This is a fic based on my take on the surprising, sad thing Newt tells Thomas before he's shot in The Death Cure. I know this has been done before, but I wrote it, and I don't see any point in not posting it, so here we are.

If you're looking for Newt/Alby, you're not really going to find it here. There might be slight Nalby undertones, but that is not the main focus. This is going to be a three-part fic, depending on how it goes. The POVs will be alternated between Newt and Alby.

Warning: The plot of this entire thing is basically centered around self-harm/suicide.

"You wanna know why I have this limp, Tommy? Did I ever tell you? No, I don't think I did."

***Newt***

Newt been here six months- six months of silent suffering. Everyone else got on okay- they laughed, they made friends. Of course, they were all slightly bothered by the fact they had been put in a giant Maze, but it wasn't like they spent their days wallowing in the misery of this fact or complaining about it.

Newt didn't complain- and he tried not to let misery show. But after long days of running, day after day of lost hope, it was harder and harder to hide how depressed he was becoming about the whole situation.

And he was depressed. He was depressed and confused- and very little confusion had gone away after the time after his arrival. Of course, being a Runner let him in on more information than many- but they didn't get that much more information because they weren't finding that much.

The bloody Maze rotated its patterns, repeated itself, and nobody could understand why. There was strange writing on the Maze walls, and nobody could understand that, as well. It seemed like the Glade was a dome or something, and... well, nobody understood that either. As far as Newt was concerned, nobody understood anything in this place, and they were about as close to getting answers as Newt was to enjoying himself in the Glade. Which was pretty stretched.

The first Glader had been there for eleven months now. So there had ultimately been eleven months of nothing.

They had leaders, they had jobs. They had a place to sleep and plenty to eat. All in all, the Glade was a safe place, except for the bloody Grievers that came out in the Maze- usually at night, though, so that was okay, unless any of the Runners got stuck in the Maze overnight, and that had happened. And of course, there was the risk of running into a Griever in the Maze during daylight- it had happened before.

To Newt, the Glade was a prison. They did the same thing, day after day. They couldn't figure out a way to escape. Even though to most, they were used to it. They had accepted their fate and the Glade was their home. They didn't complain or mope- they did their job, some were even very cheerful.

Newt couldn't accept that this was now his home, though. Even after six months of nothing and no real reason to not be accepting it. He didn't have any memories of his life before the Glade, but he knew that he had once had some type of life that was not in the Glade. He didn't know what that life was- he didn't know if his life had been good or bad- or if he should be happy to be in the Glade or not. But he knew that there had been one.

Sure, Newt had friends. Alby, the second-in-command under Nick, the leader of the Glade, was his best friend. Newt loved him. He cared about Alby more than anyone else. Newt felt like Alby was one of the few he could really trust in the Glade. Of course, there were others- a close second was Minho- the Keeper of Newt's profession, the Runners. People like Alby and Minho helped ease Newt's pain for getting out of there, but it wasn't quite enough.

In conclusion, the Glade was slowly driving Newt insane.

And one day, he just couldn't take it anymore. The pain of it all built up and one day, it just fizzed inside of him and exploded.

Had Newt not been a Runner, he probably would not have had this problem. Maybe depressed to some extent, but nothing like what he had right now. If he wasn't a Runner, he would be oblivious to some degree about how hopeless the situation was. However, he was a Runner. And that made things worse.

So the day that the pain exploded, Newt got up at the standard time Runners got up at, the time of 5:30 to get breakfast and get ready for the day ahead. Then he went towards the Doors for Minho to give him his Section assignment.

Newt waited with the three other boys besides Minho who had Runner positions. Minho arrived and gave him his Section assignment- Section Three today.

"I haven't run Section Four yet," said one of the other Runners- the newest one, elected only a week ago. "It should be interesting to see what I find."

The other Runners only laughed and rolled their eyes- they knew he wasn't going to find anything special. Newt knew it only too well- he'd run all the Sections more than several times. He just shook his head and said nothing as Minho led the way through the Maze doors, and they all jogged together until they split up to go their seperate ways.

To some extent, Newt enjoyed running. He was alone and had plenty of time to think things over. That was also probably why he had the depression- he had time to be depressed because he was by himself for plenty hours in the day.

He spent the first half of his day jogging the course of the Maze- it was a pattern he had seen before- nothing special, as expected.

Newt paused for lunch under a wall that said "World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment", slightly covered by overgrown ivy. He slid down the opposite wall onto the Maze floor, opened his pack, and pulled out his lunch. Leftover turkey from Frypan's dinner last night, two apples- one for a later snack, and his water bottle. He took a bite of his sandwich and a long, slow sip of his water, looking at the words on the wall, trying hopelessly once more to rack his brain for any idea on what those words might mean.

Once more, nothing.

Why are we doing this? he thought. We're stuck in this place. I've been running this bloody Maze for six months- Minho's been running it for eight! There've been people here for eleven months and nothing! Shucking nothing!

And that's when Newt snapped. The anger and depression and hopelessness Newt felt numbly, day after day, bubbled up and exploded.

He dropped his water bottle, not caring that some of the precious liquid spilled out even though that was all he had for the rest of the day, and stared straight at the wall. "What do you want from us?" he shouted at the wall. "Why are we being kept bloody prisoner in this shucking place?" he knew that there was nobody in the wall and he knew it was just words, but he didn't care. He was angry. And sad. Which, at the moment, was just more fuel to the flame.

And then he broke down into choking sobs. He brought his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around his knees, and buried his head in his knees and cried for a good five minutes.

Then he did something he could've never imagined doing. "I can't do this," he muttered, almost dazedly, to himself. "I can't spend the rest of my life in this bloody place." he got up and stumbled over to the opposite wall. He then began tugging on the ivy and pulling himself up slowly, finding cracks and tightly knotted ivy as footholds. He climbed halfway up and looked down to the ground. He was about 20 or 25 feet up and it was one hell of a drop.

He clung to the ivy, looking down. His water bottle was leaking still. His sandwich lay half-eaten on top of his pack.

"I can't do this," he muttered to himself (as if there was anyone else he could be talking to). "I'm done. I'm done. There's nothing to live for in this bloody place... I'm done."

And then he jumped.

And in his mind's eye, he saw Alby. His best friend. They had hit it off almost as soon as Newt arrived in the Glade. Alby understood Newt like nobody else could.

And then Newt, in midair, about five feet from the ground, realized that he did indeed have something to live for in the Glade.

Thud.

Newt moaned as he hit the ground with such velocity that he could almost feel his body shattering. Then he heard a snapping sound, just before he blacked out and was sure he had died, like his original intention had been. Just to get himself mentally out of the bloody place.

Ssssshhhcccckkk.

***Alby***

"Hey Alby, did Newt have to turn around today for any reason?" Minho jogged up to Alby. "Runners are supposed to report to the Map Room when the day's done, like you know, but Newt's not in there. Everyone else is, just not him."

"I don't think Newt came back early." Alby felt a knot of worry forming in his stomach for his friend. If a Runner was missing, that usually wasn't a good thing. "You sure he's not there?"

"The Map Room is a small place, Alby. There's a grand shucking total of five Runners- I can count. Three of 'em are in the Map Room right now. And I'm here- the fourth, asking about the fifth."

Alby hollered over to Nick, who was talking to Zart, the Keeper of the Track-Hoes. "Nick! Did Newt come back early today?" he really hoped his friend had and he just hadn't seen him.

Nick jogged over to them. "Newt's not back?"

"Oh, shuck." Minho groaned.

"So that's a 'no'?" Alby felt the knot growing and tightening.

"Yes, it's a 'no'. I didn't see him at all today." Nick sighed.

"Shuck, shuck, shuck, shuck..." Alby muttered.

"Minho, what Section did he have today?" Nick asked, as calmly as he could. Alby was amazed, because he was pretty calm. Nick was a good leader. If he was in that position, he'd be screaming at Minho to gather up the rest of the Runners and go looking around the Maze, even though the Doors were to close in maybe an hour or so, for Newt.

"Three." Minho groaned. "What did he do?"

"Hear any screams?" Nick asked. "Perhaps a stray Griever was out?"

Alby couldn't believe how slow this conversation was. And that there was a chance his best friend had been Stung and quite possibly dead.

"No screams." Minho shook his head. "Nobody reported anything unusual." he gave a pointed look to Alby. "And they are supposed to report unusual happenings."

Alby groaned. "Well, what are we waiting for? We've gotta go look for him!"

"Alby, there's an hour before the Doors close. Newt knows the stakes. If he's lost, there are little odds of you finding him and if he's been Stung, well, who knows how long it's been- he could be good as dead anyways. I'm not going to recommend we go find him now. Odds are good that if we do, the Doors are shut on whoever goes looking and they're all dead. I'm not risking two or three more lives to save one. I know that sounds awful to you, but tough decisions have to be made and this is what I think is best." Nick said.

"Then I'll go looking," Alby said determinedly. "Section Three, right?"

"You shucking crazy lunatic...!" Minho exclaimed.

"Right?" Alby glared at the Keeper.

Minho sighed, and nodded slowly.

"Alby, you're not going into the Maze." Nick said slowly.

"Yes, I am. I'm not letting Newt die when there's a chance he's alive." Alby said stubbornly.

Nick looked from him to Minho to the Doors and back again. "All right," he sighed. "But to be honest with you, I'm not sure if you're heroic or just plain stupid."

"I'll take either." Alby ran off from the conversation and through the Doors.

Alby found the Maze to be a creepy place in general, and it was never a very bright place- the towering walls blocked out a lot of the light that came in- but right now, with the ever-fading light, the Maze was creepier than ever.

It didn't help that his closest friend may very well be lying dead somewhere in here, too.

Alby sprinted along, looking around frantically for Newt. "Newt! Newt!" he yelled as loud as he possibly could.

Nothing.

He ran on, calling out his friend's name from time to time. Each time, nothing.

After about a half hour of that nothing, he came upon a wall that said "World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment", half-covered in ivy. He looked to the other side and saw a pack with a half-eaten sandwich on top of it, and next to it, an empty water bottle with a small puddle underneath it.

Just across from the pack, he saw him.

"Oh, shuck..." Alby gasped.

Bloody, beaten, shredded, broken. Any of the words were fit to describe the state Alby found Newt. He was lying in a small pool of his own blood and his leg was sticking out at an awkward angle. His eyes were closed, and it looked like he wasn't breathing.

His Newt. His best friend.

Oh, please don't be dead...