said that.

Newt seems a lot more relaxed now. Relieved. The blond fills him in on everything he missed. Which, truthfully, wasn’t much. A few people Thomas didn’t know got taken by Grievers, but that was it. Resources are at an all time low, and they need to get out of here as soon as possible if they want too actually survive. Pretty much just what Minho had very briefly stated upon his waking up. Obviously in more detail of course, and it was more engaging, since Thomas would much rather listen to Newt talk than Minho. Even if it was about something this terrible.

“We need to round everyone up,” Thomas offers. “You, Min, Teresa, me. Five minutes. Weapons Room. I’ll get Minho, you get Resa. I have something pretty important to share.”

Newt hesitates, and then he nods pointedly. “Right,” he says. “Okay.”

Right as Thomas has turned around to leave, the blond calls out his name. He turns around, expecting a blow to the knees.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Newt says quietly, smiling gently.

“I am, too,” Thomas says, blowing him a kiss before running off.

Really, there was nothing that could ever keep him from Newt. Never ever.

Not even the end of the world, which, according to what he’d seen going through the Changing, might be right now.

Chapter Text

Teresa didn’t really want to be here, but she was pleased that everyone trusted her enough that they wanted her to be a part of this very important discussion.

She already knew everything that Thomas was going to say, but they didn’t know that. They couldn’t possibly know that. Unless Thomas remembered that last betrayal… No. He wouldn’t. If he had, then Thomas would have cornered her alone the second he woke up.

But instead, he ran off to find Newt. Presumably. She could only assume, but when it was Newt that asked her to meet them and not Thomas, she figured it was a safe guess.

“So,” Thomas begins awkwardly.

Oh, Tom. He has absolutely no idea how to start this. How to confess that he’s been with WICKED this entire time. That Gally and the others had been totally and completely right about him since the very beginning.

“S’alright,” Newt says patiently. “Take your time.”

Teresa’s convinced that Thomas is the only person in the whole universe (aside from Sonya) that Newt would ever speak to this gently.

“Teresa and I…” Thomas’s voice trails off. Sometime between Newt’s encouragement and the beginning of his explanation, he’s reached over and gripped the blond’s hand tightly. Newt doesn’t seem to mind. “Teresa and I were working with the Creators. Before. They’re called WICKED. The people that run the beetleblades and send the Box are the same people that made the Grievers and trapped us here.”

Neither Newt nor Minho seem very outraged, like Teresa might have expected. From Minho, at the very least. She’d have thought he would jump for joy, rub in everyone’s faces that he was right about her and they were wrong.

But they both just sit there, waiting patiently for Thomas to continue. Minho’s jaw is clenched, but he doesn’t say anything. Newt swallows hard, but doesn’t even give them so much as a Look.

“I don’t know why they sent us in. I can’t remember, obviously. I dunno. We just… we helped build the Maze,” Thomas continues. “WICKED has been experimenting on us since we were kids. All of us. Me and Teresa, too.”

Technically, it would be “Teresa and I” but Teresa doesn’t point that out. Thomas is quite obviously verging on an existential crisis, and she’d much rather leave that as Newt’s mess to clean up.

“There was this lady. Talking to me in a memory. She told me that WICKED was good, but…” Thomas pauses. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Newt’s free hand rests on top the one of Thomas’s holding his. “But we’re right? 'Bout the code and the Griever Hole?”

Thomas falters. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting the blond to react so well, to take this so easily. “Well, yeah, but-”

“But the rest doesn’t matter, Thomas,” Minho interrupts. “Maybe you were workin’ with WICKED before, but ya ain’t now, are ya?”

Thomas pauses, and then he shakes his head. “Well, no, but-”

“But nothing,” Newt says. “Who you were before the Maze doesn’t even exist anymore, so what’s it matter what ya did? You’re not gonna do it now. You’re with us. You’ve been helpin’ us since day one, Tommy. You’re not with them. And neither is Teresa.”

Well, technically, yes she was. But saying that might not get her any friendship points, so she pretends to look shocked and troubled instead. The others can’t know she remembers everything. That she was only sent in to keep things moving.

Still, she was surprised by how easy they were taking this. This was a big confession. One that Newt and Minho had been furious over in the past, before they were sent into the Maze. Well, maybe it had just been Minho. Newt and Thomas had still been pretty friendly the night before. Or was friendly even the right word for it, when they'd been so in love? Teresa didn't know.

Teresa expected Minho, at the very least, to take this harder. To be angry. At Teresa, if not the both of them. That was his thing. He was so fiercely protective over the people he cared about that it took virtually nothing to get him mad. But Minho wasn't mad. That must mean he cares about Thomas too much to get mad at him. But if that was the case, did he also feel the same way about Teresa?

She shakes those thoughts from her head. She doesn't want to think about that. She can't afford to think about that. 

“Really? You guys aren’t mad?” Thomas asks, dumbfounded.

“No,” Minho says.

“I’m mad,” Newt offers, “just not ‘cause of that.” He pauses. “I will still be breakin’ your knees by the way. The second we get outta here, mate, they’re goners.”

Thomas nods slowly, looking at Teresa for help. Teresa was still prepared to hold him down and help Newt do it. Getting stung had been an incredibly stupid idea and Newt had every right to be mad at him for it.

“Ok, cool, good to know.”

“So, do we leave now?” Teresa asks, trying to get them back on track.

Thomas sighs, exhaling shakily. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess so.”

Chapter Text

“You’re coming, right?” Newt asks, not for the first time.

Alby sighs. “I dunno, Newt,” he manages. “I don’t want to go out there.”

“It’ll be worse in here,” Newt says. “All by yourself. Waiting for the inevitable. At least out there, we can make our own choices. Have some buggin’ liberty.”

Alby doesn’t respond. He really doesn’t want to leave. Whatever he saw in the Changing, whatever hadn’t been shown to Thomas… it must be really awful. It’s not like he’ll actually tell Newt what’s got him so worked up, anyway. It’s really annoying.

“Newt, it’s horrible out there,” he says. “For everyone. Even before… before WICKED, the world was shucked up. You won’t be happy out there.”

“We won’t survive in here,” Newt protests. “I’m leaving, Alby, and…” His voice trails off. “I don’t wanna leave without you. I won’t leave without you.”

Alby’s face softens. Newt used to love that he was the only one Alby had a soft spot for, but now he despises it. The way that he knows he can bend the older boy totally to his will, just with one sad look. Just with a few teary blinks or a pout. In this case, however, perhaps he can use that to his advantage. Alby might not want to leave the Glade, but maybe a little bit of crying and pleading can change his mind.

Now, normally, Newt would never stoop to this kind of level. But desperate times called for desperate measures. So he’d do what needed to be done in order to get everyone out. That’s what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it?

So he blinks a couple times, waiting for the tears to come. That’s the thing with bottling up all of your emotions. They’re pretty easy to let out once you finally allow yourself to break down. He bites his lip, staring at the ground, and then back up at Alby.

“...Newt…”

Yeah. He’s winning. Alby can’t say no to him. Especially not when he’s on the verge of tears. And/or a mental breakdown, which is surely where this is headed.

“Please, Alby, please.”

The phrase makes him think of Ben, but he pushes that thought out of his head as quickly as he can. He didn’t want to think about that. He wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

“Fine,” Alby relents. “Fine, I’ll come. But only for you. ‘Cause you’re gonna need someone once you get out of there, trust me.”

Newt isn’t sure if this is a win or not, but he nods pointedly, wiping his eyes. Emotional manipulation was actually kind of fun. A dangerous kind of fun. But it was a good trick to know, anyway. Especially in a life like this one.

“Is it really that bad out there?” Newt asks.

Alby just stares at him. Not even a nod in response. Still, Newt knows the answer. Yes, it is. Whatever Alby had seen, going through the Changing... it must be terrible. If it was enough to shake Alby's wits from him, it must be garish and dreadful. A total nightmare come to life.

But anything has to be better than waiting around in the Glade, right? Waiting aimlessly to get picked off by Grievers, one by one? Surely nothing could be worse than waiting patiently for your own death. 

Alby didn't seem to think so, and that was what gave Newt pause. Not enough to convince him to stay, mind you, but enough to make him wary. 

"Maybe Tommy will have somethin' to say about it," Newt offers. "The outside world."

Alby laughs distantly, rolling his eyes. 

"What?" Newt asks.

"You," Alby answers. 

Newt frowns teasingly, tilting his head to the side. "Yeah? What about me?"

"Lovesickness looks good on ya, Newt," Alby says finally. "Brings back that light in your eyes."

Newt doesn't know what to say to that, so he nods slowly, and gestures toward the stairwell. 

"Well?" He prompts. "Are we leavin'?"

"If we must."

After having thoroughly discussing it with Minho, they’ve come to the conclusion that they can let Alby have free reign of the Glade now. Of course, they’d keep an eye on him, but not more than necessary.

So Newt lets him out, and leads him back outside.

He spots Minho and Thomas talking. He’s not sure where Teresa is. Probably with Chuck. It was impossible not to like Chuck, even though he himself was a bit impossible sometimes.

"What? Starin' at your boyfriend?"

Newt elbows him in the ribs. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Really? Maybe I've gone shuck crazy down in the Slammer, but I coulda sworn it's been days since his confession."

Newt sighs, already knowing where this is going. He's already getting plenty of this from Minho, and even more of it from Fry and Teresa. He does not need Alby after him about getting official with Thomas. Especially right now.

"It has been," Newt agrees.

"And you're still not together?"

"Well," Newt says, "we're sorta together. Like, we know we feel the same way, n' all, but... 's just not a good time. Not till after we get outta here."

Alby nods slowly. Newt's sure he knows something. Something he's still not willing to share.

"Go on, then," Alby says, pushing him gently. "Go talk to him. I know ya want to."

Newt rolls his eyes, but he takes a few steps forward anyway. 

Chapter Text

Thomas looks over at him. He smiles brightly, and then goes back to whatever he was telling Minho. Newt grins to himself and goes to find Chuck. He hasn’t held a proper conversation with that kid in a while, and he kind of misses him.

Sure enough, Teresa’s with him already. She spots Newt and waves him over, her explanation not straying at all. He wonders what they’re talking about.

“And that’s why you should always be careful,” Teresa concludes, nodding solemnly.

Chuck nods as well. “Right. Why Newt and Thomas should always be careful.”

“...what?”

Chuck looks up at him, grinning. “Well, Thomas talks in his sleep. Y’know that? You’ll know that soon enough. Anyway, he has some funny dreams about you. Says some funny things. So I asked Teresa what they meant. She has lots of answers.”

Newt’s eyes widen. He’s not sure he wants to know what they had been talking about before he approached them. Actually, he’d really prefer to not have heard even Chuck’s vague explanation, either. He can fill in those blanks, and this is definitely not a conversation he’d like to be having.

“Anyway,” Chuck continues, “you need to fire Thomas as a Runner.”

Newt frowns, confused. “Why?” He asks.

“‘Cause he spends all his time with Minho now, and I can’t prank him if he’s with Minho,” Chuck answers. “Look.” He pulls out a very long worm from his pocket. “I’ve had this thing for an hour and a half, but I can’t put it down Thomas’s shirt till Minho leaves.”

Newt nods like he totally understands Chuck’s pain. He’s not sure he really wants Chuck to put a worm down Thomas’s shirt, but ultimately decides that it might be funny. And God knows they need a little amusement in here after everything that’s happened recently.

So he smirks instead. “I can distract Min for ya,” he offers. “Easy job, really.”

Chuck’s eyes light up. Oh, how he’s missed this kid.

Teresa’s eyes widen too. “Seriously?” She asks. “We’re doing this?”

“‘Course we are,” Chuck says. “C’mon, Resa, you can help.” He pauses to think about the role she could play. “You stick around and tell Thomas you’ll help get the worm out of his shirt, but instead, you put another one in.”

Teresa looks over at Newt briefly, and then refocuses on Chuck. “You have two worms?” She asks. “Two worms you’ve been waiting to prank Thomas with all this time?”

“You should always have a backup worm, Teresa,” Chuck says solemnly. “And a backup for the backup.” He produces a third worm. “Newt, take this one and pretend to have sympathy after Teresa’s worm, then stick him with this one.” He pauses thoughtfully, producing a fourth. "Give this one to Minho."

He hands Newt and Teresa their selective worms. Newt doesn’t know how to feel about this, but ultimately decides that Thomas deserves this for getting himself stung. It’ll just have to replace the knee breaking he’d planned.

Then Chuck ushers Newt along. Right. Distracting Minho. A very easy job, really. You’d think it’d be more difficult, but it doesn’t take much to get him going.

“Min!” Newt calls.

Minho looks over at him. He pats Thomas on the shoulder, and then jogs off to meet Newt halfway. Perfect. Everything is going according to plan.

“You need to help us prank Tommy,” Newt says quietly.

Minho’s eyebrows go up. He’s in. He’s automatically in. “What do you need me to do?” He asks instead of telling him this is a bad idea.

Because it’s not a bad idea. It’s a bloody fantastic idea.

“Take this worm,” Newt says, handing one to Minho. His nose scrunches up as it wriggles in the palm of his hand, but he doesn’t argue about it. “After I’ve done my worm, you go.”

Minho doesn’t ask questions. He already knows exactly how many steps this plan has, and exactly what everyone’s supposed to be doing for it to go accordingly.

Chuck sneaks behind Thomas. Then jumps up and drops the first worm down the back of his shirt. Thomas jumps, already wheeling around to yell at Chuck or at least figure out what’s going on. That’s when Teresa attacks, doing the exact same thing Chuck did.

Thomas turns to face the both of them, yelling about how this is such an inappropriate time for a prank and whatnot. Poor Tommy. He’s managed to get both the worms out, throwing them at Chuck because he knows the kid’s the mastermind. Now it’s Newt’s turn.

He rushes forward, winking at Minho first. Thomas sighs, meeting him halfway. He’s trying to feign concern, brows scrunched in a way that he hopes makes him look disappointed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Tommy,” he says sincerely. “I can’t believe they’d do something like that.”

Thomas just shrugs. “What can I expect?” He deadpans.

Newt tilts his head to the side, smiling with fake sympathy. He opens his arms, gesturing for a hug. Thomas readily complies, looping his arms around the blond’s waist. He’d never turn down a hug from Newt, and that’s exactly what the older boy had been depending on. He wraps his arms over Thomas’s shoulders, and, when he’s thoroughly distracted, slips the third worm down the back of his shirt.

Thomas is absolutely still for a second. And then he pulls away, staring Newt down with a playfully betrayed look in his eyes.

“You too?” he asks.

Newt hesitates, thrown off by the younger boy’s puppy dog eyes. “I-”

But then Minho slams the final worm down his shirt, and that’s what Thomas refocuses on. He turns around, yelling at Minho. Newt feels quite accomplished, since he’s the only one that didn’t get yelled at for this. The perks of having someone love you, or whatever.

“Seriously!? Did you guys plan this!?”

“We win!” Chuck shouts instead. “I got your boyfriend on my side, Thomas! Maybe you should reevaluate your relationship!”

“We’re not dating!” Thomas says back.

Chuck rolls his eyes, feigning exasperation. “Trust me, I know,” he says. “You never shut up about it! Not even in your sleep! I know better than anyone how back you want to fu-”

“I don’t need to hear that!” Newt interjects. “I really don’t need to hear that!”

Minho laughs sarcastically, clapping a hand on the blond’s shoulder. “Yeah, you don’t,” he agrees. “I hear everything in that Maze, dude. It’s horrible.”

Newt really, really doesn’t want to know.

Chapter Text

“So… are we leaving now, or do you guys want to shove more worms down my shirt?” Thomas asks, crossing his arms.

Chuck elbows Minho, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to one of his pockets. Minho tilts his head from side to side in consideration, nods, and then gently kicks Newt’s right foot. He doesn’t spread the message to Teresa, which, honestly, shouldn’t surprise Thomas at this point.

After the constant knee-breaking threats, Thomas would have figured that Newt would be down to continue the worm thing. But he’s not. He shakes his head at Minho, and then makes Chuck completely empty all of his pockets and confiscates all his worms.

Sixteen. That’s how many worms Chuck still had. As well as four beetles, half a beetleblade, a dead bee, and two expired eggs. Thomas didn’t want to know he got all this, or what he was planning to do with it all.

“Really?” Newt asks, unimpressed.

Chuck smiles innocently, trying to play dumb. “What?” He asks. “Is it against the rule to have pet worms, Newt?”

“It is for you,” Newt says without missing a beat. “Say goodbye to your worms, Chuckie. It’s time to go, and we don’t have time for them anymore.”

Chuck turns around, gently releasing his worms onto the ground. He begins a long, teary goodbye. Thomas isn't sure how he managed to conjure up tears so quickly, but he has to commend the kid's acting job.

"I'll never forget you, my fine, brave friends," Chuck continues, wiping at his eyes.

The worms have literally already slithered on. 

"My most trusted confidants, my beloved companions, I shall never forget you, and the brave, brave sacrifice you are making this day."

"Wrap it up, Chuckie," Minho says. "We don't have all day. They're just worms."

Thomas is secretly pleased with this turn of events.

They’ve rounded everyone up, and it’s time to leave. Well, it will be once Chuck is done with his goodbyes.

“Well? Are we ready?” Minho asks.

Newt clears his throat. "Chuck." The kid looks at him with a too innocent grin. "I said all the worms."

Chuck sighs, tossing one last worm over his shoulder carelessly.

"Now are we ready?" Minho asks.

Nobody argues. Alby looks like he might want to, but casts one sideways glance at Newt and stays silent. Newt’s stare is pretty much always on Alby at the moment, making sure he doesn’t wander off or burn something else down. Thomas would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little jealous. Really, he wanted Newt’s constant attention, too.

“Well,” Minho continues, “the clock’s ticking.”

Alby sighs. “Let’s go,” he says.

He doesn’t want to leave. Thomas isn’t sure what he saw, but he isn’t sure he wants to know, either. Anything is better than the Glade, especially the way it is now. Hopefully, anyway. Obviously Alby doesn’t think so.

Minho doesn’t wait around for an alternative response. He turns on his heels and bolts into the Maze.

Thomas nods at Teresa, and then follows after him. Her hand finds his. Oddly it feels like infidelity, even though he’s, technically, not in a relationship. He holds on, though. He feels an odd sense of comfort, holding someone’s hand. And they’re the ones that need to put in that code, anyway. So it should make sense, to stay together.

They round a corner. Thomas grabs Chuck’s hand with his free one. He promised the kid that they’d find his family, and he wasn’t about to back down from that. Chuck needed to stay right beside him, just in case.

Thomas promised. He doesn’t go back on his promises. Especially not one like this.

“Careful,” Minho calls out. “Grievers are closin’ in.”

Thomas tries to pay no mind to that. They’re almost at the Griever Hole. If they can hold off for just a few more minutes, they’ll make it out. All of them.

But then he hears the unmistakable, horrible, terrible screeching of a Griever, and he knows that he had been foolish to hope for something that impossible for even a second. The Creators… WICKED wasn’t going to let them all out. They wanted sacrifices. They wanted hardship. They didn’t want a happy ending.

Thomas tried to shake those thoughts out of his head. His entire body was filled with panic, filled with dread, but he of all people couldn’t let that show. He needed to set an example, whether he wanted to or not. He knew that just as well as everyone else.

So he kept running, stopping only when a Griever blocked their path.

Another came up behind it.

And another.

Three.

Uh oh.

“It’s fine,” Teresa says quietly. “Minho knows how to kill them, right?”

Thomas frowns pointedly. “It’s not that simple,” he says.

“We’ll just be quick, then,” Teresa says determinedly.

She’s given up on consolation, which Thomas appreciates. There’s no comfort for a situation like this.

“We have to get past the Grievers,” Thomas points out. “We have to jump through the Griever Hole, and it’s behind them.”

Teresa doesn’t seem surprised by that. Thomas finds this odd, but not odd enough to dwell on it. Maybe it’ll warrant a question or two later, but certainly not now. There’s too much going on now of greater importance.

Before anyone can offer up some incredible suggestion to get past the Grievers, Alby walks forward, arms outstretched.

The Grievers devour him without hesitation.

Chapter Text

It’s a terrible sight. One of the worst things Thomas has ever seen.

The clicking, the screeching, the eerie screaming of both Alby and the Grievers.

Thomas looks away. He has to force himself to do it, but he does, making Chuck do the same. He’s not going to traumatize this kid more than what is absolutely necessary. Teresa follows his example, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

But, of course, looking behind him gives Thomas a perfect view of Newt. Whose eyes have gone wide and teary. His bottom lip trembling more than the usual Look. He’s not crying, and he hasn’t moved, like he physically can’t look away. Maybe he can’t.

Thomas wants to run over and hold him. Kiss those tears away. But they don’t have time for that. So he’ll have to make up for it later. He didn’t even really like Alby, and still his heart had dropped. He couldn’t even imagine how Newt was feeling.

Teresa tugs on his arm. The Grievers have started to move again. They’re taking more than just Alby. His sacrifice was, literally, for nothing.

Minho’s nodding at him, telling him to go on, to put in the code. Assuring him that they’ve got it covered. Thomas doesn’t want to leave them. He really doesn’t. But this had been the plan all along, so he runs off towards the Griever Hole, dragging Teresa and Chuck along behind him.

He stares at the abyss for only a moment before diving in, hoping that the others will follow after him. Also hoping that this doesn’t kill him, because that would be really bad. And Newt would find some way to bring him back to life so he could kill him again.

But it doesn’t kill him, so at least some things work out in their favor. Teresa and Chuck follow in suit, landing on the ground beside him. Thomas pulls himself to his feet, taking in his new surroundings.

It’s a small room. There’s a shute in the corner, probably leading to wherever the Grievers came from. Their way in. There’s a computer in the center of the room, glowing green, welcoming them in.

“That’s where we put the code in,” Teresa says, breaking the tense silence. “It must be.”

Thomas has to agree. Where else would they use it? They rush over.

Teresa types in the first word. Float. Thomas tries to block out the sounds of struggle coming from above them. Tries not to picture the people he cares about being ripped apart by giant mechanical slugs.

He types in the second word. Catch. The buttons are big and sticky and hard to press. It’s taking too long. Anything could be happening up there. They could all be dead at this point, and that’s a conclusion that Thomas is trying very hard not to draw.

Then comes the third one. Bleed. He hears a little too much shouting from above them. It freaks him out. Panic swells in his chest like it never has before. Teresa takes over typing because of how badly his hands are shaking. The next two words come easy. Death. Stiff. She’s a lot better at this than he is.

But then she struggles with the final word. She’s pressing the buttons, but the words aren’t coming up on the screen. It’s broken. It’s totally broken. It won’t let them finish the code. They’re never going to get out of here. It was impossible all along.

“It won’t let me finish it,” Teresa says, still struggling with the buttons on the computer. “It’s push, right? I haven’t messed up?”

Thomas nods. “It is,” he manages.

How many people have just died because of their malfunctions? How many more are on their way to that same fate?

“Just push the enter button,” Chuck says nonchalantly. With that, he reaches over and clicks it.

The screen flashes green, then white, and then something clicks down below them. They’ve done it. The way out. The Grievers must have turned off, too. Or shut down. How did they even work? Thomas didn’t know. But there aren’t any more sounds of struggle, so either everyone’s dead, or the Grievers powered off.

“I’ll be damned,” Minho says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You actually did it, Greenie.”

Thomas turns around. He’s never been more thankful in his entire life to see Minho’s face. “I’m not the Greenie anymore,” he says. “Teresa is.”

“Right you are, Tommy,” Newt says gently, squeezing his hand tightly. Thomas laces their fingers together. “As always.”

Chapter Text

“So… do we… do we slide down that thing?” Frypan asks.

Thomas stares down the Griever shute. Newt follows his gaze, trying to stay focused on that and not the fact that Thomas hasn’t let go of his hand yet, and has instead opted to hold it tighter. His thumb brushes back and forth across the back of the blond’s hand. This is allowed now, isn’t it? Wasn’t that their rule?

“I guess so,” Thomas says finally.

Teresa looks at it, wrinkling up her nose in disgust. Newt couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t exactly keen to think about all the Griever slime that must be on that thing. But after everything, after losing all those people, this seemed like a small price to pay.

Minho puts a hand on Teresa’s shoulder. She practically jumps. “C’mon, Greenie,” he says teasingly, winking at Thomas. “You’re not scared of a little slime, are ya?”

It’s the most friendly conversation they’ve held. Literally ever. And all it took was several near death experiences together. Huh. Who would’ve thought.

And Alby… Oh God, Alby. Newt didn’t even want to think about that. If he dwelled on it for too long, surely he’d shatter into a million pieces and never be able to be put back together again.

Thomas notices the falter and holds his hand tighter, his opposite hand closing both of theirs and smiling sadly. Thomas’s pity isn’t so bad.

“This is allowed now, right?” Thomas asks quietly. “Since we’re out?”

Newt looks down at their hands. “Yeah,” he says. “I suppose it is.”

Minho coughs loudly, bringing them back to real time.

Right, real life where everything was horrible and lots of people were dead. There came that horrible nagging feeling of dread filling his heart again. Things really sucked right now, but at least they weren’t dead. That’s not the happy note Newt might have chosen a couple of months ago, but it is now. Now that he’s met Thomas.

It’s odd. How one person’s presence can make such a huge difference in your life. In your entire world view.

Minho nudges Newt to the side gently. The blond looks up at him, frowning pointedly. He’s confused. What’s he planning?

The older boy gestures at Thomas, and then at the Griever shute. Ah, of course. He wants to push poor, unsuspecting Tommy down the Griever shute, but doesn’t want the brunet to drag Newt down with him, judging by the not-so-vague gesture to their clasped hands.

Newt sighs, knowing that he won’t be able to dissuade the Runner. So he, reluctantly, lets go of Thomas’s hand. Thomas turns around with a hint of disappointment in his expression. That quickly disappears when Minho shoves him down the Griever shute.

He goes down shouting the whole way, yelling and cursing Minho’s entire bloodline.

Minho shoots Newt a pointed look. “You go down next,” he says. “So you can calm Thomas down so we don’t have to deal with him.”

Newt rolls his eyes but is secretly thankful that Minho doesn’t push him down. It’s actually slimy and disgusting, more so than he ever could have imagined. But Thomas is at the bottom waiting for him, so it’s not so bad.

"Fancy seeing you here," Thomas says teasingly. "Traitor."

"There was no stoppin' it," Newt protests, laughing when he remembers how funny it had actually been. "And c'mon, call it even, since ya got yourself stung."

Thomas hesitates, and then admits defeat. "Alright, fair enough."

Thomas extends an arm to help him up. Newt smiles softly, taking his hand and pulling himself up to his feet again.

The younger boy pulls him a little closer, settling his free hand on the blond’s waist, wrapping his arm around the small of his back. Newt sets his hand on the brunet’s bicep, grinning.

Minho gags loudly.

They break apart very quickly.

Chapter Text

Minho really hoped that this wasn’t going to be a thing.

If he had to cough loud enough to announce his presence every time he wanted to talk to either of his best friends, it was going to be a problem. Surely Newt and Thomas had some kind of self regulation. Surely they wouldn’t be on each other every hour of the day.

Given the fact that they’ve only just allowed themselves to be together, and he’s had to do it four times, Minho isn’t very hopeful.

But he’s happy. For Newt, anyway. He’s so happy for Newt. He deserves to be happy, after everything he’s gone through. Especially after what just happened to Alby. Minho felt miserable about it, so he could only assume Newt was feeling even worse.

He’s happy for Thomas too, or whatever. But he’s way happier for Newt. Thomas will overshare every detail about their relationship, and Minho is so not looking forward to that.

But they made it out of the Maze. That was what was important. Pretty much everyone was down the chute now. Just waiting on a couple more people. That was what mattered now. They were out. After two years, they were finally out.

That was all Minho wanted to focus on, since he couldn’t bear to think of all the people they lost along the way. Alby, Ben, Zart. Even Gally, Minho begrudgingly admitted.

“Some turn out,” Teresa says bitterly.

Minho turns around to look at her, surprised. She’d proven herself a Glader, just like the rest of them. He still decided there was something off about her, more than what Thomas had said after going through the Changing, but everyone had secrets, didn’t they? Maybe he was better off not knowing what Teresa kept behind closed doors. Maybe it was something mental, like Newt. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

“Well, there’s still about half of us,” Minho says, trying to find something good to say. Trying to see the glass half full when he’s only ever seen it half empty.

Teresa just shrugs. “What do we even do now? Can we trust these people?”

“Obviously not,” Minho says. “But they’re still human. Kill ‘em, if we have to. They didn’t seem very sorry to do that to us.”

Teresa seems uncomfortable with that response. Minho doesn’t really care. After everything they’ve done to be a free, he’s not going to let anyone else take that away from them again. He owes that much to Alby. To Ben. To Zart and Gally and all the others who couldn’t make it this far.

“You don’t seem to hate me anymore,” Teresa says quietly. It’s the most vulnerable Minho has ever heard her.

Minho shrugs in response. “Well,” he says, “you’re one of us now. Whether ya like it or not, Greenie. Can’t hate a Glader, can I?”

“You hated Gally just fine,” Teresa presses, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, well, Gally’s the shuckiest shuck-face I’ve ever seen,” Minho says matter of factly. “Everyone hated Gally. Not just me.”

“Frypan did. And I don’t think Newt hated Gally.”

“Newt doesn’t hate anyone.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Teresa blurts out.

She refuses to elaborate when Minho presses. Must be something she’s remembered. From before the Maze. Or maybe just an observation. Minho decides he doesn’t want to know. He’s only just started to trust her. He doesn’t want to doubt her, even if he’s in a bit of denial.

She’s not so bad, Teresa.

Not bad at all.

“You’re, like, a smart version of Thomas,” Minho says, trying for a different approach this time. “How can I hate ya?”

“Tom’s plenty smart.”

“Not in the common sense department, Greenie.”

“Maybe not,” Teresa says, “but WICKED picked him for a reason, didn’t they?”

Minho sighs. “Yeah,” he relents. “I guess so.”

Two people in labcoats step out of a doorway Minho hadn’t noticed. He watches Thomas take a subconscious step forwards before doing the same. Beside him, Teresa readies her stance. Readies herself for a fight.

Chapter Text

It’s not until the third person steps forward that Thomas’s heart drops into his stomach.

He recognizes him all too well. At first he thinks it’s just an illusion, but then he hears Newt’s breath catch, and Chuck’s surprised gasp, and he knows that it’s not. That Gally’s actually standing in front of them, staring them down.

“I thought he was dead,” Chuck whispers to Thomas.

Thomas shrugs. “Guess not,” he whispers back.

“If only I had my worms,” Chuck says wistfully. And then he glares playfully at Newt. “If someone didn’t confiscate my wo-”

“No. Worms.”

Truly, Thomas has no idea how Newt manages to keep everyone under control every day. It really must have been the most difficult job in the entire Glade.

“Gally?” Minho calls out, speaking for the rest of them.

Thomas is glad for it. He isn’t sure he’d be able to actually talk to Gally. He’d much rather distract himself by discussing Chuck’s worms.

The other boy doesn’t respond right away. Just stares them down. That, typically, is not a very promising sign.

“Gally?” Thomas tries.

Finally, Gally’s attention focuses on him. His eyes narrow. His lips twist into a scowl. Finally. There’s the Gally Thomas knows.

“This is all your fault,” Gally says slowly.

Truly, it’s just like old times. But he’s holding a knife. A very sharp, pointy, bloodthirsty knife. So maybe it’s not just like old times. Thomas should feel a little more scared than he currently does, seeing as it’s quite obvious Gally wants to plunge that sharp, pointy knife into his heart.

“Gally, put the knife down,” Newt says calmly. It sounds more like a plea, but Thomas isn’t going to tell him that. “Can’t we talk about this?”

“The time for talking is over,” Gally snaps. “You didn’t wanna do any talking when I was right, did you, Newt? Too blinded by love to see reason?”

“Hey-”

Newt cuts him off with a look. A good point, really. Maybe Thomas shouldn’t do the talking for this one. Clearly he’d only add fuel to the fire, and that wasn’t how they were going to all walk away from this.

“Gally, you were right,” Newt says. “Tommy and Teresa… they both were workin’ for WICKED. Alright? You were right, and I was wrong.” He pauses. “But they’re not anymore. They’re on our side, mate. Can’t we put the knife down and walk out of this together?”

Gally shakes his head adamantly. “We can’t,” he says. “We’re not on the same side, Newt, you and I. You made sure of that the second you took the Greenie’s side over mine. If you wanna pick Thomas, that’s fine by me. You made your choice. You all did.”

“Gally,” Teresa tries. Probably not a good idea. Isn’t she supposed to have more common sense than this? She’s the smart one, after all.

“No,” Gally says. “Thomas can’t win. Thomas doesn’t get to win.”

There's something wrong with him. Him and the people behind him. Why aren't they doing anything? How did Gally even get out here? Was this still all WICKED's doing, or had Gally just actually lost it?

But no. There was something in his eyes. Something different about him. There's more clarity there now. More fear and guilt and shame. Unbridled anger, sure, but Gally doesn't look angry enough to use Thomas as target practice.

No, it's more like... he's fighting with himself. 

There's nothing Thomas can do. He realizes that quite quickly. WICKED must be controlling him, or something, and there's nothing any of them can do. They can't reason with him if he's not in control of his own body. And they certainly won't be able to reason with the WICKED scientists behind him, either. 

He's going to throw that knife. The rest of it is up to them.

Thomas stands ready, watching Gally for the slightest hint of movement. Of preparation. Still everything feels blurry, hazy. Not quite right. 

He throws the knife.

Thomas is vaguely aware of the scuffling around him. Someone in front of him. Someone pulling him out of the line of fire. Newt, probably. He always reacted quickly. Thomas lands on the ground. Well, technically, he lands on top of Newt, who lands on the ground. But in this scenario, it’s basically the same thing.

“Thanks,” he manages, still too shaken to form a whole sentence.

Newt seems to be in the same boat. “Yeah,” he utters.

Thomas pulls himself to his feet. Gally might not have the knife anymore, but he’s still a raging lunatic and still very dangerous.

“...Thomas…”

Thomas looks over. Tries to find out who has just barely uttered his name.

And then his gaze lands on him.

Chuck.

And the knife sticking out of his chest.

Chapter Text

Teresa feels like her entire world is about to collapse.

Ava Paige hadn’t told her about Gally, and she certainly hadn’t warned her about what was going to happen to Chuck. What had happened to keeping her in the loop? She never would have vouched for this Trial if they'd told her about this. Chuck was just a little kid. This wasn't right. Not after they'd finally escaped.

Maybe there was still time. They were in the WICKED compound, right? Surely there was something Teresa could do.

But as she watches Thomas sob over the kid’s dying body, holding his face, his shoulders, begging him to stay alive, making empty promises he couldn’t possibly fulfill, Teresa knew that it was too late.

“T..Thomas,” Chuck bites out. “Find her.. Find my mom.”

Thomas shakes his head adamantly. “No,” he sobs. “You’re gonna find her yourself, remember? I promised you. I promised!”

“Tell her… tell her I’m sorry. Okay?”

Thomas is shaking. Literally, physically, visibly shaking. His entire body is heaving as he sobs. As he mutters incoherent apologies and pleas and repetitions of “no” and “I promised”. Teresa feels her heart shatter into a million pieces just watching it happen.

Minho is watching, trying to remain stoic. The facade is cracking. His eyes are teary. His clenched fists are shaking. Minho doesn’t get sad very often; he gets angry. And that’s exactly what he’s doing right now. Though it's not your typical anger. It's a grieving, devastated anger. Newt’s crying too. Actually crying. Silently, of course. He doesn’t want to make what Thomas is feeling worse. He has one hand over his mouth, the other on Thomas’s shoulder. Trying to keep it together so Thomas can fall apart.

“No, Chuck, please don’t close your eyes-”

Teresa bites her lip as she tries futilely to blink back tears. There was absolutely nothing she could do. Life was unfair and Chuck was going to die and there was absolutely nothing she could do.

“Thomas… find my mom.. Okay…?”

“I will,” Thomas cries. “I will. I will. I promise I will. If it’s the last thing I do. If it’s the only thing I’ll ever do.”

Chuck’s eyes fall shut.

Thomas sobs over his body as the life drains out of it, not letting him go until the end. Teresa’s crying now too. There was really no use in delaying the inevitable.

Out of all the people thrown into these experiments, Chuck deserved this the least. None of them deserved it, of course, but Chuck did the least.

Thomas is still trembling and sobbing as he slowly pulls himself to his feet. He’s glaring at Gally now, and Teresa knows that look all too well. This isn’t going to be good.

“Tommy-” Newt begins. He understood too. He has a firm hold on Thomas’s bicep, but the brunet shakes his hand off. “Tommy, let’s-”

Thomas tackles Gally to the ground, kicking and punching and acting more feral than Teresa has ever seen him act. She can't bear to watch him fight like a wild animal, but she couldn't look away, either.

And was fight really the right word for it? It was too one-sided to be considered a fight. Gally was just taking it. 

Minho is wavering where he stands, like he’s not sure whether he should pry Thomas away, or jump in and help. He opts to walk over to where Newt is standing. Puts a hand on the blond’s shoulder. He asks him something. Teresa couldn’t tell what. Newt shakes his head in response. She instantly realizes what Minho had asked him.

They watch Thomas beat the shit out of Gally in a frightened, traumatized silence. Like they couldn’t move, couldn’t intervene, even if they wanted to. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe they didn’t want to deprive Thomas of the vengeance he obviously needed.

The WICKED guards didn’t do anything to stop him, either.

Gally still doesn't fight back. Just takes it all. He must have been being controlled. Teresa hated that WICKED had the ability to do this to them, but they wouldn’t listen to her concerns. She was still a subject herself, after all.

It was just like she'd told Aris a few days ago. Watching these Trials unfold, truly registering that the victims -because what else would they be, if not victims?- were her friends... it was a lot different than planning these experiments in a lab. With coded, programmed robots demonstrating their ideas. 

These were real people.

These were kids. 

Things were going wrong.

Terribly, horribly wrong.

Chapter Text

Minho isn’t sure if Thomas needs help.

He probably doesn’t want any either way. This is his revenge, not Minho’s.

So he opts to stand next to Newt, instead. Get a better view of the fight, maybe, or just be close enough to jump in if things took a bad turn for Thomas. He clenches his shaking hands into fists. He doesn't like all this nervous, horrified energy. It'd be different, surely, if he was using it to beat Gally, like Thomas.

"Think he needs any help?" Minho asks quietly.

Newt takes a minute before looking at him. Like maybe it was physically difficult to look away from Thomas and Gally. But then he shakes his head; just slightly, but Minho knows what he means. What he's saying. This is Thomas's fight. 

So they both watch in horror as Thomas continues fighting. It's feral, animalistic. Like his common sense and morals have flown out the window. Maybe they have. 

At some point Teresa comes to stand at his other side, watching the fight go down in a frightened, nauseating silence. Minho's not so mad about Teresa being next to him. 

The WICKED scientists, the guards, they don't even do anything. They just stand there, and let this all happen. Let Thomas beat Gally half to death, if not all the way there. Let Gally sit and take it all. The same way they let him kill Chuck. 

Then a bunch of raiders storm in, and still Thomas doesn’t relent in his beating. The way he’s like this, pretty much feral, is a little unnerving. Minho can tell that it’s done a little more than unnerve Newt, but he doesn’t comment on it.

The raiders, a group of people armed to the teeth, start shooting the WICKED guards.

They waver when it comes to Thomas, not exactly sure what side he’s on. Minho doesn’t really trust these people either, but he would certainly prefer them to WICKED, so he’s inclined to follow their lead.

“Tommy,” Newt calls out, trying again. 

Thomas turns to face them, at the very least actually hearing them this time. He relaxes a little, defeated. He’s done. They all know he is. He lets Newt go get him. Lets Newt hug him tightly and then lead him back over to everyone else.

He’d probably let Newt do anything.

“...I’m so sorry,” Newt begins.

He was just as close to Chuck as Thomas had been, but Minho doesn’t call him on that. Thomas is the one grieving dangerously.

Thomas doesn’t respond. He bows his head into Newt’s shoulder, hugging him tightly around the waist. Still sobbing. Breaking even more than before, now that he’d let go of the immediate fury. Newt hugs him back just as tightly, one hand on the back of his head, raking through his hair, the other on his back.

Ew, love.

“I promised him,” Thomas whispers.

Newt hugs him even tighter. “‘S not your fault, Tommy,” he murmurs. “You couldn’t have known. You did everything you could.”

“Should’ve been me.”

“No,” Newt says instantly. “Please don’t say that. It shouldn’t have been bloody anyone. We couldn’t possibly have known. There was no way we could have anticipated that.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Thomas relents. “Newt, I…”

“Find his parents,” Newt says quietly. “That’s what you promised him, Tommy. We’re gonna get outta here, and we’re gonna find his bloody mum if it’s the last thing we do.”

“...We?”

Newt nods pointedly. “‘Course,” he says. “You think we’re gonna go our buggin’ separate ways? ‘S you and me, Tommy. And Min, and everyone else. Till the end.”

“I dunno what I’d do without you,” Thomas says softly.

He’s not full on sobbing at this point, but he’s still holding Newt like a life line. Minho feels as if he’s intruding on something private. Newt finally pulls away from him, hands resting on the brunet’s biceps. Thomas’s hands are on his hips, and it still feels a little too intimate for Minho to be watching.

The raiders (they’ve identified themselves as WICKED-antis, but Newt and Thomas were both too preoccupied to hear it) are trying to usher them all out, but no one seems inclined to leave until Thomas is ready.

“Let’s get outta here, yeah?” Newt prompts, eyes a little glassier than before. Realization’s probably hitting him now. Alby’s death, too. He’s trying to keep it together. For Thomas, for everyone. Minho really wished he would just break down so it’s not worse later on. He needs to stop bottling things up.

Thomas risks one glance back at Chuck's body. It's probably still warm. Minho hates to realize that, but the fact remains true all the same. Whether he likes it or not. He's scared that Thomas seeing Chuck, dead on the ground, might send him back into a whirl of dangerous and aggressive rage again, but he just looks defeated.

He looks so small, shaking and sobbing in Newt's arms. Nothing at all like the guy that had led them out of here. 

But that's just what grief does to you, isn't it?

Chapter Text

They’re instructed to follow the raiders.

They try to explain everything. How WICKED had kidnapped and abused them. How they were safe now. Blah, blah, blah. Most of the others seemed to buy into it. The older ones were still wary. Teresa expected nothing less.

She hasn’t recovered yet. That pit of dread has still holed itself up inside her heart, seized her and doesn’t plan on letting her go any time soon. For the first time during the Trials, Teresa actually feels scared.

She doesn’t say that though. Of course she doesn’t. Teresa supposes this is just how Newt has always felt. Stay strong so the others don’t totally flip out. That’s what he’s doing right now, just behind them.

Trying to figure out a way to fix Thomas. Or, at least, cheer him up as much as possible.

The raiders hadn’t known whether or not to trust him, even. Thomas. At first, they’d thought he might have been with WICKED. It wasn’t until he started sobbing into Newt’s shoulder that they figured out he was one of the Maze kids.

They were still a little suspicious of him. Probably because he was so upset that he’d become unpredictable. Nothing previous variables had told them would indicate what he could do. How he would react to literally anything.

“This didn’t go so well, huh?” Minho asks, walking along beside her.

Teresa just shrugs. They’re following these supposed “raiders”. It’s still WICKED, but no one else knows that. Still, at this point, Teresa wasn’t so sure how much, exactly, she really knew about the Trials. They hadn’t warned her about controlling Gally, or controlling Chuck.

“No,” she agrees, “it didn’t.”

She looks back at Thomas, who has regained enough of his composure to walk normally, at least. The “raiders” are leading them to a bus, where they’ll be taken to the next Trial site. The dorm, and then the Flat Trans to the Scorch.

Thomas has not let go of Newt. Teresa isn’t sure if it’s a conscious decision, or the fact that he fears the blond will leave him next if he lets go. Either way, Newt doesn’t seem to mind, quite content with Thomas’s arms around his waist. It must be hard to walk like that.

“Thought Thomas was gonna kill him,” Minho confesses. “Gally, I mean.”

Teresa sighs. She need only close her eyes to remember the scene that had unfolded just ten minutes earlier. It had been horrifying to watch. She had been thinking along the same lines as Minho had been, honestly.

It had scared her, frankly, to see what Thomas was capable of. Especially when it came to the people he loved. Teresa would hate to be Ava Paige, right about now. Or any of WICKED, really. Any more a part of it than she already is.

“I’m sure he wanted to,” she says instead of admitting that. She’s not ready to be that vulnerable, and she probably never will be. “He would’ve. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Minho says. “Think he only stopped ‘cause Newt yelled out to him. Literally, Newt is his self regulation.”

“Bet he’d destroy the whole world though, if Newt asked him to,” Teresa points out.

“Oh, yeah. They’d be unstoppable, if they were both reckless idiots.” Minho pauses. Teresa can tell there's a lot weighing on his mind. Maybe stuff he's not ready to share, or maybe stuff he wants to share only with her. "Do ya think this is the end?"

Teresa frowns pointedly. Well, she absolutely does not. She's not sure, exactly, if Chancellor Paige had decided to go through with the Scorch Trials or not, but she was leaning towards yes. If they'd implemented the raid, surely they would carry out the rest of what they had planned.

But if she told Minho any of that, then he would realize Gally was right about her and never trust her again. She wanted to keep her friendships for as long as she could before the variables required her to betray them. 

"Probably not," she says. 

Minho nods slowly. He'd probably been thinking along the same lines, even though he didn't have any of the insights Teresa did. "I don't know how much more some of these shanks can take," he confesses, looking behind him.

He's talking about Thomas. Teresa knows it.

Quite frankly, Teresa has to agree. This was just one close death. What would happen if it was Minho next? Or Newt? Thomas might actually lose it. He might go psycho-killer on them and destroy the world. 

Teresa has never seen Thomas look so utterly broken. Not even before the Maze Trials, when they would watch the cameras together. Not when they were kids, and they were the victims of yet another cruel experiment. Not after they'd been sent into the Crank pit as punishment, not after Thomas had seen Randall go past the Gone. 

And maybe seeing Thomas so defeated was what scared her the most.

If he lost his spark, would there be any hope for success in these Trials?

Would there be any chance at saving the world?

Would all of this, all these deaths, these sacrifices, have been for nothing?

"He'll be okay," Teresa manages, rather than voicing her fears. "He's gotta be. He'll pull through. As long as we're here to help him."

Minho doesn't look as convinced. "If Newt can't fix him," he says quietly, "there's no hope."

"Let him grieve for tonight," Teresa murmurs. "Once it's time to make big decisions, he'll focus on that, and he'll heal better. He's still in shock. The wounds are still fresh. Y'know? Give him a little time before we jump to assumptions."

"Never been this worried about him."

That, Teresa can agree with. 

Chapter Text

“So, where, exactly, are you taking us?” Minho demands.

Newt’s glad that Minho’s the one taking charge. He isn’t sure he has the mental capacity for it at the moment, especially with Thomas in the shape he was in. Maybe Minho noticed that. Maybe that’s why he’s being skeptical enough for all three of them.

Really, Newt can’t much focus on anything that isn’t Tommy. Not after what had just happened. Not after what he did to Gally. He could attack anyone, if they said the wrong thing right now.

“Just our headquarters,” one of the leaders say. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe there. Free from WICKED. We’re glad to get you out of there.”

Minho nods curtly. He’s still not convinced. Newt can’t focus much on that.

He helps Thomas sit down. Hugs him tightly. Tries to get his breathing to a somewhat regular pace, at least. Tries to find the soft spoken, gentle Thomas that had found him that night in the woods.

Thomas has his arms around his waist, both hands settled on his right hip. The younger boy looks over at him, concern now laced with his despair. Newt drops his head onto the brunet’s shoulder, looking up at him.

“You alright?” Thomas asks him, his voice softer than it had been before. He’s in the “need to comfort” mode now.

“‘M fine,” Newt says.

He feels like he’s falling apart on the inside, but Thomas certainly doesn’t need to know that. Not when he’s grieving as terribly as he is right now, and will be for the much foreseeable future. Thomas bends down and kisses him on the forehead. Huh.

“Y’know you don’t have to pretend to be okay just ‘cause I’m not, right?” He asks. Newt knows that saying from somewhere. “We can both be not okay at the same time.” Right. He’d said that just a few days ago.

“Use my own words against me, why don’t you,” Newt teases, smiling distantly.

“I mean… I didn’t know Chuck for half as long as you knew Alby,” Thomas continues. Newt doesn’t like that this conversation is about him now. “You don’t have to pretend to stay put together just because I’m falling apart. You’re allowed to grieve, too.”

“I am grieving,” Newt protests. “Just in my own way.”

“Bottling up your emotions does not count as grieving.”

“Well, I can’t say beatin’ the klunk outta someone’s a good way o’ grieving, either,” Newt says back, shifting to cross his arms.

Thomas sighs. Maybe that was a little too soon. Oops. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Thomas just hugs him tighter in response. Newt still feels bad. It was too soon to talk about Gally, to remind him of what had happened to Chuck.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Thomas says quietly. “Yeah. What happened was really… really horrible, but… but this isn’t the end, is it?”

Newt freezes. He hadn’t thought about that. Alby had hated the outside world enough to… to kill himself to stay in the Maze. And would WICKED really let them leave? Just like that? There was always going to be someone after them, for whatever odd reason.

Newt hadn’t stopped to really think about what would happen after. Up until very recently, he hadn’t anticipated there ever even being an “after”.

But this isn't the end. Of course it isn't. Newt should have known that right off the bat. They'd never be able to actually catch a break. There would always be something to run from. 

“Whatever’s gonna happen next will be harder,” Thomas continues. “I’m sure of it. WICKED won’t give us up, and these people… they didn’t take us just for the sake of it. They probably want us for something, too.”

“And whatever they want us for…” Newt’s voice trails off.

“It won’t be good,” Thomas finishes.

Chapter Text

Thomas doesn’t want to think about Chuck. 

And, above all else, he certainly doesn’t want to think about Chuck’s death as a “good” thing. But after everything that’s happened, there’s no way things would end this easily. Memories were still coming back to him. He hadn’t told Newt that, or Minho, or even Teresa.

But they were.

And there were a few things about the world that he didn’t like the sound of. Hot things. Diseases he couldn’t quite classify. 

This wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning. 

There would be more hardships to come, and they would be even worse than the Glade, than the Maze and the Grievers and what Gally had done. Perhaps it was for the better that Chuck wouldn’t have to go through all of that.

And despite having warned Newt earlier about his speculations, Thomas didn’t plan on telling him anything more. Right now, as it stood, the blond was a mess. In the nicest way possible, of course, but a mess all the same.

He hadn’t properly processed anything that had happened today, and Thomas piling more bad news on top of everything was only going to break him. 

Thomas understood, most importantly, that he wouldn’t have the time to grieve over anyone that had been lost. Not properly, anyway. Not when he would always, first and foremost, need to run. 

That isn’t to say that Thomas didn’t feel an empty pit in his heart still. Didn’t still feel crushing despair and unbridled rage. Because he did. Tenfold to what you might think he’s feeling. He just didn’t want to share that with anyone else. 

They’re almost to the “headquarters” as their rescuers call it. That’s what they said, anyway. Thomas hasn’t really been paying attention. His thoughts are too loud, and with Newt asleep in his arms, there’s no one to silence them. 

You okay?

Fine, Teresa. And you really need to stop scaring me like that. Almost had a shuckin’ heart attack. 

You need to stop using Glade slang. You sound like an idiot. 

Yeah, that’s what Newt says, too. But it makes him laugh, so I’m trying to make a habit out of it. So if you don’t mind, allow me to practice. 

Nerd. 

Yeah, thanks. 

Seriously, though. You’re not okay. You have no reason to be. So just admit it and let me talk you through it so you can help Newt suffer later. 

You really think he’ll suffer?

Absolutely. His best friend sacrificed himself in front of him, Tom. In a really horrible way. That’s messing him up a lot more than he’s letting you realize. Just like you’re trying to hide how upset you are about Chuck from him. You’re both terrible, truly.

Thomas sighs, starting down at the blond, asleep against his chest. He wonders how Newt can even sleep right now. On this bumpy bus, after everything that had happened today. Well, yesterday, technically. It’s well after midnight now, if the time on his watch is correct. 

Hey. Come back. I wasn’t done talking to you.

Sorry. I was looking at Newt. He’s really pretty.

Dumbass.

Hey.

Sorry. You’re just a lovesick little nerd. 

I thought you were supposed to be consoling me. This sounds more like “gang up and insult Thomas”. 

You’re right. I’m sorry. 

I promised him, Resa.

You did everything you could. It’s not your fault. 

I broke my promise. 

Tom… nobody blames you. Chuck doesn’t blame you. Gally’s the one that did it. Chuck knows how much you cared about him. He knows, Tom. 

Thomas doesn’t respond right away. His eyes are stinging, tears brimming and threatening to spill. He can’t start crying, because if he does, he’ll never be able to stop. 

Chuck must know. Right? Teresa has to be right about that. Chuck must know that Thomas cared about him. Loved him like a little brother. He has to. Thomas wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise. 

It’s okay. Tom. Seriously. It’s not your fault, Chuck doesn’t blame you, we don’t blame you. You did everything you could. You avenged him, Tom. That’s what matters.

Resa…

Tom. 

Shuck, I miss him. So much. 

I know. It’ll be alright. I promise. 

Thomas isn’t convinced. He decides it’s better to just not think about it. He knows that it’s unhealthy. That’s what Newt’s been doing all along, and it certainly hasn’t done him any good. But it’s stopped others from worrying about him. So it might just be worth it to give it a try. 

He looks down at the blond, smiling gently. It’s a good thing that Newt’s still by his side. It’s easy to take your mind off of things when there was someone that pretty in your arms. 

Newt peeks one dark eye open, and then the other, bleary eyes wide as they stare up at Thomas. His grip on the brunet tightens ever so slightly, demanding all his attention. 

“Morning,” Thomas says quietly.

Newt blinks at him for a second. Two. Clearly he hasn’t fully woken up yet. “...Is it really?” He asks groggily, sitting up. 

Thomas nods. “Technically,” he says. “It’s one thirty in the morning.”

“Ah.”

“...How’re you doing?”

Newt stares at him blankly for another moment. Alright. Fair enough. Maybe this should be the other way around, since Thomas is the one that had had a violent outburst a few hours ago. But hiding your emotions is typically a lot worse than expressing them. 

“How’re you?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas says. “A lot better than I was. Honest.” Total lie. “Now stop deflecting and answer me. Properly, Newt.”

Newt hesitates, and then he sighs. “Feel pretty bloody awful, actually,” he says. “But that’s not important right now. We haven’t got the time.”

“We will soon,” Thomas says. “When we get in. Tonight. You’re gonna tell me everything you’re feeling, and I’ll tell you everything I’m feeling, and we’ll get it all outta the way.”

“..Deal.”

Chapter Text

Their rescuers brought them to some kind of dormitory. It was oddly placed, in the middle of nowhere, but they had food and water and clean clothes. And they weren’t trapped. It was a lot of celebrating that night, even if none of them felt particularly like celebrating. 

Well, Newt certainly didn’t, anyway. And neither did Thomas. Which is how they ended up in the dorm by themselves, while everyone else was out in the dining hall, having the supposed time of their lives. Newt sort of dreaded talking about this, but he found it was quite easy to talk to Thomas, regardless of the subject at hand. 

“Okay,” Thomas says, sitting down on the bunk bed in the corner. He took the blond by the hand, guiding him to sit down, too. “Let’s start with Alby.”

“I don’t wanna start with Alby.”

“Well, we’re gonna.”

“Oh.”

Thomas rubs his thumb up and down the back of the older boy’s hand, trying to be comforting. There’s no way out of this. 

It was hard. Really hard. Alby had killed himself in the worst way possible. Back when Newt had tried, when he’d jumped, Alby had saved his life. And in the end, Newt hadn’t been able to return the favor. So, yeah, he felt pretty damn terrible about it.

But he certainly couldn’t tell Thomas about that. Because that would mean first telling Thomas about the jump, and then Thomas would never look at him the same ever again. 

“I just…” His voice trails off. “He was my best mate, Tommy. And… and there was a time when he was more than that.” He pauses, not daring to look Thomas in the eye. “And… and you have to understand that a while back… he saved my life. And in the end, I couldn’t do the same for him.”

Thomas’s hand squeezes his even tighter. “He… he did? Back when you were a Runner? With the Grievers?”

Right. That’s the lie he’d told him. 

“Yeah,” Newt says slowly. “Back then.”

“I don’t think that’s the same,” Thomas says. “The… that’s… it’s different. Isn’t it? Alby sacrificed himself.”

“No, Tommy, you don’t get it!” Newt says. It’s a little sharp, and he wants to apologize, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Thomas doesn’t seem too bothered, anyway. Just concerned. His eyes have gone glassy. He’s probably crying, really, but he can’t tell. “Alby tried to kill himself, and so…” his voice trails off. “So did I.”

Thomas’s face falls. Oops. He hadn’t wanted to let that slip. Really, perhaps he was just delaying the inevitable. There was no way he’d have been able to hide it for much longer. 

“Newt…”

“Just… let me explain? Okay?” Thomas nods. “I… I was in a bad place. ‘S not that bad anymore, I swear. One day, I’d just… had enough. So I ran into the Maze, like any day, climbed the tallest wall I could find, and just bloody jumped.

“It was…” He throws his head back, sighing, crying, and laughing at the same time. “It was buggin’ liberating, Tommy. Falling… it felt like I was finally free. I just… I wanted to die.

“‘Cept it didn’t work, of course. Got caught in the ivy. Totally shattered the bones in my left leg. Just sat there, waiting for the Grievers to take me. Alby found me first. Dragged me back to the Glade, kept my bloody secret.”

Thomas kisses him then. Hard enough to shut him up, but soft enough that he can feel all the love and compassion behind it.The pity, though it’s an odd kind of pity that he’s come to not much mind. In fact, it’s a kind of pity that he’s begun to like. 

“You lied to me,” Thomas says. “The first day.”

“Well, ‘s not exactly something I like to talk about, is it?”

“You lied to me just now, too.”

Uh oh. This was going to warrant yet another conversation that Newt really didn’t want to have. This was a hard conversation, harder than the one he’d been anticipating. 

“I didn’t want to,” he begins. “I just… I thought you might never look at me the same way… if I told you the truth.” He pauses. “That’s what the others did, yunno. Min and Alby. Even Gally, in his own special way. ‘S why I was never allowed outta Alby’s sight.”

Thomas’s face falls even further. He holds the blond tighter to his chest. “I’ll always look at you the same way. With love and adoration.” He pauses, kissing him on the cheek. “There’s nothing that could change that. I’m just… I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.”

“You’re not gonna baby me?”

“No,” Thomas says. “I might check in more often, since you’re clearly struggling with depression, but I’m not gonna baby you.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Unless you want to be babied.”

Newt gives him a look. It probably doesn’t do the job very well, since his eyes are bleary and his cheeks are tear stained. But Thomas gets the point, and that’s what matters.

“What?” Thomas asks playfully, scooping him into his lap, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, hugging the blond impossibly closer to his chest. “You don’t like this?”

“Well…” Newt’s voice trails off. “Maybe a little bit.”

It feels a lot safer here, in the younger boy’s embrace. Much safer than the world outside of it was, even after they were rescued. Thomas was right, after all. This was only the beginning. 

“Now,” Newt says, “we move on to Chuck.”

“No we don’t,” Thomas says. “I’m fine. I told you I’m fine.”

“And you’re usin’ my bloody tactic,” Newt presses. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re bloody doin’ right now. Talk to me about Chuck.”

“You’re pushy, you know that?”

The blond tilts his head to the side. “I’ve heard it once or twice.”

“I just… I promised him, y’know? I promised him that I’d get him out.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, but… we were gonna find his parents. His family. Together,” the younger boy continues. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. I promised him. And I broke that promise.”

“I know. But it’s not your fault. No one could have seen that coming. You know that, right?”

“That no one could have seen it coming?”

“No, that it’s not your fault.”

Thomas falls silent after that. He doesn’t know how to respond. Maybe he’s never actually considered the possibility that there couldn’t possibly be any blame in this that could land on him. Perhaps he’s just used to blaming himself for everyone’s deaths. 

“It is,” he says quietly. “I was right there.”

“Yeah, and it was almost you,” Newt protests. “Look, if you wanna blame someone, blame Gally. Hell, blame me if ya want, but don’t you dare blame yourself.”

Thomas sighs. “Blaming Gally hasn’t helped. And I don’t wanna blame you. You’re blameless in all of this.”

“So are you.” Newt frowns. “I pushed ya, remember? If I hadn’t, the knife prolly would’ve hit you instead. So there. My fault. End of story.”

“It’s not your fault. And… maybe it’s not mine either. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel like it is,” Thomas says. 

“We’ll find his mum. Okay?”

“Yeah… okay.”

“And that will bring him some peace.”

“Okay.”

“And that will bring you some peace.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s all we can really hope for, isn’t it?”

Chapter Text

Thomas stared at the bottom of the bunk above him. Everyone was asleep now, and Minho was snoring really loudly. It’s not like that’s the only thing keeping him awake, anyway, but he’ll pretend that it is so he can pretend he’s at least a little bit normal. 

They took Teresa to some other room. Probably because she was the only girl. Thomas wasn’t sure what the point was, since she’d been the only girl since day one anyway, but there wasn’t really any time to argue. And it didn’t really matter, anyway. 

Newt was asleep on the bottom bunk beside him. Well, he was laying there. He was most certainly not asleep. Thomas, having seen him asleep many times before, could tell. 

He doesn’t wanna bug the blond, though. God knows they all need their sleep, after everything that has happened today. So Thomas decides to talk to Teresa, instead. He doesn’t mind bugging her half as much as he does bugging Newt. 

Are you awake?

…I am now. 

Sorry. I just… I can’t sleep.

Chuck?

A little. Newt, too. Now.

Why? Is he alright?

Yeah. It’s just… some stuff he said earlier. Stuff that happened a long time ago. I just didn’t know about any of it, and it’s… it’s kind of difficult to recognize that he went through it alone. That’s all.

Oh. Alright. Not about Alby?

Well, a little bit about Alby. But that’s okay. 

Alright. If you say so. 

So, where’d they put you, anyway?

In the room… on the other side of the main area, I think? It was dark. They locked me in, too. Guess they really didn’t want you guys getting any ideas.

Don’t you dare group me with them. I’m madly in love, remember? I wouldn’t even consider doing something like that. 

Yeah, yeah. Night, Tom. 

Night.

He still can’t sleep. 

“You awake?”

Thomas turns over, making direct eye contact with Newt. “Yeah. You?” He pauses when he sees the blond break out into a smirk. “Don’t answer that. I’m an idiot.”

“Think I’m out like a light, actually,” he says. 

Thomas rolls his eyes, silently appreciative of his friend’s (boyfriend’s?) returned sarcasm. “Wanna come over here?” He asks instead, lifting up the corner of his blanket invitingly. 

Newt hesitates a moment, turning around. He’s trying to make sure that everyone else is asleep already. Thomas isn’t sure why he’s gotten so shy all of a sudden. Perhaps he just doesn’t want the others to see him being as vulnerable as he often is in Thomas’s arms. 

But then he gets up quietly and ducks under Thomas’s covers, snuggling into his side immediately, arms around his middle, head on his chest. Thomas welcomes him in, of course, one arm around his waist, the other on his hip. He drops his head closer to the blond’s, just ‘cause.

“You alright?” Newt asks softly.

“Yeah,” Thomas says. “‘Course I am. Just a little hard to sleep. Teresa was talking in my head, too, which didn’t help.” He leaves out the part about him being the one to start the conversation. 

Newt nods thoughtfully. “Sure you don’t need to talk?”

“I’m sure,” Thomas assures him. “Unless you wanna talk.”

“No,” he says, “I’m alright too.”

And then he leans up and kisses Thomas on the jaw to prove it. It lasts a little longer than it probably should have, been a little too sensual for their location and the time of night. 

Thomas pulls the blond into his lap, kissing him properly. They’ve kissed, sure, but it’s never lasted long enough to count. Not even their private one a few hours earlier. And, God, hasn’t he gone long enough without kissing him?

Newt’s hands are cupping his face soon, deepening the kiss. It’s soft and patient and loving, and nothing like a kiss they’ve waited this long to have should be. And Thomas loves every damn second of it. He never wants it to end.

His hands are at the hem of the blond’s shirt, lingering long enough to be assured that what he’s going to do next is alright. Newt does nothing to protest against it, pushing back into his touch. 

It’s not until Thomas’s hands are exploring the warm flesh of the blond’s stomach that Newt hesitates. Instantly Thomas stops, pulling away, a sense of worry overcoming everything else.

Newt looks scared. Like, actually, genuinely scared. It makes Thomas waver. Did he do something? Is he taking this too fast?

“Is everything-?”

“Yeah,” Newt breathes. “I just… Maybe there’s something I should tell you. Before… y’know. We get too serious?”

Thomas nods slowly. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “You can tell me anything.”

“Right, I just…” His voice trails off. He sounds downright terrified to tell Thomas whatever he’s about to say. It’s freaking the brunet out, to say the least. 

Thomas’s hands find themselves on the blond’s hips again. He’s got wide hips. They’re nice to hold. And maybe that’s not commentary he should be making right now when Newt looks mortified to be anywhere near him.

“I’m…”

Thomas nods his encouragement. There’s literally nothing Newt could ever tell him that could make him see him differently. The boy could have committed mass genocide, and Thomas would still think him the purest creature to ever exist. 

“I’m trans.” Maybe Thomas looked a little confused. “As in, transgender. Like-”

“I know what it means,” Thomas says softly. “I just.. God, Newt I thought you were gonna tell me something bad. Like, that you were a wanted war criminal, or something, and you just remembered.”

Newt stares at him with wide, teary eyes.

“Shit,” Thomas says quietly. “I mean shoot. Um. Sorry. I’m so sorry. That’s not what I should have started with.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Look; I love you so so much, and you’re still my Newt. I don’t think of you any differently, or anything.”

Newt smiles, looking genuinely relieved. His eyes are still bleary, but it seems to be a good thing now and a not a ‘terrified out of his mind’ thing. Progress, really. 

The blond lays down on top of him again, snuggling closer. Impossibly closer. He kisses the burnet’s neck and then nuzzles into the crook of it, like the fear of not being accepted had totally drained him. 

Thomas holds him, his hands tracing patterns into the bare skin of the blond’s back and sides. He finds himself a lot more drowsy, more weary now. Maybe his lack of sleep wasn't a lack of exhaustion, but rather a lack of comfort. 

Thomas isn’t sure when, exactly, Newt fell asleep, but it was definitely before him. 

It was alright, though. 

Newt deserved to finally get some rest. Thomas wasn’t sure when the last time was that he’d actually gotten a full night’s sleep. 

It would be much more frequent, now that they were dating. Thomas would make sure of it. Especially since he knew that deep down, Newt likes Thomas’s special attention. 

They would be okay, so long as they were together.

That was what mattered, right?