The Maze Runner: Short Stories and Preferences

Soldier On {thominho}

{creds to @newtgasm on tumblr}

Summary: Thomas would always blame it on himself. For the rest of his life. And it was driving him insane.
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"Minho! Run!" Thomas screamed as he tried to unlock his rifle while running backwards. He heard the irregular stomping of Minho's feet on the asphalt, just interrupted by the screams of their persecutors. Thomas felt the recoil in his shoulder as he fired right into a zombie's stomach. Rapidly, he turned to run faster. He had to catch up with Minho. He had to protect him. Minho was far away already, running towards a huge, abandoned building that seemed to have been a hospital in the earlier days. Another scream behind him, then a piercing pain in his right shoulder. He didn't even bother looking at the injury, he just fired blindly, hoping he would hit. Two smacking sounds, a groan and the sound of an impact with a body on the floor reassured him. The screaming stopped abruptly; so did the stomping of their persecutors' feet. They were dead and gone. Hopefully. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hand onto his shoulder, felt the blood running across his fingers, but also something weird. It felt like wood was sticking out of his skin.
Thomas didn't stop running until he heard Minho's voice again. "Thomas." Minho said, terror filling his voice. "Thomas, come here."
He felt an arm wrap around his waist, guiding him into the building, then over a giant set of stairs. Yet he didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see this blood that was drying to his skin. "Please, open your eyes." Minho whispered and gently removed Thomas' gun strap from his back. He did as he was told after a brief time, to see Minho frantically searching shelves.
"Minho, what are you doing?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Wait." Minho opened a shelf and grabbed a big package of bandages. He put it down next to Thomas and sighed. "This might hurt. I have to remove the arrow from your shoulder, it could get.."
"Arrow?" Thomas interrupted and turned his head to see. The front piece of an arrow, stuck in his shoulder up to the middle of it, blood crusting around it and running down his skin. He winced together at the sight of it.
"Calm down, man. I'm gonna remove it, so it won't get infected. So, lay down now. And, please don't scream. I don't wanna have another gang of zombies trying to eat us."
Thomas balled his fists as Minho cut away the cloth around his shoulder. This was already hurting. Then how the hell was he supposed to stay quiet when Minho'd pull the arrow out of him?
"Do you want to hold my hand?" Minho asked sarcastically and snickered.
"Yes. Please." Thomas answered, surprising himself. Did he actually want to hold Minho's hand? Well, maybe it would help.
"uh. O-okay." He stuttered and reached for Thomas' hand, squeezing it tightly. "Now, ehm. Now hold still and stay, uh, quiet."
It felt like the hellfire burning its way into his skin. A sharp and loud cry escaped him before he could stop it. Minho squeezed his hand a little tighter, making his hand feel as if his fingers might fall off. "Fuck." He whined and closed his eyes shut, as more blood came running down his skin. He sensed Minho's free hand on his back, grabbing for the arrow. Minho sighed loudly, then started pulling on the arrow. It hurt. It hurt so much, Thomas cried out loudly and eventually started whimpering.
Then, finally, he couldn't feel it anymore. All the pressure was gone. Now it was just a dull, yet not impalpable pain in his shoulder.
He heard Minho ripping the bandages open, telling him to sit up, with the back towards him. "Take your shirt off." Minho finally commanded and Thomas obeyed. Pulling the shirt over his back caused him pain, but so did every movement. He told himself that he just had to man up a little.
Eventually, he felt Minho wrapping the bandages around his torso. "This should help. It's already soaked with your blood but that's," He held up the now half empty bandage box and made a frustrated noise, "all we got right now. We can check later if we can find some more here, but we can't risk wasting them all at once."
"Thanks, man. I don't know how I'd survive without you sometimes." Thomas said as he pulled his shirt back on.
"It's no problem." Minho responded and turned towards the exit.
"No really. You're my best friend."
"And your only friend in this fucked up world." He laughed and walked through the door, over to the staircase.
Thomas smiled and pushed himself to his feet. Dizziness overcame him for a brief time. Black dots wandered through his view, causing him to stumble. He grabbed onto the "bed" he'd just stood up from, steadying himself. "Minho?" He asked, realising how pained his voice sounded. No answer. "Minho?!" He asked again, this time louder. Thomas started panicking. "Minho!" He walked forward as fast as he could without getting dizzier than he already felt. A weird feeling spread through his body; it was a kind of shaking beneath his skin. He stared at his hands but they weren't shaking at all. They were as still as the building he stood in. He forced himself to sprint towards the door Minho had just gone downstairs through. Another wave of dizziness overcame his body as he reached said door.
Then he heard it. And it froze the blood in his veins.
A strangled scream filled with pain, three gunshots. "Minho!" Thomas yelled and rushed towards the staircase, ignoring the pain that wove through his body with every movement; ignoring the black dots that were scattered across his view. He had to protect Minho, even if it'd cost his life. He frantically grabbed the handrail of the staircase, ran down the stairs heavily breathing, already feeling the blood from his wound pushing through the bandages and running down his back.
Another cry rang through the air and this time, Thomas was sure; it was Minho who got hurt. He heard one more gunshot from the story right beneath his feet and a smacking sound of an impact. He stormed down the stairs into the lower story, hoping to find his best friend there. Thomas yelled out Minho's name a few more times before he got an answer.
"They were on the stairs." A choke. "I couldn't do anything. I-I'm so sorry."
He spun around towards the voice that came out of the room behind him. The boy leaned onto a wall, looked empty, his eyes stared into the blue. Thomas ran over to hug tightly him, but just as he embraced Minho, he noticed that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He felt something soak through his shirt around his stomach.
Blood.
"No." He whispered and looked at Minho's shirt. A wet, dark red circle right where his ribcage should begin.
"Thomas." Minho slid with his back down the wall as his knees gave in. His entire body was shaking.
"No, Minho. Look at me." Thomas knelt down in front of Minho, put his face into his trembling hands. "Please, Minho. Please. Please look at me." Minho's eyes were rapidly drifting to Thomas' face and then back again to the wall behind Thomas.
"Don't cry." He whispered, as he looked at him again. Thomas hadn't realised he'd started crying. And now, he couldn't stop it anymore.
"Are you kidding me?" A sob escaped Thomas, followed by a bitter laugh. "I swore to myself that I'd protect you at all costs. I can't lose you."
"Looks like you can." Minho coughed violently, spat out blood.
Thomas stared at the pool of blood that had already formed beneath his knees and Minho's body. His best friend was dying. And there was nothing to do that could change this.
"Hey." Minho said and squeezed Thomas' upper arm gently. "You can do this on your own."
"No!" Thomas wept and covered his face in his hands. "Minho, I can't and don't want to be without you."
He just knew it. He'd been with Minho since everything started five years ago. There had never been anybody else. Minho's head lolled to the side and hit the wall. "No." Thomas repeated over and over until he eventually buried his face in Minho's shirt and sobbed. He heard Minho's unsteady heartbeat, the heaving with every breath the boy took. Then Minho did something, Thomas didn't entirely understand.
"Deep in the meadow,
under the willow,
a bed of grass,"

Minho was singing. Rasped, interrupted by chokes, yet it was calming. He was supposed to be the one who'd sing to Minho. He wasn't the one who was facing Death. Inside, he knew that Minho did this to comfort him. The last thing he would do in his life was dedicated to Thomas. It hurt more than anything.
Minho's voice softened with each syllable he sung, still it sounded like these were the last few things he'd say. Thomas' entire body started to tremble. He clutched to Minho's shirt, ignored the blood that smeared to his face and hands.
"a soft green pillow,
lay down your head
and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open,
The sun will rise.
Here it's safe
Here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet
and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
Deep in the meadow,
Hidden far away
A cloak of leaves,
A moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let.."
Thomas would never get to hear the end of this song. Minho's heart had stopped beating.
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He still felt Minho's blood on his skin; even though it had happened a few months ago. This was his fault. Everything. If he'd just stayed with him. If he would've just been able to catch up with Minho. Nothing of this would've happened. Minho's death was his fault.
This was the thought that had kept him awake for so many nights, had kept him raging at all times and had kept killing him for months. Every night he saw Minho die again. He had went through every possible scenario in his head and every single time he could've prevented Minho's death.
Sometimes when Thomas wandered through open fields he turned around to check on Minho, once he thought he'd hear Minho talking to him, making remarks or something, lots of times he actually saw Minho and talked to him, he always felt Minho's presence; everything just until he remembered that his best friend was dead. His mind was playing tricks on him.
It was driving him insane.
So, it came that one day, as he sat on the roof of some garage, he realised that his life was pointless without Minho. All he'd ever fought for was to protect his friend. And he had failed him.
He didn't feel anything as he unlocked his gun.
Thomas stared at the woods that began a mile away from where he was now, saw the evening sun drowning everything in a golden tone. Minho and he used to talk about how beautiful it was to see something like that in a broken world they were living in. How simple things could make one happy. Those had been the best evenings Thomas had ever experienced. Those evening had always kept him smiling or at least alright.
But since then, Thomas' happiness had turned into hatred, from hatred into sadness, from sadness to emptiness.
He would end it.
He pressed the gun to his forehead.
Then, he closed his eyes.
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A/n: I know it's sad. 😔
But it's a really good story
Creds to @crankpalace on Instagram