Different | The Maze Runner / Newt ¹ ✓

{3.7}

Disclaimer:

I do not own The Maze Runner. If I did, I would have made Thominho canon.

-✼-

"Dylan. Dylan, c'mon. I think we found something."

Gentle hands shook me out of my stupor. My vision cleared and I snapped out of whatever daze I had been in, my eyes drifting upward to see Thomas. He had worry in his dark eyes and stress lines marked his pale face like scratches on glass. He pulled me up from the ground. His arm hooked through mine as my knees buckled beneath me, refusing to support my weight.

"You okay?" Thomas asked, deep looks of concern on the surface of his face. I shrugged vaguely.

"We can talk about it another time," I told him in a blank tone, my gaze locked on the grass.

"Newt!" Minho's voice called out from close behind us. I turned my head to see him facing the burned Map Room, where Newt was still tending to Alby and trying to get answers.

"Yeah?" The boy folded the rag he was using, trying to find a clean spot. All of it was drenched in the crimson color of Alby's blood.

Minho pointed down at our injured leader. "Let the Med-jacks take care of him. We need to talk."

Newt's eyes filled with curiosity as he handed the cloth to the closest Glader. "Go find Clint- tell him we got worse problems than guys with buggin' splinters." After the boy ran off to follow the orders, Newt stood and stepped away from Alby. "Talk about what?"

Minho nodded at Thomas, signaling for him to take over and explain.

"Just come with me," My brother ordered, pulling me alongside him and really giving me no choice in the matter. Our elbows were locked tightly around each other as he dragged me off toward the Slammer.

When we got there, Thomas slid his arm out of the circle ours had created and waited for Minho and Newt to catch up. "Let her out." He folded his arms across his chest sternly. "Let her out, and then we'll talk. Trust me— you wanna hear it."

Newt put a hand to the bandage on his head and pushed his messy hair out of his face. His cheeks shone with soot and sweat, a permanent frown carved into his face. "Tommy, this is—"

"Please," Thomas begged. "Just open it— let her out. Please."

Minho stood in front of the door with his hands on his hips. "How can we trust her? Soon as she woke up, the whole place fell to pieces. She even admitted she triggered something."

"He's got a point," Newt agreed, pointing a finger at the Keeper of the Runners.

"Well, you didn't expect to stay here forever, did you?" I questioned a bit more harshly than I intended to. All three of the boys' gazes directed to me. "Everything had to fall into place at some point. Plus, it wasn't Teresa who caused all this- it was the Creators. She was just a pawn in another one of their sick games."

Minho scoffed and adjusted his hands on his waist. "Yeah, more like the Queen. She's a pretty major pawn."

Thomas jabbed a thumb at me with a pleased look; his eyebrows were raised so high they disappeared into his raven hair. "She's got a better point."

Newt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A crease formed between his eyebrows. There was a long pause as he thought about it. When he finished, he exchanged an uneasy look with Minho.

"Come on," Thomas whined a bit childishly. "What's she gonna do, run around and stab every Glader to death? Come on."

"No, but I might if we keep arguing over petty things like this," I muttered darkly, my eyes shifting over to the Slammer. I could see the faint outline of Teresa's face in the barred window, her skin a sharp contrast to the blackness behind her that cast shadows around her features.