Memories {Teen Wolf/Maze Runner crossover fanfiction}

"WICKED Is In Control."

Minho gestured impatiently for Thomas to hurry, summoning him with his arm. Thomas pulled a face, but did quicken his pace to a brisk sprint until he came to rest besides them. He ignored their arched inquiring eyebrows, now wasn't the time and he shook them off with a non comical shrug. He'd explain later.

"Everyone's okay?" Thomas asked, pulling to a halt and placing his blade back in his backpack. He wouldn't - shouldn't - need it now, the glade was safe territory. Or at least that's what they'd grown up believing.

"The Grievers stopped just as soon as you left. Half-thought the bloody doors were gonna shut on you shanks." Newt explained, his face twisting marginally as he did. No one else would've noticed the small twitch, but Thomas did, he saw the underlying fear in his friend - he really had been terrified for them. However unorthodox it was, it caused a hard part of Thomas to thaw.

"What're the bloody Creators playing at? Cranks in the Maze - dead ones at that. New Zones. Grievers in broad daylight. The doors not closing, it's like they're trying to tell us something. Shucking slintheads." Minho muttered, kicking a rock through the air. They all watched in silence as it landed with a soft 'thud,' not really knowing what to say. There was nothing to say - nothing that could make it better at least. It was all just one big twisted game.

"They're trying to send a message; WICKED is in control." Thomas realised, his earlier elation with remembering Scott forgotten. It didn't matter really, because unless they managed to escape then Scott was but a mere whisper of a past lost. Thomas looked up, taking heed of the now silent glade, it seemed devoid of any life beside themselves, hairs on the back of his neck stood up in alarm, "Newt, where is everyone?"

The trio looked up in alarm, warning ringing through their ears. By common, unanimous, unspoken agreement, they all sprinted the short distance to homestead - where Newt had hidden everyone to begin with - even though they all knew, regretfully, what had happened.

Homestead, like the glade, was empty. No people. No movement. Nothing. Not even a speck of dust out of place to imply anyone had been here. Minho turned to them in dismay, dryly remarking, "People don't just disappear. Bloody shanks must be hiding."

"Minho." Thomas frowned, "The chips. Remember? Do you even remember talking to anyone beside me and Newt?"

Minho frowned, looking half-heartedly defensive, "No but-"

"It was a trick. A bloody cruel one at that. We've been alone all along." Thomas interjected, wryly, subconsciously grabbing his knife out of his bag, "We've gotta move."

"What?" Newt asked sharply, eyeing the weapon wearily. Minho retrieved his knife too, brandishing it with a vicious kind of calm.

"We found a tunnel. A passage. We gotta go there - it's the only shucking way." Thomas explained tersely, blandly. They had to move - if WICKED would so readily reveal their hand, it meant this was only the beginning, "Now."

"But what abou-" Newt started, but Thomas wouldn't let him finish. If Newt made a valid point - and he probably would, then he'd somehow manage to get them to stay, and they couldn't. It wouldn't be safe.

"Everyone else is gone. We need to worry about ourselves. The tunnels the only new thing me and Minho have found - it's the only place left to try. It has to be the way out." Thomas tried not to let his desperation show, he just clutched his knife tighter.

"The McCalls." Newt finished irritably, as though Thomas hadn't spoken.

"Seriously? We don't even know if those shanks are real. Let's freaking move." Without waiting for an invitation, Minho pushed Newt along - Thomas bringing up the rear, blade clasped so tightly in his fist it was bound to leave a mark.

"They'll find us." Thomas promised almost silently - it was meant for his ears alone. But when Newt turned to look at him quizzically, he knew he'd spoken louder than intended. Shrugging, and picking up pace slightly, Thomas added, "Just trust me."

"We always bloody do Tommy." Newt snapped, affectionately though. And together they filed out the glade - letting Minho lead the way. Though Thomas almost fell with what Newt said next, memories flashing painfully through his head. A gun, pulling the trigger, blood, screaming, being pulled away despite his protests. All because Thomas had let Newt have faith in him - stupid, misplaced faith, "I always trusted you. You were always my friend."