Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

12

The very least thing Thomas expected after surviving a night in the Maze was a punch right in the jaw. Yet there he was, rubbing his face, which hurt as hell, and wondering what on Earth had just gotten into Newt, who had jumped to his feet, run to him and hit him with all he had.

He had to admit, though never out loud, that, when Newt had started sprinting towards him, all the hours of running, hiding and fleeding from the Grievers had seemed to vanish. The whole world had seemed to vanish as the boy got closer and closer: Thomas had felt on cloud nine, there was no use denying it. Though the punch had been a pretty big passion killer.

"What the shuck?" he mumbled, feeling his blood rush to his cheek. It started heating up quickly, the way a fire devours a pile of wood. One would expect a warmer welcome after surviving the Maze!, he wanted to shout; but he had no time to decide whether it was a good idea.

"Don't ya ever shuckin' bloody do that again, dumb shuck-face shank, ya heard me?" Newt hissed, his voice rasp, grabbing Thomas' T-shirt. Thomas nodded, feeling his blood drain from his face. Newt was a bit shorter than him, but he managed to be scarier than any Griever. His eyebrows frowned hard, and his eyes threw him a glance that wasn't cold —it was frostbiting.

When Newt let go, it took a while for him to realise that Chuck was in front of him, waving his hand and showing an enormous smile. "Thomas, Thomas! You're back!" the kid celebrated, hugging Thomas' waist. The older boy patted Chuck's head, feeling a sudden wave of tender taking over him; he would have liked those arms, though, to be someone else's. A certain someone's.

"Thanks for your attention, shucks," Minho panted. Sweat dropped off his chin, leaving a clean path on his dirty face.

"Holy klunk, Minho, how the shuck did you manage to survive?" Newt asked, frowning. He couldn't help a smile, though.

"Too awesome to die."

Newt looked as if he debated between laughing and killing Minho himself. The rest of the Gladers, who had just stared at them, lifted both eyebrows, and some went away chuckling.

"What happened? How in the bloody—"

"We'll tell you later," Thomas interrupted, gathering all his courage. The boy's word echoed in his mind, menacing, and he bit his inner cheek. "We have to save Alby."

Newt's face went white. "What do you mean? He's alive?"

"Just come here."

The boys walked down the Maze, Thomas with his head up, searching along the thick vines. He could perfectly feel Newt's stare in his nape, which gave him the creeps. What was he afraid of? He thought about it, but couldn't find a proper answer. The only thing he knew was that Newt's anger both scared and saddened him.

When he spotted Alby's body, hung by his arms and legs, he pointed up. He didn't feel relieved yet, though. The Glade's leader was there and in one piece, but he didn't move at all. The three of them remained silent; it was Newt who finally broke the silence. If he had seemed shocked when they came out of the Maze, he now looked bewildered.

"Is he... alive?"

Please let him be, Thomas thought. "I don't know. Was when I left him up there, at least," he said instead.

"When you left him..." Newt seemed to think about it, and then shook his head. "You and Minho get your butts inside, get yourselves checked by the Med-jacks. You look bloody awful. I want the whole story when they're done and you're rested up."

He fixed his gaze on Thomas when he said "you look bloody awful". Thomas wanted to wait and see if Alby was okay. And maybe to discuss one or two things with Newt. Or well, maybe to ask what had he done. Or even... maybe to apologize for frightening him to death getting into the Maze. Or just... He shook his head, interrupting the trail of thoughts that was dangerously turning into a concerned son's planification of an apology to his mother after breaking a window.