Koev Halev (Newt x Reader)

Where's Bertha?

 "You guys look awful comfy," Minho grinned as he happily tramped down the haphazard stairs of the rotten crank house. In his hands were two long blades, both of which had seen a rather good fight for many obvious reasons. He himself looked like a complete mess, hair far from what was Minho's normal and his clothes in tatters.

"Well don't just sit there with your mouths open and say thank you!" He poked fun at his dumbfounded friends. "We're saving you."

"We had that much figured out," Brenda groaned. "Now untie us please."

With that, a few of the other Gladers poured down into the basement, all looking just as rough as Minho. Teresa immediately shot towards Thomas, soon to scold him for not communicating with her. He fought back with the excuse that he never had a chance to settle down and focus, but that didn't do much to change Teresa's attitude. Jorge ran towards Brenda, immediately slicing the ropes around her feet and wrists, standing her up and checking her over for any injuries. Or, worse, any signs of a bite or scratch from a Crank that could end in infection.

Newt, of course, went for Y/N. She, out of the three, appeared to be the most calm and collected despite what had happened. He was beyond relieved to find her here, still safe and not sold off by the Cranks. If she had been, it would have been yet another wild chase across the Scorch to attempt to get her back from WICKED, which likely would have proven itself impossible.

"Sorry all of this almost gave you a heart attack." Y/N apologized shyly as Newt fought with the ropes around her feet.

The boy stifled a laugh. "It's alight, I managed just fine with the help of the others."

"I'd beg to differ," Y/N raised a brow in suspicion. "I can feel what you feel," She reminded. "You were nearly sick because of it."

"Alright, fine." He huffed. "Maybe I wasn't alright. But you're here now, so things are okay." He said, aggravated.

Y/N looked to him sadly, earning a strange gaze back from the boy. "I know you're not okay."

Newt pursed his lips and tried to find the right words. "I honestly just don't want to know what happens when one of us—" He stopped. "If one of us, you know..."

"Yeah," Y/N sighed. "I know. Try not to think about it."

Newt did try. He had tried since day one. Tried to not let the idea of one of them dying, a lost connection or otherwise, destroying one or both of them. By now, the pair was quite literally woven together on every level. Having their connection lost under any sort of condition would be like someone tearing out the neurones of someones mind and assuming they'd be able to walk and feel just like they always had. Something like that was physically impossible in more ways than one. WICKED had sewn them together impossibly tight, and at the time of doing so, probably didn't consider the repercussions a separation or cut connection would have. Or, maybe they had, and it was all a part of their sick and twisted game towards finding a cure. Deep down, he knew this was probably a necessary experiment for the scientists to monitor. But, some days, he wondered if it was purely for their entertainment.

Regardless of his overwhelming thoughts and endless questions rising in his mind about WICKED, they had to keep moving. Where? He wasn't sure, and neither was Y/N. All they could do was follow Thomas' lead and hope that he was taking them in the right direction and not to their deaths, or worse, their capture.

Traversing the old ruined city on the edge of the mountains was nothing but exhausting. Every second of the day, everyone had to be looking over their shoulder all while looking out for their friends backs. Then by nighttime the group had to huddle up in a small makeshift shelter in hopes of snagging a couple hours of sleep before the sun rose or they had to take a shift on watch. Newt always stayed closed to Y/N and made sure he was scheduled for the same watch times as her. At this point in his life, with how uncertain the future looked, he wanted as much time with her as possible. Even if that meant sitting at her side for a few hours before daybreak without speaking a word, he was happy to have it.

It was midmorning when Jorge finally found the place he was looking for. It was a massive building, tattered crimson banners draped over the front of it, turning it into something that looked beautiful in contrast to everything around it. The man forced his way through what must've been some kind of security at the front entrance and stormed through the building, screaming out the name Marcus.

After a while of knocking things over and yelling in people's faces, Jorge found Marcus. He was in a backroom lounging on a dusty couch, a drink in his hand. If you asked anyone in the group, they'd assume he was already half crazy, but he must've been somewhat sane in order to keep this place up and running.

While everyone talked, Y/N took time to explore the room. It was in pretty bad shape, but there were plenty of timeless objects laying around that she found herself lost in for a little too long. Newt didn't want to interrupt her adventure around the room knowing she was probably comfortably lost in her thoughts. So, he simply followed on her heel and examined everything she touched, wondering what it was she'd seen that was so fascinating. If it was anything like what he saw in her, he could understand why she'd gotten so lost so fast.

Mania had broken out in the room since Y/N had set off in her own direction. This so called guy, Marcus, was tied down to a chair, had a swollen black eye and was bleeding from the lip. Jorge wasn't too pleased with the information he was getting out of the man he used to call a friend, and so he restored to violence. Nothing much was new there.

When Jorge laid another strike down on Marcus' face, Newt saw Y/N flinch from the shock of the loud noise reverberating in the room. The moment she turned around to finally see what was happening for herself, someone had gripped her wrist and was dragging her towards Marcus.

She stood there in front of him, not sure of what to do. Now she was really regretting not having been listening whatsoever before. Nervously, she looked back to Newt for help, but all he could do was stand there with a blank expression because he was just out of the loop as she was.

"Show him," Jorge said impatiently.

"What—"

Thomas reached for Y/N's arm and pulled off her glove, revealing the old ink in her skin. The symbol of the Right Arm.

"Oh," Marcus sighed before letting out a horrendous, phlegmy cough. "Where'd you find her? Crawling in the city?"

Y/N raised her brow at the man strapped to the chair before her, confused by his twisted expression. Newt stepped up behind her defensively, eyeing Marcus. "She was in the Maze with us. What do you want with her?"

"Nothing in particular," He shot back defensively. "She's worth a hell of a lot, though."

"We already know that," Jorge groaned. "What else do you know?"

"I know most of the kids with that tattoo are dead." Marcus said blankly, like there was no emotion in his face. "WICKED usually kills em' on the spot, even if they were munies. They kept a few of every lot, not sure why though."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"But she'll get you in with them, no questions asked. She's your ticket in." Marcus finally said what Jorge wanted to hear. "Then again, my men are just outside. WICKED will be here in a couple of days to take a new group of kids. I'd get a lot for having her in the midst."

"Like hell you're taking her!" Newt threw his arm in front of Y/N and pushed her back.

Jorge had now completely lost his temper. "I lied, I do enjoy hurting you, hermano."

With one quick, violent kick Jorge sent Marcus careening back into the floor, clashing his skull on the cement. "Okay! Jesus!" He cried.

"TALK!" Jorge held a gun to Marcus' face.

"I'm not making any promises. These guys like to move around. They have an outpost in the mountains." Marcus tried to catch his breath. "But it's a long way away. You got half of WICKED on your ass. You're never gonna make it." A corrupt laugh left his lungs.

Jorge smirked. "Not on foot." Leaning forward, he slapped his hands down onto Marcus' shoulders. "Where's Bertha?"