Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

14

When Thomas woke up, Newt was gone.

He groggily touched the rough fabric, finding it cold to the touch —Thomas had been alone for, at least, a good half an hour. Or maybe one hour. Or maybe two. Or maybe all the night.

Fighting his lips' urge of curving downwards, he sat, with his feet firmly planted on the ground, as he rubbed his eyes. What did he have to do? He vaguely remembered that it had to do with his trip to the Maze, but that was it. No more memories.

"Hey, Thomas!" Chuck called, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "You're late, shuck-face! They're going nuts in the Homestead —you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago."

Thomas frowned. "Wait. What? To be there why?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "The Gathering! They're going to decide whether they kick your ass out of the Glade or not. You're already familiar with what's out there, so..." The kid chuckled, smiling to himself. Thomas grunted.

"And what's a Gathering? I don't know if someone explained to me or not —but it doesn't ring any bell."

Shaking his head, Chuck said, "yes, right. I keep on forgetting that you're still a newbie. The Gatherings are basically meetings. Reunions. Whatever. The Keepers gather —Gatherings, you know— in the Homestead, and they discuss important issues. The comatose girl, Ben, a shuck-face newbie running into the Maze —things like those."

Amongst the sleepiness that misted his mind, Thomas vaguely registered the words "keepers", "meetings" and "discuss important issues". More than enough to get to the conclusion that he was late for something.

And it wasn't going to be fun.

Eleven boys sat in chairs arranged in a semicircle around him. They were the Keepers, and to Thomas' disgust, that meant Gally was among them, waiting to defame him. The chair directly in front of him stood empty —he didn't need to be told that it was Alby's.

Besides the chairs, the room had no other furniture except for a small table. Everything was made of wood, from the walls —which had no windows— to the floor, and the place clearly didn't mean to be inviting. At least, Newt was there. He had tried to avoid staring at him when he entered the room, but he couldn't help some nervous glances every now and then. After all, his future was on the other boy's hands. Not literally, but almost.

Newt sat in a chair to the right of Alby's. "In place of our leader, sick in bed, I declare this Gathering begun," he announced, with a subtle roll of his eyes, as if he hated anything similar to formality. "As you all know, the last few days have been bloody crazy, and quite a bit seems centered around our Greenbean, Tommy, seated before us."

Thomas felt his face heat up with embarrassment.

"He's not the Greenie anymore," Gally said, his scratchy voice low and cruel. It gave Thomas the creeps. "He's just a rule breaker now."

Newt shushed the murmurs that awoke. Thomas had to keep himself from running away as fast as his legs could.

"Gally," the Glade's seccond-in-command said, "try to keep some buggin' order, here. If you're gonna blabber your shuck mouth every time I say something, you can go ahead and bloody leave, because I'm not in a very cheerful mood."

Was it forbidden to cheer and clap at that? Not even Minho did, and the Keeper of the Runners would've been the first one to do so if he could. He didn't even open his mouth, but instead lied on his chair like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Yawning everytime he winked, the Keeper of the Runners obviously needed a nap. Various naps.