Memories {Teen Wolf/Maze Runner crossover fanfiction}

"Run Like Your Life Depends On It."

"Shouldn't someone give a pep talk or something?" Minho asked, pulling Thomas's attention away from Scott, who was currently attempting to convince Malia that the fact the three gladers were armed with knives, did not mean they were untrustworthy. It was just precaution, he'd said, that not everyone was as unbreakable as them - Thomas made a mental note to ask later.

He'd collapsed pretty much as soon as Scott had half-carried him to the bed, and had been wiped out for some solid few hours after that. Not enough to revitalise him completely, but enough for him to fight. There was an ache, a constant pressing ache that seemed to be eating its way through Thomas's entire system, but that was just the tiredness. Or maybe it was the emotional turmoil, or the mental exhaustion.

Either way, he was well enough to hold his own against WICKED.

He had to be.

"Go ahead," Newt replied, turning to give Thomas a look - he'd been doing that a lot, so had Lydia, though he'd chosen not to mention it.

Minho nodded, and faced the assembled crowd, "Be careful," he said dryly, "Don't die."

Thomas rolled his eyes, speaking for the first time since he'd woken up, "Just follow me and run like your life depends on it," he paused, pulling the blade from his waistband and gripping it tightly, "Because it does."

Minho half-laughed, though it was forced and strained - they both knew where this was headed meant they might not make it back. This could only end one of two ways; sad, or bloody. There wasn't any middle ground. No happy ending. Not for them, it was too late, the damage had been done.

"Man, you are one butt-load of sunshine, let me tell you." Minho gave him a look - and it translated it all. They were brothers, in all but blood, and he was dreading their next move as much as him. But he couldn't show the dread - he wouldn't, that would be admitting a weakness, so instead he'd brandish his blade and trust Thomas knew him well enough to understand.

Thomas looked around - he could see it in all of them, a weary, a tiredness. They were all terrified of what came next, even Scott, Malia and Lydia. Just being here and done something to them.

Drained them.

And just for a moment, in that second, as he looked around the people he knew he loved, he knew he'd die for, he felt the sharpest, purest form of hatred he'd ever experienced. At WICKED. At the people who had destroyed everything good.

Thomas hated the people who'd taken these poor, innocent people form their families. He hated them with a passion he didn't know a human could feel. He wanted them dead, tortured, even. He wanted the gladers to be happy.

But happiness had been ripped form their lives.

Love had been ripped from their lives.

All they'd been left with were the shattered pieces of their own damn minds.

"We can do this." Thomas muttered, and then, steeling himself, he looked up, staring each and every person in the eye, "Guys, we have to do this."

Because tonight, they'd make their stand, once and for all.