The Maze Runner Oneshots & Imagines

Gally - Noise

This is written in a different style, which I probably won’t do again unless I’m really up to it. Not proofread, sorry.

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 You can hear yelling. Lately, it’s become that of a common occurrence in the Glade. The voices are getting louder and angrier, by the second. With a sigh that resonates deep within you, you drop what you’re doing and leave the homestead, following the noise with a pinch of curiousity.

It’s Gally and Thomas, of course. Ever since Thomas had arrived, no less than two days ago, the pair had been going at it hard. Gally was relentless in his pursuit. He seemed to really believe the Greenie was no good. You had to admit, things weren’t looking great for him; a lot of stuff had happened since he arrived, but you found Gally’s treatment of him ill-tempered. Even if it was somewhat understandable.

You realise Gally is about two seconds from shoving a fist in Thomas’ face, and no later than you finish that train of thought, it happens. Thomas goes down, but surprisingly, jumps back up and taken his own shot. The boys around them seem a little shocked; some, perhaps, entertained.

You can’t see Alby, or Newt, for that matter, so you pull, what you figure, it a stupid move. You rush into the fighting pair and jump in front of Gally, forcing him off the smaller male. Gally’s wild eyes immediately land on you; fiery and intent.

“Get out of the way,” he orders, taking a step forward again. You ghost him, blocking his path, and you can hear the murmurs of the surrounding crowd.

“Leave him alone, Gally!” you shout. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His gaze widens, and for a moment you’re sure he’s about to direct his rage to you—well, it could still happen, you remind yourself as he attempts another passby. “Shove off!”

Thomas is by your side then, and you briefly look at him, and there’s blood dripping from his nose. Your eyes snap back to Gally, hoping he’ll let the situation move forward smoothly. Nope, he doesn’t. He starts talking.

“He’s going to get us all killed! Why can’t you see it?” he cries, and you realise, it’s aimed at everyone and no one, more like a cry of despair. Gally is trying to get the other boys to agree. They don’t seem too convinced, except for his builder buddies.

And then he barrels through you and Thomas, too fast to comprehend if there was an oncoming escalation—but just like that, Gally’s gone. You weren’t expecting it, and you’ve almost fallen, save for Thomas catching you last minute. He hauls you to your feet, and you smile gratefully. You nod towards the homestead; a simple, probably welcome, invite.

It’s dark and quiet and finally peaceful. You’re away from where you usually sleep, near the bon fire, but tonight you just can’t handle anymore noise. There’s been too much crazy for you to handle for one week. So you lie, underneath the leaves of the outerskirts of the forest, staring up at the starry sky. You watch the clouds roll across the moon every few minutes, the only back drop the faint sound of chatter and the crackling of fire. You breathe in deeply, fingering the mesh of your ratty blanket, only to be interrupted by the crackling of leaves underfoot. You stiffen immediately; you trusted most of these boys, but you were still human, and things were still creepy.

“Ah, klunk,” comes a voice you did not want to hear for at least another eight hours. You sit up, and it’s Gally, having tumbled to the grass near you. He’s knocked over your lamp, and whatever he’s holding—

Oh, you quickly realise, he’s drunk.

“Go away, Gally,” you mutter, lying back down. You can hear him tinkering with your light, setting it up right and giving it a satisfied pat.

“Nuh,” he mumbles, and then he’s clambering closer, until eventually he’s looking over you, but not close enough to touch. “This is a nice spot,” he says, glancing around.

“Until you got here…” you breathed, turning onto your side. Gally doesn’t speak again. You start to feel guilt creep into to pit of your stomach. So, you change the topic. “Why are you trying to destroy the only family you have, Gally?”

His voice comes out hoarse, like he’s already told himself a thousand different versions; a million excuses to justify what he’s doing. “Thomas is gonna destroy us.”

Your next words are muffled as you speak into your pillow but he answers all the same. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“I saw him.” And for once, you’re alright with that answer, as vague as it is. You don’t feel like pressing him about The Changing tonight. No, maybe another time, if he doesn’t kill Thomas first.

It’s quiet again, and it stretches out. Finally, you roll back over. Gally’s watching you with eyes softer than you’ve seen in a long time. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, you know. If you keep acting up,” you say quietly, looking back up at him. You see him smile, it’s small but it’s there.

“Might, yeah.”

“Don’t do that.” And when his smile widens, you sit up again, angry. You give his shoulder a hard punch. “It’s not a joke.” It drops when he notices how stony your eyes are. You turn away from him, fed up all over again.

Even the prolonged silences are deafening to your eyes now. You turn back abruptly, still fuming. “You’re not making a good name for yourself,” you inform him, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t care.” His reply is quick, almost snappy, and you know it’s a lie. It’s rehearsed, just like his earlier words.

“Hmph,” you grumble, crossing your arms.

He continues, at least. “I’m doing what’s best. I’m keeping the Gladers alive.” You bite your tongue, refraining from asking whether or not he was choosing the best way to do it. Instead, you return to your nestled blankets.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you prod, finally. You see him flinch, but he just gives you a look.

You’ve almost fallen asleep when he answers.

“Yeah.”

Your eyes flutter open, although he’s not looking at you. He’s watching the fire, completely turned away from you. In that moment, you really do pity him and the position he’s in. You reach out, your hand eventually hitting his knee. When he glances back, he’s wearing a faint smile. Huh, twice in one night. “You’re going to freeze to death,” you whisper, the tips of your own fingers going numb just from resting on his skin. Slowly, he toss him one of your blankets. It hits him in the face. You smirk. Serves him right for being this drunk, you think.

The night is too much for you now; your eyelids are heavy, but you still feel the sudden pressure on your hand. You’re too tired to care at the moment; besides, you don’t mind he’s holding it, not really.