In The Maze

Chapter twenty-five (Newt)

She is more important.

"Shuck! You got hurt." Minho noticed the patch of blood on my sleeve. He grabbed a hunk of gauze off a nearby table and pressed it against my arm. Instinctively, I tried to yank my arm back hissing between clenched teeth, but his grip held firm. Tutting disapprovingly, he pointed to the cot behind us and huffed, "Sit."

Everyone's focus flipped to me, which was exactly what I'd been tryin' to avoid. Clint made to come over but I snapped, "I'm fine. Help her." He flinched as if he'd been struck and continued to assist Jeff.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Thomas asked, genuinely upset by my lack of transparency.

I grumbled under my breath but didn't fight him. It's usually easier to have someone else treat your injuries and after going toe-to-toe with a griever, I was content to accept Minho's help. Tommy hovered over me concernedly, stepping from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with himself. I'd have laughed if I had the impetus to. "'Cause, it wasn't important."

Minho rolled his eyes so far back that I worried they would get stuck in his skull. "For being so smart you sure are a slinthead sometimes."

For not being a med-jak, Minho efficiently and expertly cleaned, disinfected, and wrapped my injury. Crisp, white gauze covered my entire left bicep and tricep but wasn't constricting or restricted any movement. He hummed his approval when no blood seeped through the thin bandaging. I thanked him, though my eyes were trained on (Y/N).

"From what I can tell, nothing important has been damaged." Jeff finished bandaging her shoulder and taped the gauze in place. "It's a few inches deep, but a clean puncture wound overall. She'll probably be unconscious for a while, but-"

Massive gears turning and stone scraping against stone made us freeze. For a second, I thought another griever had arrived. We all looked towards the maze opening simultaneously. There was a collective sigh of relief when the familiar sound of the maze doors slamming shut reached our ears.

"But," Jeff continued, "you should get some rest, Newt. We'll watch over (Y/N). Teresa's here to help as well." He gestured to Teresa who sat beside Alby, so quietly I almost forgot she was there.

I spotted Minho nodding in agreement out of the corner of my eye. Shaking my head, I stood up. "'M fine. There are other matters to attend to." Pointedly making eye contact with the runners, I said, "You two have a lot of bloody explainin' ta do." Before either could elaborate, we were interrupted.

"Uh... Hey?"

A dozen or so gladers stood at the doorway or peeked through the windows. They stared at (Y/N) and me. I knew they were just concerned, but I couldn't help but groan at their antics. Zart was the one who spoke. He was the only one daring enough to step within an arm's reach of me. Considering my bloody and rumpled appearance and the fact that I just slaughtered a griever - i.e., I looked as dangerous as I am - getting that close was pretty ballsy. I didn't blame him for being cautious. Not when I was so wired up that only Minho could touch me.

He cleared his throat. "Are um- are you guys okay?" Everyone's faces mirrored the genuine concern in Zart's voice. My irritation diminished and a tiny smile grew on my lips. The keeper had always been the compassionate type, nurturing too.

Minho answered in my stead. "We're good. No major injuries." He patted my head like you would a dog. I had half a mind to snap at him but refrained from doing so when I realized that's what a dog would do. "But you got a thrilling show, didn't you?"

"Oh, good. Chuck's losing his klunk." Zart slumped in relief, the other gladers murmuring in agreement. "And yeah, that was shucking awesome, Newt!"

Fry laughed, "Y'all are still insane. But I'm glad nobody got eaten."