Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light on the clearing where Newt was hacking away at a tree stump. His muscles flexed with every swing of the axe, and I had to force myself to focus on anything other than how utterly distracting that was.

Chuck and I sat nearby, watching as Thomas paced, deep in thought. He finally broke the silence. "Okay, but why would Alby go into the Maze? He's not even a Runner."

Newt didn't stop chopping, but his grip on the axe tightened. "Things are different now," he said, his voice clipped. "They need to retrace Ben's steps before sundown. We need to know what the hell happened."

Thomas frowned, shifting his weight. "But why not Y/N? She's a Runner."

I could already see the tension rising in Newt before he even turned to face Thomas. His jaw clenched, and with one final swing, he drove the axe deep into the stump. "Are you gonna help with this tree or just stand there asking questions?" he snapped, his patience thinning.

Thomas hesitated, but pressed on. "I'm just trying to understand—"

Newt exhaled sharply, yanking the axe free. "Alby was the first one here, Tommy," he said, his voice firm but laced with something deeper—respect, maybe even a bit of sorrow. "He woke up alone, no one to help him, no walls to guide him. Just him and the bloody Maze."

I crossed my arms, stepping closer. "He had to survive here for a whole month. Alone. Minimal supplies, no Gladers, no rules. Just him against whatever the Maze threw at him."

Thomas' expression shifted, as if the weight of what we were saying was finally sinking in.

"That's why we need to have each other's backs," Newt continued, gripping the axe tightly. "We're in this together. We don't leave each other behind."

A beat of silence followed, broken only by the wind rustling through the trees.

Then, Thomas let out a breath, stepping forward. "Alright," he muttered, reaching for the second axe resting against the stump. "Show me how it's done."

Newt shot me a smirk before handing him the axe. "Now that's more like it."

As Thomas swung his first awkward hit at the stump, I met Newt's gaze, a knowing look passing between us. 

"Newt—"

A sudden rumble of thunder cut me off, the deep growl rolling through the sky as dark clouds gathered overhead. Within moments, the first droplets of rain hit the dry earth, quickly building into a heavy downpour. The Glade was thrown into a frenzy, Gladers rushing for shelter, but no one could look away from the gaping entrance of the Maze.

A cold knot tightened in my stomach. They should be back by now.

Thomas stood a few feet ahead under the shelter, his fingers tapping anxiously against a tree. He stared at the entrance, his jaw clenched. "They should be back by now. What happens if they don't make it?"

Newt shifted behind him, standing firm as the rain drenched us. His arm wrapped around my shoulder, holding me close like he was grounding himself as much as me.

"They're gonna make it," Newt said, his voice steady despite the worry that flickered in his eyes.

Thomas turned slightly, his expression dark. "But what if they don't?"

I felt Newt's grip on me tighten, his fingers curling into the damp fabric of my sleeve. Instinctively, I reached up, placing my hand over his, giving a light squeeze. "They are going to make it, Thomas," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was reassuring him or myself.