Memories {Teen Wolf/Maze Runner crossover fanfiction}

"What Did You Do?"

"My names Thomas, and I have to be quick. You all know me as Stiles, Stiles Stilinski from Beacon Hills, California. I don't know when you'll get this, from what the file says you're dealing with a dead pool. The file being WICKED of corse, which is why I'm here.

"WICKED have taken us back, me Minho, Newt, Frypan, everyone - pulled us back into the maze. They want us to help them, help us find a cure for the supernatural, but we don't trust them. Not after everything they did to us last time. I have no idea if you even know about that - but we need your help, we're not too far away. Please, help us. When I sign off they'll be a list of all the places WICKED has facility's. I hacked the system, this file will be encrypted. WICKED seems to fear you, the McCall pack. Yes, I know about werwolves, so do they - don't think you hold the advantage. You might be the only ones that stand a chance, but only if you don't underestimate WICKED.

"The file says I used to be part of the pack, or at least Stiles was, so I can just hope that's true. WICKED will wipe my memory, like before - it's history repeating. They'll put me back in the maze. I only know this much because of Teresa. I - we - all that WICKED has taken, everyone, everything, human or supernatural, has been put through more than they deserve. And it needs to stop, WICKED needs to be stopped. They'll try and justify it, 'World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment Department', don't let them fool you. Like I did. Do not be swayed.

"I can hear the guards now. They're going to place me back in the maze, no memories of the old me, the one you knew - Stiles. Not that I remember that much anyway. But, I can just hope you'll help.

"And please, for all that still good. Remember; WICKED isn't good." Thomas was there, watching the whole scene play out, like a silent observer - he'd been through this before, when the Greiver had stung him first time around, he'd watched his past happen like a movie playing on a screen. Thomas watched as he - the old him anyway - quickly flicked off the video recorder, hurriedly typing code after code into the machine. Thomas wanted to scream - he was so slow, too slow, the guards heavy footfalls could be heard rapidly approaching and the video was only half-sent.

Thomas - the old him, the him that knew about 'Stiles' - shut the monitor off, the video was still in the process of sending. It was pretty smart actually - to everyone that looked it didn't look like Thomas had done anything, the computer screens looked like they were all turned off. Obviously, WICKED would figure it out soon enough - but it would give the video chance to finish sending.

The guards were right outside, Thomas could see them through the window, old-him stood, approaching the door with slow, deliberate paces. Old-him unlocked the door, about to pull it open, but was beaten to it when three WICKED guards rather harshly slammed the door open and threw him against a wall. Two of them were armed with launchers, which gave Thomas - old and new - a rather smug feeling, Jansen thought he needed three guards and two launchers to deal with a teenaged boy. That shouldn't make him quite so happy.

"You screwed up this time Tommy." The biggest guard of the three stepped forwards, snarling, and pinned Thomas' arms behind his back - not being gentle about it either.

"I just did the right thing." Old-Thomas grinned, even after the guard pushed his head against the wall and caused him to bleed slightly, "I'm not watching my friends die anymore. I'm done with it, WICKED and its games. You want me to help you? Think again."

"We're taking you in for the swipe. Then we're putting you with your friends, you won't have to watch them die anymore." The guards voice was gravelly, as he snapped some handcuffs around old-Thomas' wrists, old-him didn't try and fight it. Where would he go? Even if he did by some miracle manage to get past the guards, he was trapped in a heavily armed WICKED facility, and he couldn't leave his friends. No way in hell. "You can die with them."

Old-Thomas was about to resort when the monitor beeped, a wide grin spilt across his face, "You want to know something? I really don't think I'm going to die somehow."

"What did you do?" The smallest of the guards ran to the computer, switching it on and staring at the screen in horror.

"What I had to." Thomas responded, smirk still fixed in place.

"What did it say?" The only guard left stepped towards him - gun raised threateningly, while his companion typed furiously at the keyboard. Thomas knew it was a valiant, but fruitless effort, he'd been thorough.

"WICKED isn't good." Old-Thomas spat. The guard raised the gun, and brought it down - with a lot more force than needed - on top of old-Thomas' head. Old-him crumpled, letting the biggest of the three drag him along and out the doorway.

Thomas smiled. He knew what he'd done. He might have just saved them from WICKED.

•

Thomas groaned, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He pulled a hand up to his head - instinctively feeling for where the WICKED guard hit him. He felt a small bump, but nothing to be concerned about.

Minho and Newt shot him a look, half-curious, half-concerned, but Thomas just waved it off, slinging his legs off the bed - ready to get back up and back to work.

"What do ya think you bloody doin' Tommy?" Newt asked, pushing Thomas back down on the bed. Thomas tried to protest, but when the world went tipping sideways, he figured he best comply and allowed himself to fall back into bed with a solid 'thump'.

"Gave the med-jacks a right scare you shank, passing out like that. No reason." Minho added, trying to look stern, but for someone who had known him for as long, and as well as Thomas had, he could see the worry written across his friends face.

"I'm fine." Thomas insisted, "Just a memory. Of me, of WICKED."

"What did you see?" Newt questioned, leaning back in the chair beside Thomas' bed.

"I sent a video out. Asking for help. There was some rubbish about Beacon Hills and apparently I used to be Stiles Stilinski-"

"What the hell is a Stiles?" Minho interrupted incredulously, furrowing his brow. It was kind of funny.

"Me, apparently. But anyway, I sent a video out. Asking for help. Some people should be coming, soon." Thomas answered, he left the details about Teresa and the werwolves out - he didn't need his friends thinking he was insane.

"You're.." Minho stopped, he seemed to pull himself together, "Kidding?"

"I think you mean brilliant." Thomas grinned. Feeling slightly more confident, he sat up again, and this time, the world didn't tilt, "How long have I been out?"

"Few hours. C'mon, let's get some of Frypans food in ya." Newt said, pulling Thomas up. They were halfway to the door - granted, slightly slower than usual - when Minho spoke again. His words pulling both Thomas and Newt to a halt.

"So shuck-face, who's Scott? And don't give us no pile-of-klunk response about how 'you don't know'."