Disclaimer:
I do not own The Maze Runner or any scenes in which you die from the Gladers' attractiveness.
-✼-
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to pound on the doors of the box that brought us up there and demand that I got sent back down and my memories returned. The problem was, I didn't know which one I wanted to do most.
I started to take short, strangled breaths that barely escaped my lips before I had to gulp for more air again. My hands were shaking so badly that they felt as if they were vibrating. My face was growing hot, like it was on fire, and my eyes watered. It took me a moment to realize I was having a panic attack.
I put my hand on Thomas's shoulder, causing him to land his gaze on me instead of the rickety building in the corner, of which he was previously staring. As soon as he saw me, his brown eyes widened to the size of small planets. He knelt in front of me, his hands on either one of my shoulders. I gripped onto his forearms tightly as if that would anchor me back to reality.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked frantically, his voice soft as his eyes searched mine. I tried to speak, but my chin wobbled so badly I couldn't form words. I shook my head instead.
"I," I squeaked out, choking back a sob. "I—"
"Shh," Thomas was whispering now, trying to gauge if anyone was staring at us. "You need to calm down."
"I" — I breathed as deeply as I could, but my lungs still spasmed in protest — "can't!"
"Try," he commanded gently. "Dylan, just try."
Both of our eyes widened after he said that. It felt like a punch to my gut, a new window opening in my mind. Dylan? Had he called me that? Was that my name?
Dylan. I tested the words out in my brain, and I felt something click. It was my name. I remembered my name!
"Dylan," I whispered, my chin wobbling less but tears still streaming down my face. "Dylan. That's my name." I was starting to calm down at that little piece of information I had about myself. "Thomas, how did you know my name?"
Thomas looked just as shocked as I was. "I - I don't know," he answered truthfully.
I wiped my eyes on my dark blue shirt, which was soft to the touch and had sleeves that ended at my elbows. My pants were gray jeans, and black combat boots were on my feet. My hair, which when I held up to my face, was a dark brown color the shade of bark on trees. It was tied out of my face in a french braid down my back.
A weird clicking sound caused Thomas and I to look up. A flash of silver and red caught my eye just before it scooted around the other side of the trunk. Without a word, Thomas scrambled to his feet and followed it. He didn't seem to find anything, though, when he returned to my side with a confused look on his face.
"That was one of them beetle blades," a young male's voice said.
A kid was standing to our right. He was about my height (which, again, was quite short) and pudgy, and was around twelve, maybe; the youngest I'd seen in the group so far.
I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands, embarrassed that someone had seen my breakdown. I stood up, dusting off my clothes before asking, "A beetle what?"
"Beetle blade," the boy replied, pointing at the top of the tree, where that thing had disappeared. "Won't hurt ya unless you're stupid enough to touch one of them." He paused as if deciding something. "Shank." He didn't seem comfortable with the word somehow, like it had been foreign to him until recently. I guessed he was fairly new, considering it didn't sound like he had quite grasped the Glade slang head-on.
There was another scream that erupted from the building, this one long and nerve-racking. My blood chilled in my veins. I didn't look over, but Thomas did, his face filled with interest and curiosity. I mentally counted down the seconds before he'd start questioning the unfortunate boy. 5, 4, 3, 2-
"What's going on over there?" he asked, pointing to the building.
Right on cue.
"Don't know," the chubby boy replied thoughtfully. "Ben's in there, sicker than a dog. They got him."
He said they like it was acid on his tongue. It sparked my interest as well, making me squint my eyes in slight suspicion. "Who?"
"Better hope you never find out," the kid answered. He looked way too comfortable with the situation, like he was used to it somehow, or it was an everyday occurrence. He held out his hand. "My name's Chuck. I was the Greenbean until you two shanks showed up."
"Why is everyone calling us Greenbeans?" Thomas asked as we both shook Chuck's sticky, sweaty hand quickly.
"Cuz you're the newest Newbies." Chuck pointed at us and laughed. I felt slightly uncomfortable as he continued to make fun of us, wondering if everyone was going to be like that. If they were, it'd be a long, tiring stay in the Glade.
Another scream came from that building, but Chuck didn't seem to care. It caused my shoulders to tense and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. What could possibly make Ben so sick that he'd yell like that? It sounded like someone was harming him in that building.
"How are you laughing when it sounds like someone's dying in there?" I wondered, mouth pulled into a small frown.
"He'll be okay," Chuck promised confidently, seeming to dial down on his mocking when he noticed my genuine concern. "No one dies if they make it back in time to get the Serum. It's all or nothing. Dead or not dead. It just hurts a lot."
None of what he was trying to explain to us made sense. My head still hurt, and my body was exhausted from the brief panic attack. I wanted to go to sleep and hope this was all a dream. A very detailed, long dream.
Thomas was still prying for answers. "What hurts a lot?"
Chuck didn't seem to know what to say, and I remembered we weren't supposed to ask questions until the Tour. He scratched at his curly head of hair. "Um, gettin' stung by the Grievers."
"Grievers?" This caught my attention. I suddenly felt like Thomas— wanting to know exactly everything Chuck was talking about. The need to get information was eating me up. If Chuck was going to answer at least some of our questions, maybe I could get more out of him.
Chuck shrugged and looked away, rolling his eyes. My spirits deflated like a balloon when he didn't elaborate.
Thomas sighed in frustration and leaned against a tree. "Looks like you barely know more than we do."
"Chuck," I said slowly, realizing I knew nothing about myself. "How...how old do you think we are? What do we look like?"
Chuck scanned us for a moment, looking us up and down. "I'd say you're about sixteen," he told me, then looked at Thomas. "And you're maybe the same. And in case you were wondering, girl's five foot three perhaps, boy's five foot nine. Both have dark brown hair and eyes. Oh, you're pretty I guess, but the boy's uglier than liver on a stick." He snorted another laugh that sounded more like a hiccup.
"Don't say that," I scolded. "That's a great way to make us feel welcome."
Thomas, however, didn't even seem to hear the last part. "How..."
"Don't worry. You'll be all whacked for a few days, but you'll get used to this place. We live here. Better than living in a pile of klunk." He squinted his eyes as if he were anticipating our questions. "Klunk's another word for poo. Poo makes a klunk sound when it falls in our pee pots."
I was disgusted by that image and felt my nose crinkle. "Great."
Thomas walked past Chuck and studied the building intently. It looked three or four stories high and about to crash down any minute- a random assortment of logs, boards, thick twine, and windows seemingly thrown together. It was interesting to me that the boys had managed the build that, because by the way they acted when Thomas and I showed up, it seemed they wouldn't be able to do anything together without slicing each other's throats.
I scowled and trudged after Thomas as he made his way across the courtyard, quickly catching up to him. My legs had to move twice as quickly due to how short they were.
"What're your names?" Chuck asked, running to catch up with Thomas' quick speed. Short pants puffed from his lips.
"What?" Thomas asked. He didn't seem to want to be engaged in another conversation with the younger boy; I noticed him quicken his pace a fraction of a bit.
"Your names?" Chuck repeated in an annoyed tone. "You still haven't told us- and I know you remember that much."
"Thomas," he replied distractedly, too focused on where he was headed to really care what the boy was saying to him.
"Dylan," I told Chuck with a little less grudge in my voice than Thomas. I decided that if I was to be stuck in that place, I might as well try to make friends, right?
"Dylan?" Chuck repeated, pinching his eyebrows together. "Isn't that a boy's name?"
"I suppose so," I hummed, slowing down to walk with Chuck. "But I guess it could be either way, really."
"Well then, nice to meet you, Thomas and Dylan," Chuck said curtly. "Don't you worry. I'll take care of you. I've been here a whole month, and I know the place inside and out. You can count on Chuck, okay?"
I grinned down at him. I knew this kid would grow on me. "Thanks, Chuck."
We had almost reached the front door of the dilapidated shack when Thomas suddenly whirled around to face the kid. "You can't even tell us anything. I wouldn't exactly call that taking care of us." He then turned back toward the door without another word.
Chuck only shrugged as if he knew Thomas was right. "Nothin I say'll do you any good," he admitted. "I'm basically still a Newbie, too. But I can be your friend—"
"We don't need friends," Thomas interrupted harshly.
"Don't you go making decisions for me, Thoma—" I tried to argue, but I was cut off.
"Just shut up and come inside." Thomas was getting impatient with me. I found it kind of strange that he expected me to follow him everywhere.
"No," I declined strongly. "I'm staying outside with Chuck. If we really are stuck here, we might as well make friends while we're at it."
"Suit yourself, then." Thomas didn't give me a second glance before walking inside the building, the door swinging shut in my face.
After a few seconds of glaring at the door, I sighed and stepped back from the building. My fingers tapped on my arm restlessly as Chuck stared at the spot Thomas had previously been.
"He's a feisty one, ain't he?" he finally said.
"You could say that," I replied. I swept my eyes around the so-called Glade, looking at all of the people and buildings. I was excited for the Tour tomorrow; I wanted to learn about how everything worked and all the jobs.
"You must be hungry, huh, Gr- uh, Dylan." Chuck caught himself before he called me 'Greenbean'.
My stomach rumbled lowly at the mention of food. "Yes," I admitted. "Starving, actually, now that you mention it."
Chuck grinned. "Great. Let's get you some of Frypan's famous bacon for your First Day, huh?"
We started walking toward the kitchens, Chuck whistling and me trying to ignore the stares and hollers I got from some boys. Every shout I got only dampened my angry mood and poured gasoline on the fire burning inside of me. My lips pulled into a scowl as I stormed past the boys.
"You know," my new friend began, "you're different from what I expected girls to be like."
I titled my head to the side curiously. "How so?"
"Well," Chuck sounded like he was expecting to get slapped if he said the wrong thing, "I dunno. None of us really remember meeting any girls. Most of the boys here'll joke about someone being weak as a girl. But I don't think they had the right idea about girls, cuz I look at you, and you're not weak at all. You're as tough as any of us."
I couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a compliment, since it felt kinda backhanded, so my brows pushed together. "Oh. Thanks?"
We made it to the kitchen and Chuck immediately demanded I get some bacon and a sandwich.
"Be nice," I hissed, swatting at his arm.
"Eh, it's Frypan. He don't care." Chuck waved his hand dismissively.
'Frypan' just rolled his eyes in response, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. He had dark skin and the first traces of a beard growing on his chin. The cook was tall and big, towering over Chuck and I. Despite his towering height and facial hair, there was a friendly aura to him that made him seem welcoming.
"Hey, Greenie," he greeted kindly with a smile on his round face. "How's First Day?"
I took a deep breath, pondering how to answer. "Confusing," I decided. "Very...confusing."
Frypan nodded in approval of my response. He slid a plate with bacon and a turkey sandwich on it, along with a bottle of water. "Good answer."
I grinned and accepted the food. "Thanks, Frypan."
"You're welcome," he said. "I forgot to catch your name."
"Dylan," I answered over my shoulder as I slid onto the bench of a picnic table. I picked up the sandwich and devoured it quickly, not caring if I had mayonnaise all over my face before wiping it with a napkin. I drank some of the water to wash it down then started on the bacon, which was heavenly.
Chuck stared in awe. "Yep. Definitely not how I expected girls to be."
My eyes flickered back to the Homestead just in time to see Thomas running as fast as he could out the door, nearly tripping over his own feet. Shouting and laughing followed him from inside the building before the door swung shut with a bang.
I rose to my feet, slamming the water bottle on the table. I grabbed my last piece of bacon and shoved it in my mouth. "What did Thomas screw up this time?"
Frypan groaned. "Gally probably tricked him into going upstairs. He must've seen Ben."
"Ben?" I questioned, the name sounding slightly familiar. It clicked- Ben was the one who had been screaming upstairs. Chuck had said that he was stung by something called a Griever. My eyes widened as I slid out from the bench. "I'll be right back."
He just couldn't stay out of trouble, could he?
gif is newt being sexy as heck
---
*hagrid voice* yer an idiot, tommy
until next time,
~kristyn