𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐀𝟖 || 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐭

𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤

You gasped loudly, shooting up from the bed you lay on as you struggled to bring air into your lungs.

Pain. Blood. Memory. The Maze.

You immediately regretted moving anything at all, much less your entire body as every wound screamed in protest, pain ripping through the wounds. You laid back down, staring at your body, with hundreds of cuts, large and small, blemishing your s/c skin. You heard a rustle, and saw a worried-looking Newt enter the room, brushing aside the palm fronds that made for a door in the Medjacks' hut.

"Y/N!" he rushed to your side, brushing some of your hair from your face, his large, warm hand caressing your cheek with the softest, kindest of touches. "How are you feeling, love?"

"Like ... shit ..." you laughed weakly. Newt managed a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"H-hey." You slowly moved so your head was in his lap. "What's wrong?"

"I'm worried about you," Newt pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you, Y/N, you know. Minho and Tommy practically dragged you out of the Maze half dead, and everyone started fighting about whether to go where you found or not."

"I love you too," you made sure to affirm, before continuing with your question. "Why was there fighting? I-it's our only way out."

"Gally thinks it's too dangerous," Newt sighed. "But I do agree with you."

You sighed, letting Newt run his hands through your hair. Before you could get carried away by the moment, you noticed he still looked worried and a little ... terrified?

"Newt? Something else is wrong, I can see it." You made sure his soft brown eyes connected with your e/c ones. "What is it?"

Newt heaved a loud sigh. "Alby woke up. We- we gave him a cure for the sting - that was what was in Teresa's vials. And he said that Thomas used to work for WICKED.. And-"

He took in a deep, shuddering breath. "And he said that he remembered you. They always made you do more than us, pushed you harder. They used to make you hurt people - hurt us. They'd hurt you until you hurt us ... and some people didn't know they tortured you to hurt us and they hated you for it. They called you the Warrior, apparently."

You put a hand to your mouth, feeling flashes of memories come back at his words. Hands, your hands, slick with blood as a brown-haired boy sobbed on the floor, screaming his hatred for you as his eyebrows contorted in pain.

"Gally. I remember them making me hurt him ... that's why he hates me so much. Oh, I feel like such shit now."

"Shh, don't blame yourself," Newt hushed, putting an arm around you. "They made you."

"Newt!" Thomas yelled, ripping into the hut, sparing you only a second of a sympathetic glance. "The ... the doors ... they're not closing."

"Holy shit," you got up, ignoring Newt when he tried to push you back down. You stretched, and were relieved that you couldn't find any trace of a pulled muscle, though your body was still destroyed in a way you'd never known could happen from a simple fall.

"Y/N, lie back down," Newt begged. "You're injured."

"If the doors aren't closing, I'm going to help defend our friends," you grabbed a spear from where it leaned on the wall. "I'll be okay, Newt."

Newt sighed, taking a torch, and running outside with you. Just in time, it seemed, as you could hear the screams of the Grievers. You saw, with a pang, that one of the small huts used for rest breaks was already up in flames. Frypan's kitchen was on fire as well, and several shouting boys ran around like headless chickens.