Maze runner one shot requests

Flowers---Newt imagine, part two your prespective

Part two to the last one, your prespecitve this time. 

((This takes place right after Thomas gets in the van with a WICKED guard))

Your POV:

Stupid WICKED. After all they did to you, you would at least think they would let you go in a van with them. And then Thomas basically agreed with them?

You were running across the cracked concrete of a road, following the van. After it had left, it had been pretty easy to slip out after them. Sure, the van was fast, but you were fast too, even if you'd never been a runner.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this wasn't about Thomas.

Or WICKED.

Or the van.

It was about Newt.

As your shoes slapped at the concrete, your mind took you back to some of the worst days in your life.

You and Newt had made it across the scorch. You made it to the 'safe haven' of WICKED.

Then one of the workers told you the worst news in your life.

Newt wasn't immune.

He had tried to put on a brave face for you, but deep down, you knew he was as shocked as you were. It wasn't just the fact that he wasn't immune.

It was the fact that you were.

You both managed to escape WICKED. You thought you might be able to live happily. Then, you had to leave him in the berg. You thought it would be okay. You gave yourself false hope. That all ended when you came back and saw the note saying he'd left.

He had given you a note too. A private one, still in its envelope. You wouldn't open it until you were sure there was no way of finding him.

Your mind brought you back to reality, and you turned a corner, keeping the truck in your sights. The road it was going down was straight for a while, and your mind sucked you back in.

This time, it was the last time you'd seen Newt.

It was in the crank palace. The guards had told you Newt was in the bowling alley. You had walked in carefully, but when you saw Newt, all caution flew out the window. You would have ran to him, if Minho hadn't grabbed your arm. That was when you noticed Newt was holding a lugger. He wasn't facing you, and you called out to him. The space between the two of you seemed endless, when it was only a room.

"Newt?"

He turned.

"(Y/N)?"

You nodded, and your mouth was open to say something, when he cut you off.

"(Y/N), you have to leave."

You shook your head

"No."

"You have to, I can't risk hurting you."

That's when the initial joy of seeing him wore off, and you saw how terrible he looked. His clothes were ragged and torn, his arms covered in small scratches, his hands clutching the lugger.

"Newt. . ."

Newt dropped the lugger, and with a metallic thump it hit the floor. He drew his hands up to his face, and clasped his head, his eyes welling up with tears.