One By One: A Maze Runner Crank Love FanFic

Chapter 22: Reasons

Newt was dreaming. He was sure of it.
There were green fields and bright lights that weren't so bright they hurt your eyes, but bright enough that they illuminated everything beautifully.
People were there. First, shadows in the distance. Then their features came into view.
First he saw Alby.
Then Josh.
Holy shit. It's everyone. Everyone who's died.
The placid people of the past were marching closer to him. Surrounding him, they all started saying things.
"You could have saved me!"
"I thought you loved me!"
"You left us behind. "
"Now look at us! LOOK AT US!"
Newt didn't focus on what they were saying. He swung around, searching for the one familiar face.
"MINHO?!"
He hope and prayed to whatever gods he could remember that he wouldn't find his friends face amongst the dead.
He still wasn't done looking when the group of once alive friends closed in on him. Everything started to fade as Newt started to wake up.
He tried to fight against reality, but as he edged closer and closer to consciousness, he realized that someone was shaking him.
"Newt, you need to wake up, if you want to say goodbye..." It was Day, now nudging him more urgently.
At first, relief flooded through Newt at the fact that Day had made it out okay. Then he processed Days words.
"Who?" Newts voice is hoarse.
Day glances down. Guilt laces his eyes and his hands run up and down his forearms. His once long, golden locks are now tied up and dirty, caked with dried blood and grime.
"Thomas...He said that...that before he dies he wanted to see you." Day didn't make eye contact as he got up of the infirmary bed and walked out the room.
Newt couldn't breathe.
He pulled off the blankets that smothered him. He glanced around as he got up, noticing he was still in the berg. He was constantly surrounded by steel. Everywhere he looked was the cold, hard metal. Newt wondered when the next time he saw grass would be. Or if he'd ever actually see grass again.
Stop. You can out last the flare. Don't let it consume you. Not now. Not until you can see Minho again. Or Thomas.
He emerged out his room. Walked down a corridor, following the sounds of commotion a few doors down.
When Newt entered, he saw Thomas lying on a couch, gladers surrounding what looked like a lifeless shell of what Thomas used to be.
They parted for him, nobody breaking the silent spell cast among them. Newt stepped forward gingerly. Thomas' eyes barely fluttered open.
He collapsed to his knees. His hands shot out and stroked away Thomas' damp brown hair.
"I'm so sorry..." Newt whispered.
"Don't be. You showed me something nobody else could've... ," Thomas licked his dried lips before he continued. It obviously pained him to talk. "You taught me how to love something so much it hurts. You showed me feelings that before your face came into view and before your hands touched mine, I didn't know existed. I breathed you, I did everything for you. You don't have to be sorry, I do. For making you my everything, for making you my reason to live. "
Everyone had left the room.
Newt only noticed now that Ava Paige's bullet had hit Thomas in the thigh. He shouldn't be dying from a leg wound. They had the supplies to save him. It was almost like Thomas had given up. He'd saved the gladers, but Newt wasn't a good enough reason to try live anything anymore.  Not when the greatest feeling in Thomas' heart, his love, was unrequited.
"I've done my job," Thomas said, almost as if he was reading Newts mind. "Now I can go. Join Chuck, somewhere beautiful. "
Newt thought of the place he'd seen in his dreams and thought about how happy Thomas would be there.
Thomas gasped and wheezed. Blood gurgled in his throat.
Newt had seen many people die, and he could say confidently, it doesn't get any easier.
"You were my reason," Thomas said, eyes closing, final breaths. "Go be someone else's... Go find yours. "
A harsh breath in.
No breath out.

Newt felt the black veins in his neck, arms, cheeks, legs, stomach, everywhere, start to throb.
He let out a guttural cry, causing the gladers to crash back into the room.
Newt couldn't see them, his eyes were blurred from all the tears, but he could hear their sobs, matching his own.
He wiped his eyes and regained clear vision. He looked down on Thomas' lifeless body.
Why have I lost so much?!
Dead. He's dead. Thomas is dead. He's not coming back.
He knew that in the future, when he'd look back on this day, all he'd see was a frozen image of himself, kneeling there, mouth agape, hands still, eyes painfully open.
Newt had seen many people die, and he could say confidently, that this one hurt the most.
Go be someone else's. Go find yours.
Thomas' words rang out over and over in his head.
"This isn't over," Newt sobbed out, causing all the heads of his friends to turn and look at him, eyes red and paired with tear streaked cheeks. "We're going to get Minho. "