The healer [Maze runner Newt x OC]

Chapter one

Grace stood under the spray of the shower, the water running lukewarm but feeling like heaven compared to the grime-coated nightmare they'd endured. Yet no matter how hard she scrubbed, the blood and mud clinging to her skin felt like it was etched into her very being. Her hands worked the bar of soap furiously against her palms, but the stains refused to fade.

"Teresa! Do you have any more soap?" she called out, frustration cracking her voice.

"You used it all?" Teresa's voice echoed from the next stall, a mix of disbelief and concern. Grace glanced down at her hands, still speckled with what felt like remnants of the horrors they had just survived. The dried blood felt heavier than it should, as if it carried the weight of all those who hadn't made it.

"Grace?" Teresa's voice snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts, and she blinked, realizing she had frozen mid-motion. A small bottle of soap appeared under the gap in the stall door.

"Thanks," Grace murmured, her voice barely audible as she grabbed the bottle.

After what felt like hours, she finally managed to scrub the blood from her skin and rinse it out of her tangled hair. The water swirling at her feet turned from a sickly rust color to clear, a small victory she allowed herself to feel. Wrapping herself in a towel, she moved toward the mirror, grabbing a hairdryer from the counter. Its warm hum filled the air as she worked through her damp hair, though her gaze kept returning to her reflection.

For the first time, she truly saw herself. Wiping the fog from the glass, she traced a finger along her cheekbone, her reflection staring back at her with a strange mix of familiarity and foreignness. Her face looked sharper, older, as if the trials had carved their mark into her very features. Her eyes were tired, shadowed, but there was a flicker of resilience in them too—a spark she barely recognized.

"Newt was pretty accurate," she muttered to herself, her voice breaking the silence.

"Right," Teresa chimed in as she stepped out of her own stall, fully dressed and toweling her hair dry. "You haven't really seen yourself in... like ever." She grabbed a brush from the counter, then pointed toward Grace's hair. "Want help with that?"

Grace hesitated, her eyes meeting Teresa's in the mirror. There was no teasing in the other girl's expression, only quiet understanding. For all the tension and unease she'd sometimes felt toward Teresa, in this moment, she felt a sense of solidarity. A reminder that they'd all been through the same hell and come out the other side—changed, yes, but still standing.

"Yeah," Grace said finally, lowering the hairdryer. "That'd be nice."

Teresa stepped behind her, gently working the brush through Grace's damp hair. They stayed silent for a while, the rhythmic strokes of the brush oddly soothing. Grace closed her eyes, focusing on the simple act of being cared for—something she hadn't let herself feel in what felt like forever.

"You're stronger than you think, you know," Teresa said softly after a while, her tone almost hesitant. "We all are. But you... you've been holding so much. It's okay to let someone else help you carry it."

Grace opened her eyes, staring at herself in the mirror again. For once, she didn't look away. "Maybe," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe it's time I tried."

Teresa smiled faintly, setting the brush down. "Good. Because whether you like it or not, we're all in this together."

Grace nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting in a small but genuine smile. Together. It wasn't a solution, but it was a start.

Grace and Teresa entered one of the sterile, whitewashed rooms where the boys were seated, each being examined by a team of doctors. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the air, accompanied by the soft clinking of medical instruments. Grace immediately spotted Newt sitting stiffly on one of the chairs, his hands gripping the armrests tightly as a doctor prepared a syringe filled with a pale, translucent liquid.