The Maze Runner Oneshots & Imagines

Newt - Almost The End

A/N: Yep, I've been completely AWOL. I have been working on this for close to two months, very on and off. I've had a lot of homework, and then when I didn't, I was spending time doing other stuff. Sorry. I made this kind of longer, I hope it makes up for the lack of updates, lmao.

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It was late, and you were already worried, but nothing could ever prepare you for the dread you’d feel at seeing two of the runners dragging Newt’s crumpled body through the rumbling gate walls. Your heart banged against your rib cage once, twice—and then you swore it stopped altogether. You felt cold, and numb, and you were frozen to the grassy ground as the boys rushed past you, most probably heading for the homestead.

You knew Newt was having a rough time lately, but you’d never thought it would come to this end. You never wanted to think that he would die at the hands of the glade (or rather, by his choice—but that was a discovery for later).

The howling of the maze is what roused your focus once more. A strong wind blew over you, and you finally turned around, albeit slowly and unsurely, and staggered towards Newt; your Newt—the boy with the hair like a glowing halo, who now lay half-dead.

*

Your steps were clumsy, though you stayed mostly upright during your venture to the homestead. You raced up the stairs, almost tripping twice, but made it to the doorframe where they were keeping him. There was no chance for you to go any further, however, as you slammed into a heavyset chest, sending you tumbling to the floor. God damn, that hurt—(but you couldn’t feel much over the pain and fear and worry in your chest).

“Newt,” you whispered aimlessly, scrambling to your feet and barely looking at the assailant. You tried to get through to the boy, to no avail. You were knocked back again. You couldn’t hear whatever they had just said. Your ears—everything sounded muffled, like what you supposed would be the effect of being underwater. The only thing you could think of was: Newt, Newt, Newt. A steady mantra.

“Let me in. Let me see him,” you babbled, trying again. Your eyes flickered over the male: it was Minho, and behind him, Alby. “Let me…” You tried once more, but you were cut off by the words dying in your throat. Silent, hot, and salty tears streamed down your cheeks, unnoticed till now.

You tried to catch a glimpse of the blonde haired boy who—Creator’s be damned—you loved wholly. “I want—Newt—See him,” you choked out, not bothering to swipe your wet cheeks. You felt something resembling arms wrap about your shorter frame, and you fell into the embrace, still mumbling his name.

*

Bloody, broken, and snoring is how you first saw him. Jeff had told you he wasn’t responding; he hadn’t woken up since the accident. You sat by him when you could, murmuring soft words, praying he would be alright. You couldn’t lose him. Not Newt.

*

The next day, he apparently woke, although all your shouting would do nothing to budge the boys from your path. It seemed a repeat of the night they brought him in. So you sat glumly and waited for more news.

*

Alby had sighed long and deep before telling you. “He tried to kill himself.”

Your face completely paled. You didn’t want to believe it, and your head shook, which soon reverberated through your hands; although, deep down, you knew it was true. You didn’t ask anymore questions—only got up and wandered the Glade numbly.

God damn, you thought, you hated him.

*

When you finally entered Newt’s room, he was bundled in blankets, head tucked into a pillow, leg resting atop. His ankle was mangled and you suppressed a cringe. The blonde haired boy hadn’t wanted you to come; you hadn’t wanted to come; but Minho eventually talked you into it. You were upset Newt could ever do such a thing, even if that was a selfish thing to hate him for.