Lost in the Nightmares of Hope- a Newtmas Fanfic

Flower of Rage

The next morning Newt woke extra early and directed himself towards the Doors, waiting for them to open and tell him if his friends had survived. But more than anything, he just wanted to think. Think about his friends, the Glade, the Maze, the Creators...and Tommy.

Why did I have to bloody kiss the stupid shuckface? Why couldn't I have yelled at him like any other normal shank?

He tried countless times to get his mind set back on worrying for Minho and Alby, but his efforts were to no avail and Newt's mind continued to drift to Tommy and his perfect hazel eyes. Oh, how one could lose themselves in those mesmerizing orbs.

The abrupt thundering of the Doors opening snapped Newt back to reality and caused his heart to pound ten times harder than it had before in anticipation. The absolute weight of it all hit him then.

His best friends had been in danger for their lives and what had he done? He snogged the Greenie and then proceeded to mope around about it! Not once in those hours was he able to focus his thoughts on Minho and Alby, who were probably dead by then. He had let his friends die without even a second thought about it. And all because of the bloody, shuckface, slinthead, shank, the Greenie Thomas.

Newt stepped forward as the Doors slid slowly open and he pushed away his thoughts. All that mattered now was making sure Minho and Alby were okay, or at least alive. The first sights of the Maze were coming into view now from the gap in the Walls, and Newt began to panic after seeing no signs of life in the corridor.

When the Walls finished their ritual with a final boom, he felt the last part of his previous self begin to disappear. He turned to walk back to the Homestead, or better yet the Deadheads, but stopped abruptly when he heard a muffled moan coming from the Maze.

Barely knowing what he was doing, Newt ran, completely ignoring his limp, into the Maze and around the first corner, nearly trampling the boy lying face down on the Maze floor, seemingly dead apart from the steady but ragged rise and fall of his chest.

"Minho," Newt breathed, stooping down to cautiously touch the Asian's back. It was bloody and bruised, flaps of skin torn off and dangling by several cells and dried blood caking his entire being in a rusty red coating. He had a deep gash on one arm and vines tangled tightly around the other, giving his hand a bluish tinge. One foot was twisted all wrong and sat limply on the ground next to a large spike impaled into his other leg. Next, Newt saw his face, where webs of blood marked paths to his nose and lips, both broken and red. Even his hair, oh even Minho's always perfect hair was wrecked far beyond the point of recognition.

Newt didn't understand how the boy could still be alive. That didn't matter, though. What did was that it stayed that way. He stood and prepared to run back out of the Maze and get help, but a sharp intake of breath stopped him and Newt turned to see Minho staring at him from his position on the ground.

"Alby...I-I couldn't save him..." the Asian managed to say before collapsing in on himself with a grunt of pain.

Newt could see the boy was in a far worse emotional state than he was physical, if that was even possible, when Minho's shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. That boy never cried. Never. Not once did he even complain of aches or the horrible life they led. If Minho gave up, the Gladers would be done for, no questions asked.

Before any type of emotional therapy could be enacted, though, he would have to have a substantial physical form again, so with only a sympathetic look and an understanding nod to Minho, Newt took off towards the Glade with tears threatening to run down his face.

NOOO! Alby cannot be dead! Minho must mean something else...

Even as Newt thought this, though, he knew it wasn't true. Alby was gone. Soon after coming to this conclusion, a new, horrible thought popped into his mind.

At least it wasn't Tommy.

What was he thinking? He had known the shank about five bloody days and already the boy had replaced his only friends for two years in his mind. A wave of anger washed over Newt, and he felt a burning, passionate hate for the gorgeous Greenie blossom as he ran up the stairs of the Homestead. A realization came next.

Alby was dead. Newt was now the leader. And he would be making some definite changes.

Dun dun dun... Sorry about this kinda sucky chapter. It's mostly a filler, but the end stuff is important. I am totally going away from my original plot, so I'm not quite sure what's going to become of this story. Anyways, I hope you like it and please don't kill me for this version of Newt. I'm trying my hardest to not make this like every other Newtmas story, so it's gonna be a tough ride for all of us. Just hold on tight and brace your feels for this heck of a story. Have a wonderful night, morning, evening, afternoon, etc.

-red7717