Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

09

"Being ran over by a truck must feel far better than this," Thomas growled, stretching his arms over his head. He sighed, and looked around; the other Gladers were still asleep. It seemed like he was condemned to never get a good rest. "Good morning to you too, by the way."

Newt shrugged. "Seven o'clock, Greenie," he said, with a smile. "Gonna put ya with the Track-hoes today. See if that suits your fancy more than slicin' up bloody piggies and such."

Thomas arched an eyebrow, taking the hand that Newt was offering to him and standing up. "Aren't you supposed to stop calling me that?"

"What? Bloody piggy?" Newt frowned and tilted his head. His eyebrows drew a curve that was pretty much like a snake trying to contort the maximum times possible.

"No." Thomas shook his head. It felt as if it were an engine that hadn't been greased yet. His thoughts were slow, and it took a big effort to try to speed them up a bit. He glanced around, regarding the trees and the huge doors, as he tried to get his brain to work. Shivers ran down his spine when he saw the walls of the Maze. Last night's events were still fresh in his memory. He shook his head again, and focused on what he wanted to say. "Greenie. I'm technically not the newest guy around —the comatose girl is."

He thought of her, and he felt his heart sink in his chest. She awoke in him confuse feelings; he felt dizzy whenever he looked at her, and he longed to hold her hand until she recovered. His fingers itched with the mere thought of it. It was now almost obvious that he did have something to do with the girl —the thing was, what?

Unaware of what was happening in Thomas' head, Newt let out a quick laugh. "Ya grew some right nice-sized eggs over night, now didn't ya?"

Ignoring that question, Thomas moved on. He had to find something to do that day, something that kept him from thinking. Find something, Thomas. Find it. "What's the Track-hoes?"

"They're the guys that work in the garden, tillin', weedin', plantin'. Those things. Don't worry, ya'll see it soon."

A roar that sounded like a lion's roar cut him off as the Maze opened for them. Thomas' gaze quickly got there, secretly expecting to see Ben alive. But he instead found Minho, who was stretching. The boy walked over, and picked up something. He threw it to the other Runners, who put it back in the tool shed near the Gardens. Its metallic shine was unmistakable. It was the section of the pole with the leather collar.

Thomas put both hands on his knees, bending over, and fixed his eyes in the cracked concrete of the Homestead, trying his best not to throw up. The Banishing seemed to happen again in front of him, and he could picture every detail —specially the most terrible ones. Ben's gaze, full of fear. Thomas closed his eyes, feeling a lump in his throat, and his pulse grew more and more irregular. Come on. Don't lose it. You can do this. Don't lose it, Thomas. Don't lose it.

"Only seen three Banishments, Tommy. All as nasty as the one you peeped on last night. But every buggin' time, the Grievers leave the collar on our doorstep. Gives me the willies like nothin' else." Newt put a hand on his shouder. Thomas didn't open his eyes, nor change his position. He just stood there, breathing in and out, until the world slowly calmed down.

"So. Tell me about the Runners," Thomas said, all of a sudden. He could almost sense Newt frowning.

"The Runners? Why?" There it was.

"Just wondering."

Newt didn't answer immediately, leaving enough silence to remark his silent suspicions. "Best of the best, those guys. Have to be."

"And then, why aren't you one?"

Oooops.

Thomas opened one eye as a voice inside his head sung, you've royally screwed up. Newt's gaze returned to him, cold but, at the same time, curious. His mouth didn't smile, nor did his eyes; yet there was something in his relaxed way of standing that hinted a lack of true anger.