-Okay, so I'm growing really attached to this fic, and I had to write it, even though I'm writing other things. This'll be short though, promise.
Some warnings: 1. This is Thominho. Sorry :) 2. There is blood. And guys, yes, there are guys together. You knew that though haha.
I hope you enjoy this, so let me know what you think and if you'd like some more Haven-fics. I mean, I might write them anyway, but whatever ;)-
-Haven-
Haven was considered to be a safe place. Was there a lot of work to do? Yes. Did the Immunes have to band together everyday to survive? Yes. It wasn't a perfect sanctuary in the forest, but it was as close as they were going to get. Haven was nothing more than several log cabins clustered together in a vast meadow. On either side of the main community, there were dark, whispering trees; tall oaks, maples, and even pines towered from the golden grass. A stream bubbled clear and strong through the woods, providing a reliable water source. And if you were to travel far enough into the forest, past the stream, you would find yourself at the edge of jagged cliffs. Below, the blue-gray ocean tossed up roaring waves and stretched far into the distance.
So, no, Haven wasn't perfect. There was constant food-gathering, hunting, and building. There was hard work. But everyone did their part and it worked. Haven was safe. Finally, the Immunes had found their paradise, after so long of fighting for their very lives against WICKED. How ironic that in the end, it was the leader of WICKED that saved them.
For the first year, they assumed that life would always be like this. The same daily routine, with a few changes: celebrating holidays, reinforcing walls during the winter, and the occasional squabbles between families. They never thought they would be in any real danger, that any awful event would actually strike their tiny community.
They were wrong.
-X-X-X-
It happened near the winter months.
On a day when the sky was crowded with dark stormclouds, turned even blacker by gathering dusk, little Sarah wandered off to explore. Now, Sarah wasn't normally a troublemaker. She was a little girl who had come to Haven with her mother, Lydia. But it was late and she was sick of sitting around indoors all night. It was only raining a little bit, after all. Her mother was just being too overprotective. So, Sarah snuck out.
It felt gloriously liberating to be out in the rain-soaked woods at this hour. Her ice-blonde hair was curly and caught back in an unruly ponytail. Bare feet sank into the soft grass as she trotted along. Humming a quiet tune to herself, she paused beside the fat trunk of an oak. She smoothed her yellow-and-black, polka-dotted dress regally and took on the part of a queen. These were her woods and she was here to make sure no one captured them from her. She began to march forward importantly, swinging little fists at her sides. Droplets plummeted from the sky overhead, plopping onto the forest floor and her head. They were icy cool and made her shiver slightly. Perhaps it would've been a good idea to grab a fur coat to take with her. But then she insisted to herself that a queen didn't need a coat; she'd be fine.
As she strode on, she swept her green gaze critically over the surrounding plants and flowers. Her royal subjects. They were all drooping under the weight of water collecting in their leaves. Halting, she jabbed a finger at a daisy. "Hey, you there!" she snapped, pitching her voice down. "Sit up straight when your queen passes, please." Narrowing her eyes, she surveyed the small clearing she'd ended up in. "You too," she ordered a bowing fern. "And you, there, Brambles." She snickered to herself at the clever name. Oh, what fun this was! She felt so free, out from under the gazes of everyone else in Haven. No mom, none of the elderly men and women, no Thomas, or Brenda, or Jorge. She could do anything she wanted now. The forest was hers to command.
Glancing over, she spotted her newest subject: a slim, silver maple. It was a rare beauty in these oak-crowded woods. A cluster of ferns choked the area around the roots of it, obscuring part of the trunk. Sarah beamed widely up at it, blinking against the screen of gray rain. This would be her prince, she decided. Skipping right up to it, she stood up straight and tipped up her chin. "Hello, good sir!" she greeted grandly. "Are you going to bow for me, too?" The tree, of course, just sat there silently. Sarah giggled at herself, bringing her hands up to her mouth. "I like you, prince! I think you'll be my king! How about that? How about—?" Then she paused.
There was...something strange on the trunk. It was barely visible through the growing ferns, a glimpse of something paler against the silvery bark. Cocking her head curiously, Sarah crept up to the tree. She reached out and slowly clawed the creeping ferns away, coating her arms in raindrops. It took her a minute, but she managed to push all the undergrowth away. Then she wrinkled her nose at what was revealed. It didn't make any sense to her. It was writing. Blocky letters had been carved into the bark, as neatly as possible on a rough tree's surface. Sarah knew how to read, so she whispered the word under her breath. "Newt." Her confusion grew. Who or what was "Newt" and what was it doing here?
She peered up at the maple's spindly branches again. "Is that your name, prince?" she asked playfully.
As if on cue, a sudden bark of sound came from her left. Sarah yelped and leaped back from the tree; her feet caught on each other and she stumbled back onto the ground. "Ow!" The exclamation was torn from her and she was instantly terrified. Whatever it was had heard her. She could see it, oh God, she could see it. A hulking silhouette, standing just to the left, behind the maple. It was an animal of some sort, with wide shoulders and fur frosted by rain. A pair of fiery eyes gleamed from the shadows. They were fixed solely on her.
She couldn't breathe. She was too scared to breathe. Trembling, hardly daring to tear her gaze from the creature, she began to scoot backward on the ground. As soon as she moved her arm, the thing released a deep throaty growl. It stopped her in her tracks. It was the kind of sound monsters made in children's nightmares, while alone in the dark. It sent a deep primal fear into her bones. Whimpering, she sat there, unable to move. The thing just stared back, hunger in those amber eyes. There would be no escape. Predator had targeted and trapped its prey with only a glare from the dark.
She was still frozen in place when the others arrived.
-X-X-X-
It was going to be a long night, here in Haven.
Minho hated storms.
Now, granted, the pounding rain on the roof only hinted at a downpour, without thunder or lightning. So, technically, it wasn't really a storm. But it still made him uncomfortable. Ever since he'd been struck by lightning out in the Scorch, thunderstorms and heavy rain made him nervous. He tended to stay inside on those days, only venturing out if he was needed. Not that he'd ever admit this anxiety to anyone here. He was the strong one here, after all, one of the Gladers that led the Immunes to freedom. He had to keep that leader-like image. What would the others think if they found out he was afraid of RAIN?
He still wasn't going outside tonight though.
Right now, flames were burning in several lamps set about the log cabin. Two were on the tiny table in the corner and there was a third on the floor by his bed. It was a bit dangerous to have fire in the wooden homes of Haven, but they all agreed that some form of light was needed. A crafty Immune named Jackson had presented them all with a prize he and his two brothers had stolen from WICKED's storage unit, back before they were taken themselves: a supply of lamps. They simply replaced the oil with homemade candles in the lamps' glass casings and bam. Light. Everyone received a few if they wanted them. Others just dug out dirt fireplaces in their homes.
Minho? He preferred something held in a glass case. At least then, he could be sure the flames wouldn't wander. He was sitting cross-legged on the piled furs of his bed at the moment, watching the glow dance on the ceiling. The wood felt rough through his black tank top, the furs soft through his boxers; he didn't like to wear pants to bed. He knew it was getting late, but sleep kept eluding him. At night, when he was alone, his thoughts were what kept him company. Sighing, his gaze fell onto a folded garment at the foot of the bed. A cream-colored hoodie sat there, neatly placed off to the side. Minho's heart both swelled and ached at the side of it.
Sometimes, he felt heart-ripping grief toward the hoodie. He'd curl up in bed with it, tears on his cheeks, and bury his nose in the fabric to search for his angel's scent. Most of it had faded long ago, but still, he reached desperately for it. The hoodie's softness in his hands was the closest he'd ever get to Newt now.
There were other times when he felt guilty about that hoodie. He missed Newt, missed him with all of his heart. But, here in paradise, he'd moved on. The pieces of his heart had been put back together again. By Thomas. Sweet, selfless Thomas. Minho smiled, just thinking about him. He did love Thomas, truly he did. Thomas had gotten him through some horrible times and it had been all too easy to fall for the stunning brunette. That was why Minho was guilty, because his soul was torn in two; half belonged to Thomas, and half was darkened, waiting for the day he'd be with Newt again. Was it fair to Thomas?
"The shank would probably tell me to shut up if he knew I was beating myself up right now," Minho muttered to himself in faint amusement. He couldn't drown himself in the past. It was nice to remember Newt. It made him happy, in a strange, tearstained way. But he didn't let it rule him. He chose to let Thomas in.
I wish he was here now, Minho thought gloomily. It was cold, and rainy, and lonely. He wished he'd talked Thomas into staying earlier. He closed his eyes and basked in images of them curled under the blankets together, Thomas whispering sweet nothings in his ear...
Just then, as though pulled from Minho's thoughts, Thomas burst through the door of the cabin. His brown eyes were wide and worried, bronze hair a damp mess. His gaze found Minho and his shoulders relaxed just a bit under his navy T-shirt. "Minho, you better get out here," he said by way of greeting.
"Could've given me a warning!" Minho squeaked, searching for his jeans while trying to hide himself at the same time.
Thomas cringed apologetically. "I know, I'm sorry. But something happened."
Minho's heart plummeted. "What is it?" he asked.
"Sarah went missing."
Snatching his jeans from beside the bed, Minho searched his mind for a Sarah. What came was a blurry image of blonde and green eyes. She was Lydia's daughter, and they lived next-door to Minho's cabin. He remembered playing with her before, out in the meadow. "Does anybody know where she might've gone?" he demanded.
"No," Thomas sighed, shaking his head. "But she mentioned to Lydia that she wanted to go out earlier. So we're assuming she's in the woods somewhere."
"Shuck."
"I know."
Tugging on his jeans, Minho then reached for his boots. "We'll find her then," he replied firmly. "People are looking now, right?"
"Yeah. Lydia's frantic." Thomas rubbed an arm in distress. "I don't know how to calm her down..."
"She'll be fine," Minho replied. "We're finding Sarah." After he'd finished tying his boots, he strode to where Thomas waited by the door. Tiredness nagged at him and he cursed his mind for letting sleep in NOW. "It's gonna be a long night," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.
"I'm sorry," Thomas repeated.
"Stop apologizing. I can take this."
"Thanks, Minho." Lips turning up a bit, Thomas leaned up for a brief kiss. Minho smiled at the brunette's soft lips on his. "Let's go," he said quietly, cupping Thomas's cheek with a hand, just for a moment.
They walked out into the chilly dusk together.
Outside, everything was going to hell. Immunes were hurrying about, carrying smoldering torches. The rain had died down just enough for the flames to be useful, if only for a while. None of the older people were out. It was too much to expect that of them. But most of the adults were, judging by the calling of Sarah's name in the trees. It seemed as though the whole community was gathering between the cabins. Minho spotted Lydia, a dark-haired women who was now crouched on the ground. Her face was buried in her hands and her shoulders shook with sobs. A man was kneeling next to her, patting her back and murmuring soothing words. She seemed unable to stand.
A little ways off, a group of teenage Immunes were in a rough circle around an older bald man named David. David was an icy-eyed, strong-shouldered man that took charge when emergencies like this happened. The teenagers especially looked up to him for advice, seeing him as a sort of brotherly figure. Minho himself had respect for the man. After seeing that David was speaking in serious tones to the others, Minho nudged Thomas's shoulder. "Come on."
The two approached the group. There were six of them, and Minho recognized each one: Alex, Brenda, Charlie, Maurice, Gally, and Victor. Nearly all of the teens in Haven; they were only missing a couple others. It didn't matter. What mattered right now was what David was saying. He was pointing at each of them, in a leather jacket studded with droplets.
"...should each pair up and search. The last thing we need is another person going missing. You guys know each other well, and should help each other out out there. Don't get separated, all right? I'm not looking for any idiots that get lost." His mouth quirked up at that part and an appreciative chuckle rippled around the group. Then he sobered again, taking a breath. "We all know Sarah and she means a lot to us. We're a family now." At the edge of the circle, Minho took Thomas's hand and laced their fingers comfortingly. "So let's find her and bring her home, okay?" There was a chorus of cheers from the group, all confident and determined. Their eyes gleamed and their fists were all curled at their sides. There would be no stopping these teenagers tonight.
Well, except the known troublemaker of the pack, short-haired, skinny Victor. As the group began to split off into pairs, Victor paused. Those beady hazel eyes of his had found Minho, the most common target of his bullying. "Wonder who our 'Keeper of the Runners' is gonna pair up with," he said loudly, a nasty lilt to his voice. He let mocking sarcasm drip from the words Keeper of the Runners.
Only a few others paused to look back, but most rolled their eyes. No one particularly liked Victor, except his quiet cohort, Maurice. He was only trying to get under Minho's skin because if Minho dared to do anything to Victor, it'd be Minho that got in trouble. He was way bigger than Victor and it was an obviously unfair fight. Minho forced himself to not look at the other boy, but was ashamed when the suggestive teasing made him let go of Thomas's hand. "Shut up, Vic," he growled.
"I was just commenting here, jeez," Victor scoffed. He curled his lip contemptuously. "Unlike you two, I'm actually gonna LOOK for the kid."
"Her name's Sarah," Minho told him icily.
"Whatever. You guys never do anything around here. It's always up to the rest of us, cuz you're too busy with whatever you two are." Did we mention that Victor was extremely homophobic? No? Well, now you know.
Minho gritted his teeth. "I said, shut up. Before I put my shucking foot up your ass."
"Don't threaten me, Minho," Victor snapped. A horrid sneer twisted his mouth. "What're you guys gonna do out in the woods anyway? You'll probably forget about the kid and make out somewhere. Disgusting, as usual." Peering over at Thomas, he called, "ain't that right, Thomas? When's the last time you slept over at Minho's anyway? I've seen you walk out of there before."
Thomas flinched and Minho turned on Victor with a glare. "If you don't shut your mouth, I'll—"
"And what was that other slut of a guy you had?" Victor asked, interrupting with a leer. "Newt? I heard he's dead, but you still fawn over him like a moron. Good thing he never made it; last thing we need is a sick Crank around here."
Rage exploded in Minho's chest. "You bastard," he snarled, advancing on the smaller boy. Unease finally lit in Victor's eyes and he stumbled a step back. He was lucky that Thomas caught Minho by the shoulders and hastily pushed him back.
"Minho, he's not worth it right now," Thomas insisted, forcing his gaze to meet Minho's. "We don't have time for this."
"But he—"
"Sarah is more important right now."
Minho clenched his jaw, because he knew Thomas was right, he was always right. But he wanted to beat the shit out of Victor so badly for saying those things about Newt, his Newt. And Thomas. So he just exhaled a rough breath and turned away. "Fine. Okay. But we're splitting up to look for her."
Thomas's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Wait, what?" he demanded. "Minho, why?"
"Because if we go together, we'll never hear the end of it from that slinthead," Minho muttered, watching with narrowed eyes as Victor slunk away.
"We're not supposed to split up at all."
"So what?"
"I don't like it."
"Too bad." With that, Minho started off, striding into the shadowy trees. He heard Thomas call out behind him, but he didn't turn back. His thoughts were filled with pictures of Victor, of Thomas's hurt expression, of Newt smiling at him from inside the Maze entrance. His fists clenched at his sides. He could kill that shuck-face for talking about Minho's loved ones like that. "Little shit," he muttered to himself, storming through the looming branches and undergrowth. "I could crush him under my damn foot." He thought about doing just that when he got back. Find Sarah himself just to get his point across and beat Victor senseless for good measure.
At the thought of Sarah, Minho's anger faded a little. She was out there somewhere, scared and alone. And here he was, letting some petty argument get him riled up. Thomas was right. Sarah was most important right now. They had to find her.
Before something else did.
-X-X-X-