Memories {Teen Wolf/Maze Runner crossover fanfiction}

"Thomas. Please."

"Nothing. Still nothing."

"It's been a whole day. A whole bloody day.. What even was that thing?"

"Don't know, went back to check and it's body was gone. Probably the shuckin' creators."

"They wouldn't let Tommy die."

The voices floated in and out, like fish swimming through a filthy stream. He couldn't seem to register them, trying to focus was like trying to catch smoke in the wind. Impossible.

There it was again, like a beacon. The blackness, the promise of sweet peacefulness - and he wanted it, he really, really did, but Minho - or was it Newt? - had said he was dying, and he couldn't let that happen.

If he focused, past the fog in his head, and the piercing migraine behind his eyes, he could feel the dull throb of agony through his body. Pulsing, twisting, consuming. It hurt, it hurt a lot.

But he could also hear, and he didn't like what he could.

It faded in, softly at first, and then, like a switch had turned on, in sudden, perfect clarity, "It defiantly ain't human, probably another of WICKED's experiments."

"But Tommy was the shuckin' 'final candidate' or whatever. They wouldn't let him die." Minho, Thomas thought it was Minho, it sounded like him - defiant and angry.

"He ain't dead yet." Newt snapped, and Thomas felt something cold and wet press against his abdomen, he flinched, pain exploding like a firelight through him. It was so intense he blanked out for a few seconds, missing most of what Newt said, ".. Minho. He moved. Tommy? Tommy, you gotta wake up. Thomas. Please."

"C'mon shuckface. Don't be a slinthead." Minho urged, spiking a trail of fire along Thomas's insides. A trail of anger, he was so tired of being pushed around, beaten, bruised, all by WICKED, he wasn't a puppet, he wasn't a toy. He was Thomas - WICKED's best creation, and yet also their worst nightmare.

"Tommy?" Newt's voice broke, like something inside him was at the same time, "Please."

And so, with molten lava running through his veins instead of blood, his pale skin soft and delicate and ripped, but with a core of pure steel, Thomas groaned, flicking his eyes open and squinting against the light. His head was bursting, his abdomen felt like pure raw fire, but when he saw Newts smile, and felt Minho slap his shoulder, Thomas knew the pain was worth it. He had his family.