Good Grief (TMR fic)

Chapter 21

"Come on," Newt says, dragging me towards Minho. I laugh as I follow him, jogging to keep up.

"What's up?" Minho asks through a mouthful of food as he wolfs down a late dinner. Apparently he'd been napping since he got back from the Maze.

"Alby is interrogating Tommy, and Ash and I are bored," Newt says.

"We probably wouldn't be bored if we had gone back to work like we were supposed to," I say, and he laughs.

"Whose idea was it to play hooky?"

"Mine. But I never said that I have good ideas," I counter.

Minho chuckles, even though he looks pretty tired from his run. "I don't know how you shanks got bored when you argue like this."

"This is all we've been doing, though," Newt whines, "and we can't stop ourselves. I'm sick of it."

I think he secretly enjoys the back-and-forth arguing as much as I do, but admitting it would ruin the game. 

"Do you guys do anything for fun?" I ask to change the subject, and Minho snickers.

"Not Newt. He's in charge of making sure no one has fun."

"That's not true!" Newt yelps.

"If you want to prove that you can have fun," I say, "then agree to do whatever Minho chooses for entertainment."

Newt gives me a suspicious look. "Okay. But you two have to do it as well."

Minho grins. "I have the perfect idea."

I can tell Newt already regrets agreeing, and I snort with a laugh.

"This way, lord and lady!" Minho says, and leads us towards the Blood House. "I vote Ash does grunt work," he says when we reach the storage space.

"I second that motion," Newt immediately answers, and I scoff.

"Thanks, guys. Nice to know I'm a valued member of the team."

"Oh, don't worry," Minho says. "We value your efforts a lot. Especially since we don't have to do the work. It's not a big deal, though, just a bit of digging."

He presses a shovel into my hands, and takes me around to the back of the barn. I can see where something was buried fairly recently, and I lazily start digging.

After a couple of minutes I've uncovered a small wooden box, and Minho pulls it out eagerly.

"I hate both of you for talking me into this," Newt grumbles.

"What are we even doing?" I ask, leaving the shovel leaning against the barn.

"Behold!" Minho says, opening the box. "My secret stash of moonshine!"

Newt and I exchange a glance.

"Uh, what?" I say, and Minho pulls out a jar full of some sort of liquid.

"Is it actually alcohol?" Newt seems curious, although he keeps glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one is able to see us.

"Hopefully. I'm trying to figure out a recipe that works."

"Why do I feel like this is a bad idea?" I say, as Minho takes a swig from the jar and nearly chokes on it.

"Because it is," Newt says. Despite his words, though, he curiously tries a sip before handing the jar to me. Minho is still coughing, and Newt makes a disgusted face before joining him.

I'm not to be outdone by these two, so I try to throw a whole mouthful of it back. It's horrendous, though, and it takes all of my willpower to not spit it out as soon as it hits my tongue.

Then Newt looks at me, and I can tell he's taking it as a personal challenge to drink more of it than me. Minho isn't going to let us beat him, either, and I know we're in for an awful time.

Minho throws up after ten minutes of passing the jar back and forth, but Newt doesn't stop, so I can't either. The Keeper of the Runners is leaning against the barn miserably.

"Tell me you guys are going to stop, right? I'm not sure you even can get drunk off of this."

"Pretty sure you can't," Newt says before drinking another mouthful with a grimace and handing it back to me, "but at this point it's a matter of stubbornness."

"Um... what are you doing?" Thomas is staring at us in confusion. He must have just come around the corner of the barn.

"Tommy!" Newt says, cheerfully. "We're initiating Ash as a Glader. It's your turn, now! Drink the rest of this."

There isn't much left in the jar, and Thomas gives it a curious look as Newt shoves it into his hands.

"Yeah, Thomas. Become a true Glader. And also don't tell Alby," I say. Minho snickers.

"Glad to see you're feeling better," Newt mutters at him. "I'm still miserable from how much... well, never mind."

"Miserable?" Thomas asks.

"It's nothing," I say. "Come on, bottoms up."

He narrows his eyes at me, and slowly raises the jar to his mouth. Knowing he won't actually drink it once the taste hits him, I grab the bottom of the jar, dumping it all over his face.

"Run!" I hear Newt say, but I'm already sprinting for the fields. 

~~

A/N: This is one of my favorite fluff scenes, lol. It's always made more sense to me that Minho would make the homemade alcohol, not Gally.