The Maze Runner Preferences/Imagines

Getting Hurt In The Scorch

Thomas:

Running through the storm, without any sense of where you were going or how you'd manage to get there, was probably one of the hardest things you'd ever done. You could see some other Gladers, like Winston and Minho running as fast as they could to get to the town that was just in reach. Others, like Newt and Thomas, you couldn't see.

The rain shot down like bullets as the wind tried to push you back. But that wasn't even the bad part of the storm. The bad part were the lightening strikes lashing down and targeting anyone they could. You could already seen some burned-to-a-crisp bodies lying still on the ground.

What you didn't expect was to be one of them. It all came at once – the searing pain beaming through your every being, the fire in your veins, and the white light surrounding you. Then it was gone, but the pain wasn't.

As far as you knew, you were still alive, but everything was a blur. You cried out as someone picked you up, cradling you to their chest as they ran as fast as they could.

"Thomas, just leave her!" someone, who sounded like Minho, said. Tears leaked down your face with the rain from the immense hurt all over you.

"No! I can't!" Thomas yelled, and it finally occurred to you that he was the one holding you. "Don't worry," he said to you soothingly. "You'll make it. You'll be okay."

Newt:

The Cranks scattered after the Gladers started to fight back. They scurried to where they came from, here and there. Mostly everyone had made it out of the town alive, without that many deaths.

"Y/N!" Newt suddenly called out in surprise as he turned to you.

It must've been the adrenalin in your veins that kept you from feeling it, but as soon as it leaked away, you could tell what he was yelling at. You looked down, noticing the rusty, old screwdriver lodged deep into your stomach. A patch of deep, red blood stained your shirt around the wound, and you fell back.

Newt rushed over to you immediately, as you heaved and sputtered out blood. It didn't hurt as much as you thought it would, but that was only because you weren't focusing on the pain. You were focusing on the thought of dying, what it would feel like, what would happen to the others.

"Y/N, oh shuck," Newt said as he bent down by your side. He scooped you up into his arms without a second's hesitation. You cried out in pain and clutched at your stomach, pressing into the wound.

"Just l– leave me, Newt. It's not worth it," you coughed out. A small line of blood started to trickle down from the corner of your mouth.

"No, I'm not leaving you to die," he said angrily. He wasn't angry at you. He was angry at the Crank that'd attacked you out of pure insanity.

"I'll die anyway," you said sadly.

Newt readjusted his arms around you, and stared into your eyes. "No, you won't. I'm getting you out of this alive if it's the last bloody thing I do."

Minho:

You woke up to dry aches and pains all over your body and an overwhelming sickness in your stomach. The sheet you'd covered yourself with during the night was long gone, leaving you overexposed to the sunlight.

Your skin was blistered and red, cracked and bloody. As everyone started to wake up, they noticed you and stared in horror.

A wave of nausea overcame you, and in a moment you'd puked all over the ground, getting rid of the little contents in your stomach. You wiped at your mouth, and winced at the pain of moving.

You laid down on the hot ground once again, too sick and tired to move, let alone stand.

Minho rushed over to you, arms on your shoulders. He had his sheet over his head, and covered you with it as well. "Y/N, shuck, are you alright?" he asked in panic.

You could only shake your head slowly. Newt came over to you, pressing his hand to your forehead. He looked you over from head to toe. "She has heat stroke. She'll be too sick to go on, Minho," he said sadly.

"What? You think I'm just gonna leave her out here?" he said angrily.

Newt pursed his lips, and didn't answer. Minho nodded knowingly, as if to say 'I thought so'.

He turned around so that his back was facing you, and held his arms out behind him. "Climb on my back, c'mon."

You didn't refuse, moving slowly so that you didn't get sick and puke all over him. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, wincing at the contact. He hooked his hands under your legs and held you while you covered the two of you with the sheet.

As everyone continued on the journey, Minho never let you go. "I'll never leave you," he whispered.

*