Never Stop Running

T W O

Scott's POV

Dad had been home for over a month now, and I can tell he's trying to make everything better. He claims he has a break in between assigned cases, but we both know that he just wants me to accept him back into my life. But with everything that's been going on lately, I haven't really gotten to tell him that we don't need him here like he seems to think we do.

But today we found ourselves playing Go Fish at the kitchen table while Mom was at work. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm actually enjoying myself. I tell him about lacrosse and my friends, carefully leaving out Derek and well, the fact that we're all supernatural. Meanwhile, Dad tells me stories about when he, Mom, Claudia, and Noah were in high school and all of the trouble they got into. I liked hearing about Stiles' mom since I didn't really have a lot of memories that I could remember about her when she was alive and healthy.

Everything was going great until my dad's phone rang. Dad picked it up, and after glancing at the number, he rose from his seat after sending an apologetic glance in my direction. Figuring it was just a boring business call, I take out my own phone and reply to a text Liam sent me about practice tomorrow. After that, I busy myself with the dirty dishes from lunch and file them into the dishwasher. When I was finished that, it dawns on me that our Father-Son time was over, and I take a quick glance in the living room to check on my dad.

At the same time, a car pulled up in the driveway, and I knew it was Mom from the way the front tire on the passenger side squeaked a little when the brakes were put on. Not even ten seconds later, she bursts through the front door, her already frizzy hair all over the place. "Rafe, what are you talking about? You're finally home, and now you need to go off on a raid?" Her hands are making crazy gestures as she stares incredulously at the man frantically packing his bags. "Rafe listen to me. I need you here; Scott needs you here. I thought you were coming back to fix this!"

He stops what he's doing to look at her, and I could see the pain in his eyes. "Look, it was a rumor going around about this illegal corporation in Seattle. I'll most likely be gone three days, a week tops, okay?" He takes my mother's hand, and I couldn't help the smile that creeps on my face. It was easy to see that they still loved each other, and I knew Dad didn't actually want to leave us.

"Is that everything you know?" I couldn't help asking, and Dad turns to look at me.

With a smile, he shrugs. "Maybe. But that's more than you're allowed to know. Okay I have to leave. I'll see everyone again soon!" Then he takes his bag and rushes out the door, leaving me and my mom dumbfounded.

"Mom?" I ask as she makes her way to me and wraps her arms around me. She hums in response, laying her head on my chest. "Did he really come back to fix this?"

She pulls back and stares into my eyes. Then she offers a small smile and nods. "He wants everything to be okay again, Scott. I just want to give him the benefit of the doubt for once."

---

3rd Person POV

"Why would we be rescued just to be sitting here doing nothing?" Newt pondered aloud in a weak voice from his seat on the floor with the majority of the other Gladers. Most mutter small things in reply or give small shrugs of their shoulders.

Thomas however, was staring intently at the sign on the door in front of him: Teresa Agnes. Where was Teresa, and why wasn't she with him? And why wouldn't she answer when he knocked on the door, begging to be let in? Why was it silent beyond the three-inch barrier of cold metal dividing them?

Minho would eye him carefully, mostly in an annoyed manner. He stopped voicing his sarcastic comments by now, trying to conserve his strength.

That was the second day, and most were becoming too weak to move with the deprivation of necessities like food and water. Even Thomas, who did his best to look strong at all costs was beginning to show the effects.

By the seventh day, it was as if they were put on bedrest. All were too feeble to perform any physical tasks, and it was beginning to be painful to simply sit there, or in most cases, lay there. Hunger pains made it feel like the body was eating itself from the inside out, but the grumbling noises coming from their stomachs had stopped by then as there was no food left in the stomach to be processed.

All were beginning to lose hope, as they thought back to the secured doors that made no way for the Gladers to escape the confining space of- wherever they were. Thomas, Newt, and Minho were sure that it was WICKED planning something, but concerns were voiced, saying that WICKED wouldn't just bring a dozen teenagers to a building after putting them through the Maze Trials for them to starve to death.

Weight loss was obvious to see for those with enough strength to stay conscious and open their eyes. Cheeks became hollowed, and bones were more prominent before, seeing as they never exactly had a healthy diet to begin with. But this was taking it to a whole new level. Sure, Gladers may have had a day or so with less food than normal right before the Box was due again, but not having anything to eat or drink for a week was bound to have its effects.

Thomas lay awake, too weak to move, just thinking. He and Minho had mapped out the complex that they were trapped in on their first day here, and all of the exits were secure with keypads, and they wouldn't budge with Frypan's trusty fire extinguisher. He was bothered, as images of Ava Paige flickering in his mind, with brief images of Teresa mixed in. Ava Paige had called them important for the sake of the world, but here they were, dying of starvation. Why? He discovered that he knew a lot about the trials in his previous life. He even invented part of the Maze himself. However, he couldn't find the rhyme or reason to leaving the 'hope to save mankind' in a building to die, especially from something as normal as starvation.

"Hey Tommy?" Newt's weak call broke him out of his slight daze. "Did you hear that?"

Thomas perked up, and against the overwhelming weight of his body on his weak muscles, he sat up on his bunk. "No, what are you-" Then he heard it. There was metal clanging on metal, and the sound brought cringes to his fellow Gladers.

After a few more shattering clangs, resounding footsteps echoed through the empty halls, accompanied by unintelligible shouts. Thomas shifted to face Minho, who's face clearly showed anxiety. Was this WICKED? Could this be their way out? Those two opposing questions bounced around the Glader's heads, and many curious glances were made back and forth between them.

Instinctively, Thomas' hand went to the back of his neck, where his tattoo was. Maybe this was Group B, coming to take him away and kill him. Maybe-

All thoughts disappeared as men with masks covering their faces and heavy guns at their sides rushed into the room, and all of the teens abruptly stood and gathered in the opposite side of the room, with Newt, Thomas, and Minho in front. "Uh, McCall?" One of the men called. "We found them, and you might want to get in here!"

A middle-aged man in a classy suit and the uniform mask hurried into the room, and his eyes immediately roamed over the dozen of sickly thin boys. Then, his gaze locked on one that stood out: one with familiar dark brown hair and cola colored eyes, along with the slight upturned nose. "Stiles?" The query flew out of his mouth before he could restrain himself.