Newt | Through The Gates Of Hell

Party 'Til We Reunite With the Dead

Newt's P.O.V

Waking up the next day felt like waking up from a bad nightmare at the Glade. Everything was all right, everything was fine. Minho was probably getting ready to go out into the maze again, Alby was probably yelling at some poor Greenie, and Gally was being a bloody pain in the arse as usual. I'd nearly convinced myself the past three days had just been a figment of my imagination, a hyper realistic fantasy my brain had conjured to get away from the screeches of the Grievers at night.

But no.

Lying a few metres away from me was Y/N. Grief and exhaustion had made her collapse the moment we walked into this place,  the "safe house", as Jorge called it and now, lying on an old mattress, still wearing her leather jacket and bandolier, gun peeking out of the waistband of her pants, she slumbered. Without the startling intensity of her roving eyes, the crease of concentration and worry on her forehead she looked...young. Innocent. A normal teenager about to wake up to another day of high school, with no larger worries than a math assignment due the next day, rather than whether or not she'd live through the day.

She woke as Minho sauntered in. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she gave us a small smile. Minho announced that breakfast was to be served in half an hour in the living room. 

"Shower's down the hall on the left," he added, winking at me. "You two might wanna, clean up together."

What in the bloody hell was he on about?

I cursed him internally as he ran out, probably to pester Aris or Teresa.

"I'm going to shower," Y/N said, pulling a change of clothes out of her rucksack.

I left the room to give her some privacy, idly wandering around the "safe house". While I hadn't been able to make out much in the darkness of last night, we were in what appeared to be a sprawling penthouse, which would explain the  three billion flights of stairs we'd had to climb to get here. My leg wasn't doing very well around here, what with walking continuously for hours, running around, and getting dangled by it. 

The house, in surprisingly good condition, though stripped bare of furniture and slightly dusty, was filled with light streaming in through the mostly-intact windows, as well as the smell of frying bacon. 

"Smells real good. Where'd ya get the bacon from, though?" I grinned across the marble countertop at Frypan, who was wielding a spatula as he expertly toasted bread and scrambled eggs at the same time.

He shrugged. "Jorge pulled it out of nowhere. He's got a can of beans too, so we'll get a half-decent breakfast," he exclaimed happily.

I arched a brow. Jorge seemed to have everything in his arsenal, from well-designed penthouses with working gas and water, to a mystery supply of bacon and eggs. 

Another thought nagged at me. "Where'd ya sleep last night?"

"Room down from yours. With Minho and Aris. Teresa slept across the hall."

"How come you shanks didn't sleep in my room?"

"Minho's idea, not mine, Newt."

Minho was starting to get on my nerves.

Y/N appeared, barefoot, wearing her leather jacket over a clean white tank top and blue jeans that hugged the curves of her legs, towelling her hair dry. "Hey, Fry. Bathroom's free, Newt."

Fifteen minutes later, I sat down on the floor with everyone else, my back against the wall with the rest of our group. Eating my scrambled eggs, I listened to Jorge who was explaining our plans and tried not to get distracted by Y/N, who was sitting cross-legged on the marble countertop, munching on toast.