Thomas Sangster/ Newt Imagines& GIFs

142. Newt

Newt was scared. More scared than he’d ever been in his life. He’d never known a fear like it; the thought of you out there in the Maze for a whole night was like a million stabs to his chest.

No one had ever made it out. No one. And while you were a good Runner and capable of handling yourself, this seemed a little beyond your reach. It was beyond anyone’s reach. 

He waited by the door all night. Never slept, never did anything but stare at the stone wall that separated him from you. He wasn’t a Runner, not anymore, but he would have gone straight out into the Maze to find you if he could.

When the Grievers came, you struggled to keep your calm. You couldn’t let your mind blank with panic, not now, not when your life depended on it. You had to stay lucid. When the whirring of metal came nearer and nearer, you started running again, trying to put as much distance between you and them as possible.

And then you lost your footing and fell forward. Your hands reached out to cushion the fall, but searing pain shot up your arms. You landed hard on your knees and curled instinctively inwards. Tears blurred your vision; you had been far too careless for your own good.

You looked down at your palms, bloodied and raw. Your jeans had ripped at the knees and the fabric was starting to stain with red. As you tried to get up, more pain pulsed through your right foot. You couldn’t put any pressure on it whatsoever.

But the whirring kept coming. The Grievers weren’t going to show you any mercy.

Crawling over to the ivy-covered walls, you started to look for a place to hide. Eventually, you found a crook in the stone that was deep enough for you to burrow yourself into it. Covering the hole with an curtain of green foliage, you waited.

You tried not to let your hands touch anything but you knew you needed to treat your wounds for infections. Still, it wouldn’t be possible unless you made it back to the Glade.

You wanted to cry again but you were very well aware that any sounds you made would only draw the Grievers to you, and then you’d really have no chance of survival. Maybe staying hidden like that would keep you safe. In any case, you couldn’t run anymore. There was nothing else you could do. If you were meant to live, you would live. If not—

You didn’t dare think about that.

To pass the time, your mind wandered back to what the Gladers would have been doing at that hour. Dinner would have been served already — they would have been joking around and laughing about the mundane things in their lives. How you missed it already.

You would have been huddled up beside Newt, stealing from his food every once in a while. Then the two of you would have camped out beside the Deadheads the way you usually did, telling stories off the top of your heads and talking about the days to come.

Your chest ached at the thought of Newt. He was your best friend — and quite possibly more — and you were most likely never going to see him again. You could still see the panic on his face as the doors closed and it hurt you right down to your bones.

You’d give anything to be beside him again.

You hadn’t realized you’d dozed off until you heard someone shouting your name. Blinking hard, you made a slit in the curtain of ivy and sunlight seeped into your small shelter.

How the hell—

You’d made it? The Grievers hadn’t gotten to you? How was that even possible?

The voice calling your name grew louder. You recognized the boy’s voice — Minho.

“I’m over here!” you shouted.

When he found you, his eyes went wide. He, too, couldn’t believe the fact that you’d survived a night out in the Maze.

He helped you out of the hole and lifted you up into his arms. He carried you like that back to the Glade, and none of you spoke about what had happened. You were both far too shaken to say anything.

The Med-Jacks were quick to patch you up. They poured rubbing alcohol all over your wounds and cleaned them thoroughly, and then instructed you to rest. You were confined to your bed until your foot got better, which was going to take a while.

Not like you were going to complain. After your stint in the Maze, you could have slept for a century.

But the door to your room opened shortly after the Med-Jacks left, and Newt walked in.

He looked horrible; there were dark circles under his eyes, which were slightly red and puffy. Had he been crying? Or was that just from a lack of sleep?

“How are you holding up?” Newt asked. His voice was thick with something you couldn’t describe.

“I’m good,” you said, nodding. You held up your bandaged hands. “I’ll heal in no time.”

He sat by the foot of your bed. For a while, neither of you said anything. Newt’s gaze was distant, like his head was a million miles away, and you couldn’t catch up.

“You scared me,” he said. “I kept thinking I’d never see you again.”

“I kept thinking I’d never see you again, either,” you told him. 

He shook his head. “No, you don’t know what it was like to sit here and not be able to do a single bloody thing to make sure you’re safe.” Newt’s voice cracked, which scared you. You could count on one hand the amount of times he’d shown any vulnerability in front of you, and none of the previous instances came close to this.

“And the worst part,” he continued, “was that it took those doors to close you out into the Maze for me to realize that I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words.

“I’m not going anywhere, Newt,” you assured him, taking his hand in yours. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

To you, it was a joke. But it didn’t amuse Newt at all. He pressed your knuckles to his lips and scooted closer to you until his back was resting against the headboard. You leaned against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you.

Newt didn’t let go for a very long time.