little immune {the scorch trials} (request)

˜"*°• 17 •°*"˜

The walk through the Scorch was continuing on relatively normally, though the mood amongst the Gladers was a great deal more somber.

Eventually, they had  to stop for the night, coming to a stop at a small wreckage to provide a bit of security. There, they built a fire for warmth and laid out some of the items that had been gathered from the mall to form their own makeshift beds.

The five boys and two girls sat in their respective spots around the fire, not saying anything and staring at the ground sadly. It was Minho who at last broke the silence.

"I thought we were supposed to be immune." His voice sounded broken and emotionless, nothing like his usual uplifting wit and sassiness.

Teresa shrugged. "Not all of us, I guess.

Newt, always the practical one, said, "If Winston can get infected, we should assume so can the rest of us.

"I never thought I'd say it ..." Frypan mumbled, a tear glistening on his cheek, "I miss the Glade."

That was the last straw for Thomas. He always felt guilty enough for everything that had happened, and he knew that he was responsible for leading the Gladers out of the only home they'd home to venture into the vast outside world with no knowledge of it, but it wasn't like they'd had a choice. It was either stay at WICKED and die as lab rats or risk their lives in the Scorch, but at least the chance of freedom was worth every minute of the struggle. At least, that's what Thomas tried to tell himself. It didn't always feel that way, though.

Frustrated and exhausted, the weight of the day's events crushing down on him as though he were caught underneath a building, Thomas stood up and moved away from the group, plopping onto the sand. From his pocket, he pulled out the little wooden figure Chuck had given him, fingering it delicately. The object was probably his most prized possession at the moment, and he knew he wouldn't let anything happen to it. Wish you were here, Chuck, he thought, gazing up into the stars. I miss you, and I have no damn idea what I'm doing.

He should've known he wouldn't be left alone to mope for long. Y/n bounded up and flopped to the ground beside him. "You okay, Tommy?"

He gave her a small nod and even attempted a smile. He could never bring himself to let this girl down.

Another figure approached and sat down on Thomas's other side. It was Newt, his brown eyes alight with concern.

"You've barely slept a wink since we left the Maze, eh?"

Thomas glanced at him, but didn't reply. Y/n squeezed his hand tightly, he squeezed back.

Newt tried again. "Listen, Frypan was just letting off steam. Don't listen to him."

Thomas was silent for a beat, inhaling deeply. "He's right, though. I'm the reason we're stuck out here."

"No," Newt said firmly. "You're the reason we're free. The others may have their doubts, and that's fine, but they would follow you anywhere."

That finally got Thomas to meet his friend's eyes, though he was still doubtful himself. "They'd follow you too."

"No," Newt repeated, shaking his head insistently. "It's different with me, you know it is. Look, we all have our roles to play."

Thomas sighed, gripping Y/n's hand tighter for reassurance. "Newt, I don't know where we're going," he confessed. "I'm lost."

"We've been lost before."

"Yeah, not like this." Thomas looked at the ground, trying to swallow down the tears that were beginning to form. He couldn't let himself cry; not here, not now.

It was a while before Newt spoke again at last, and Thomas would remember every word that left had his friend's mouth for as long as he lived.

"There is a place for us, out there somewhere. I don't know where it is, but I do know that an awful lot of our friends have died for us to get this far. And so we can't give up. You can't give up. I won't let you."

Thomas met Newt's eyes again, and this time he didn't look away. They kept their gazes locked on each other for a precious moment, not moving or saying anything. Then, Newt reached out and squeezed Thomas's shoulder, starting to stand up.

"Get some sleep, yeah?"

Thomas nodded. He did feel quite ready to pass out; however, he found himself incapable of approaching the rest of the group at the given moment. Fortunately for him, a certain little girl wasn't prepared to rest yet either.

"Tommy?" she asked, wringing her hands anxiously. "Can I c-confess something?"

"Yeah, of course, Y/n, you can tell me anything. What is it?"

"Please don't be mad at me. I didn't know you were all real. I was just following WICKED."

"Y/n, seriously, what's going on?"

She took a deep breath. "When WICKED still had me, before you had escaped your ... maze, there was this room I'd always go in to hide from Janson. Maybe others too, but mostly him. The room was full of screens, and the screens showed boys in a field doing farmer stuff, and sometimes fighting monsters. I always liked it best when they fought monsters. I used to watch it like television, Tommy. For entertainment. I didn't know it was real though, I promise. I had no idea—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Thomas said in a soft voice, placing his hands on the girl's shoulders. "It's okay, Y/n. You didn't know. You're just a kid; I honestly can't blame you for being curious. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you discovered us. Personally I think you make a great addition to the group."

" ... You're not mad?"

"No, 'course I'm not mad. C'mere." He held out his arms for a hug, which she jumped right into, squeezing him tightly."

When they broke apart, with both kids in higher spirits than before, they returned to their friends and managed to fall asleep with less difficulty than usual.