The Defective Soldier || Newt

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟗

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕨 

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People could change a lot under pressure. Thomas had blurry recollections about his past that definitely proved it. Those long days before the maze in which, as time passed, William was more present in them. The boy that had been his friend and the one he had in front of him had no resemblance apart from their looks. It was impressive, worrying even, to see William shout. His anxiety had probably ended up getting bottled up to the point he had to burst at some point, but that didn't mean it was any less surprising to see him, still on his knees, with a good grip on Newt's jacket as he cried and yelled onto his chest, accusing Newt of giving him the worst scare of his life. Newt could only apologise through dry coughs.

"You do that one more time... I swear I... I'll..." said William, increasingly quieter as his anxiety dissipated.

"Mae..." Thomas whispered, but not to William or Newt, not even Chuck, who had previously joined William to hug Newt, but had sat back to have a laugh at William's continuous inquires.

A screech, like the product of a desperate animal, appeared metres behind William and Chuck. They had just started to turn around when Thomas took off running, shouting, "Whoa! Whoa!" repeatedly. It took no time for him to be launched back. Through the chaos and the movement, William could only comprehend one thing: Mae was losing her sanity.

Thomas made an attempt to go towards her again, but William stopped him before he could. Without a single care for his complaints, he pulled Thomas to the floor next to Newt and Chuck. Thomas remained star-struck for a second, enough to let William turn his back to him and circle Mae, along with Leen and George. They were barely evading the knife in Mae's hand, going as far as to throw themselves to the ground if that was what it took, but they were making some advances. The most prominent, though, was after Leen gave a silent order. Her eyes squinted while looking at George and William, and they nodded. Nothing changed at first. George and William kept on trying to take the knife away from Mae, but their retreats were quicker, and their attempts simpler. Meanwhile, Leen circled around, letting Mae get distracted with the two boys enough to not notice her.

"What—What are they doing?" Thomas mumbled, scared out of his mind for whatever could follow.

He didn't care if Mae had said it herself, he couldn't let her die. It had taken a lot of fighting and some desperate talk, but he had managed to cure Newt. Why couldn't he do the same with Mae? Why could he only stay where William had left him, waiting, hoping for them to be as stubborn as he was to keep Mae alive? He wanted to help. He was the cure, after all.

And then, Thomas saw it; the wall. He was no soldier. A survivor for sure, but not a soldier. His decisions, and his desires, had never had anything to do with anyone in the group. If it hadn't been for WICKED's plan, none would have followed him through the Scorch. Of course not. Why would they? They barely even knew him, and they had never needed anyone outside their group. In fact, if William hadn't tried to save Minho, which in itself was an odd occurrence, if he had been with them at the Right Arm, would the rest have even come with him to the Last City?

"Mae, it's us," George whispered, his hands in the air as if he were surrendering. "Your Birdies, remember?"

The first signs of rationality had taken over Mae's reactions when Leen pinned her to the ground. Not losing a second, George and William grabbed a hold of her hands, keeping them in place as her rationality slipped away. Leen sat on Mae's hips, unzipping the jacket and pulling up her shirt to inject her with the syringe that she still had to receive from George, who couldn't really spare a hand to take it out of his pocket.