1. FIGHTER - the maze runner, newt

Chapter 41

Though, I knew he felt the same relief as me.

"He's awake!" Chuck's voice happily called, his voice rattling me to acknowledge my reality, "Thomas is awake!"

Newt patted my back gently, gathering my attention. My eyes drifted to his, both of our anxieties swirling about our irises. He kissed my forehead, short and sweet, before darting away to find Alby and start a Gathering in honour of Thomas' motives and possible gatherings. I immediately felt a chill in the absence of Newt, the new lack of comfort and warmth reminding me of this harsh reality.

"Sorry-I'm just glad you're alive. You're lucky I don't give you a big kiss." Chuck's apologetic voice was filled with little bursts of giggles.

"Please don't do that, Chuck," Aching humour left Thomas' raspy voice, "How long did it take?"

"Three days," I whispered under my breath, a dull and angry ache pushed on my heart the same time Chuck replied with the same answer.

"We put you in the Slammer at night to keep you safe - brought you back here during the days. Thought you were dead for sure about thirty times since you started. But check you out - you look brand-new!" Chuck continued to ramble, his excitement spilling like vomit.

I'm sure he looks fantastic. I thought sarcastically, my eyebrows quirking.

Is he awake? Teresa's voice filled my anxious thoughts, giving me something new to focus on.

Yup. He's speakin' and everything. My thoughts grumbled back, my brain vibrating at the sound of my own inner-voice.

Have you talked to him yet? Teresa asked.

Haven't had the chance yet. But once Chuck stops yappin', I'll see how he is. I responded back quickly, the moody, sleep-deprived version taking over.

Are you nervous? Teresa asked, tentatively.

I let the question sink in as I thought of an answer. My toes curled inside my black running shoes, as I felt my own emotions poke at my speeding heart. I was angry, for sure. If what Thomas said was true, then the Creators placed my brother and I in a place where either of us could die without any memory that we were even related. I was anxious. What if Thomas was just spiting crazy nonsense because of the Changing and we actually aren't related? Which leads me to my final emotion - I'm hopeful. Some part in my head, beneath all the damaged trust issues and trauma, hopes that Thomas is my brother. It would make sense with all the common personality traits and back-and-forth bickering, but I sincerely hope that the Creators had sent me that small piece of home that Thomas is and represents.

No matter how selfish it is.

Yeah. A little. I murmur, cutting off whatever connection our telepathy works on. It seemed to be perfect timing when I watched a short blur of curls go running past, shouting out Newt and Alby's name.

It was my time to get the truth.

I briefly glanced at the frantic figure of Chuck sprinting across the dark, green hills before turning my attention to the open concrete door. I could barely order my thoughts to coincide with one another as I took a step into the dark shadows of the Slammer.

My soft foot steps began to echo as grass turned to concrete, and the grey lights around faded into the shadows of the gloomy room. Each step echoed like the tic of a clock as beads of sweat dripped of my neck like jewelry.

In the far right corner laid a heap of tossed sheets and crooked fabric, nestling the exhausted body of a boy on top. The aroma in the small room reeked of sweat and humidity, clinging to my nostrils like a dank condensation. I listened to his ragged breathing, the distant sounds of frantic chatter around the Glade drowning out as I leaned against the wall parallel to his laying body.