Newt x Reader || A13

"It was inside a griever." Thomas says, thrusting a slimy metal cylinder into Newt's outstretched hands, an eager expression on his face.

"These are the same letters we get on our supplies," Newt responds, concern adamant in his voice. I lean forward off of the pillar on which I lean, straining to get a glimpse of the strange device.

"Whoever put us here obviously made the grievers," Thomas continues, gesturing towards the metal cylinder, "and this is the first real clue we've had in what, three years- right Minho?" He looks back off his shoulder where Minho stands, nodding tentatively.

"Right."

I was on farm duty when Thomas, Minho, and the others returned. One glimpse at the look on their faces and the strange device in Thomas's hand, and a meeting was called in the homestead. Now, a small selection of Gladers stands huddled around Newt, trying to discern the meaning of this new discovery.

All are huddled together spare Gally, who stands off to the side, arms crossed, eyebrows lowered over a hostile glare.

"You see what he's trying to do, right?" He cuts in, low voice rumbling through the cramped room. I steal a glance at Thomas, who doesn't balk, rather, sidles up closer, raising his chin towards Gally in a silent challenge. "He's breaking the rules- the only things that have kept us together, and he needs to be punished for it."

A decision now lies before Newt. It's clear: he can listen to Thomas, and we can risk pursuing a new way out of the maze, or we can abide by the rules and return to monotonous normalcy.

I look up, expecting his gaze to be shifting between Gally and Thomas, but I find his eyes on me. He stares at me, eyebrows furrowed with concern bleeding into in his eyes. His gaze is so intense that I find myself looking away, looking down at his hands, where he runs his index finger across the single word on the metal device over and over: WCKD.

A shiver runs down my spine, and my eyes shoot back up to his. He recognizes the word just as I do; his motions are deliberate.

Just last night, we lay next to each other under the stars, telling each other things better left unsaid, showing each other things better left unseen.

His lips on mine, I'd been drunk on the feeling. High, never wanting to come down.

I'd revealed nearly all of myself to him, shared my thoughts and fears, told him everything and nothing; he still doesn't know me. He still doesn't know that I am the creator of the cage which entraps all of us.

But he does know of the miracle that saved me.

Last night, I'd shown him the part of my leg which should have killed me. The part of me that was stung, that survived the impossible.

And he'd held my gaze as he brought up a hand to run his finger over the skin there. Back and forth. Over and over.

The same motion on the metal device brings me back to the present.

I hold his gaze, and I know he's aware of where my mind has wandered. I bite my lip to keep from smiling, and force myself to turn back to Gally, who is giving my brother a death stare. To his credit, Thomas doesn't waver, returning Gally's glare with equal ferocity and determination.

A determination that won't ever run dry no matter how many nights in the pit he's given, no matter how many days pass in this place. As long as these walls separate us and the whatever's outside, Thomas will never stop. Newt has to realize this.

I turn back to Newt, who runs a finger over his bottom lip. He meets my eyes again, and I give him a small nod.

"You're right. Thomas needs to be punished." He says slowly, drawing his words out as I begin to deflate. Gally nods, but Thomas yields no reaction. Minho, however, remains off Thomas's shoulder, a smile creeping across his lips. "One night in the pit and no food."

"Oh come on, Newt! You really think that's going to stop him?!" Gally instantly protests. Newt turns to glare at him.

"No- and we can't just have non-runners going into the maze, so let's make it official." He turns to Thomas, nodding once as he clutches the metal cyliner in his hand, muscles straining. "Starting from tomorrow, you're a runner."

Silence.

Silence hangs in the air as everyone stares at Newt, Thomas in thanks, Minho is smug knowing, and Gally in absolute disbelief.

"Wow," He shakes his head, stalking off in a huff. After another moment, the others begin to trickle out until it's just Thomas, Newt, Minho and I left in the homestead.

After another moment, Thomas takes a step forward. Any trace of anger and determination held in his gaze towards Gally is now gone, replaced with a soft, thankful disbelief.

"Thanks, Newt." He whispers, the sincerity of his words evident. Newt doesn't respond, simply nodding slowly, and turning on his heel before starting off toward the back of the homestead.

Minho exits next, and before Thomas turns to go, I call out.

"Don't die, okay?"

He chuckles.

"Wasn't planning on it, little sis." He turns to follow Minho, leaving me alone in the meeting room. I pause for a moment, steeling myself.

Newt made Thomas a runner. There's a high chance he won't be able to refuse me if I ask now, too. The other runners quit, and there's safety in numbers, especially outside the glade.

I start towards the sleepers deeper into the homestead, exiting the meeting room, searching for Newt. If I can catch him now, this is the right time-

Instantly, all thoughts and requests quiet.

As soon as I peel back the curtain to enter the hammock room, he's there.

He stands facing the doorway, completely alone, staring right at me.

The look in his eyes is heartbreakingly vacant; there's no trace of the boy who smiled at me last night, no trace of the boy who just gave my brother the chance of his life.

I watch as he drops the metal device to the floor as if it is scalding hot, flexing his fingers afterwards. It thumps onto the wooden floorboards, instantly forgotten.

His shoulders sag with the weight of decision. His eyes gloss over as his arms silently shake-

In a second, I am before him, striding to his side in broad steps.

We have been here before. Weeks ago. At the gates of the maze, in the pouring rain. But so much has changed since then.

Then, I was running to a boy whose worth I'd just realized. I was running towards him because I was unravelling, being slowly crushed beneath the weight of not one, but two phantom friends, lost because of me. I needed him in that morning; I needed to know what I meant to him. There, by the gates of the maze, I didn't hesitate. And now, I don't either.

Now, I reach him, instantly wrapping my arms around his frail, shaking frame. I pull his head down to rest on my shoulder as I weave my arms around his back, tugging his chest to mine, settling my head in the crook of his neck so I can feel his heart beat against my own.

Now, he needs to know what he means to me. He needs to know that no matter what's out there beyond the maze, no matter who stands in his way and tries to tell him differently, I'll be here.

I wait for him to return my embrace; I wait to be pulled closer against him by arms at my back.

And after what seems like an eternity, they're there.

He leans into me, still trembling, but I don't open my mouth to speak. There's no need to. Let silence convey what words can't.

Any request I had to be a runner dies in my throat as does the spirit in the boy before me.

I just hope I'll be enough to relight the fire.