Newt knew the room was empty before he opened his eyes. It was a harsh feeling to wake up to like the empty space was crushing him, but he supposed he'd been used to much worse. Even with the feeling in his gut, the feeling that screamed wrong wrong wrong, He didn't quite realize what was so wrong.

Not until he sat up.

He blinked lazily and looked around, and that's when he saw it. Or rather, didn't see it.

What was wrong was the rumpled sheets, the IV tubes that hung off the side of the bed, dripping clear liquid onto a puddle on the floor. It was the pool of fabric left on the other side of the room, an abandoned hospital gown. It was all very very wrong.

"Thomas?" he asked the empty room, knowing good and well that there would be no response. No response because Thomas was gone. Thomas was always gone. And Newt began to curse himself for falling asleep when he knew, he knew that Thomas would do something careless and stupid the moment he did.

For months Newt woke up with the same feeling like he was back in the abandoned hospital room. In the moments just before reality came back to him he always imagined Thomas laying next to him. And every morning Newt realized Thomas was gone all over again.

Newt remembered the sinking feeling when the Sheriff, Thomas's dad, came stumbling into the room, a piece of paper crumpled in his hand and his face painted with pure terror.

He remembered how it felt like a punch to the gut when he saw Melissa, the nice nurse that took such good care of him, actually crying over the empty bed.

He remembered Scott demanding to know where Thomas was. Remembered how he shouted at Newt, begging him to tell him something of Thomas's vanishing act but hat could Newt say?

He remembered thinking how lucky Tommy was to have so many people care about him so deeply. It shocked him to realize that he was actually mildly jealous of him. That only made him feel worse about the whole situation because Tommy was gone. Tommy was gone and he was taken out of this room while Newt slept with his head on the bloody bed surely he would have felt if Thomas had been moved if Thomas had fought. But something about that felt just as wrong as the empty room did.

Taken, Newt realized, he wasn't taken, not if he had time to put on his clothes, not if he had time to leave his father a note., A pang of jealousy hit Newt again and he pushed it away forcefully.

It took him a week to come to terms with the idea that Thomas had left on his own, which was proven when the Sheriff came home with the security tapes from the hospital the night Thomas disappeared.

Newt shivered at the memories. He peered at the board in front of him, pictures and paper and scribbled notes in markers were connected to each other through red string and tape. Red for unsolved. It was all red. Newt scanned the pictured on the board until his head ached, and then he continued to scan them; a still shot was taken from the security video of Thomas talking to who could only be Teresa, but as they never got a clear look at her face Newt couldn't be 100% sure. Well, the sheriff couldn't be 100% Sure, Newt knew it was Teresa in his bones. Really she was the only one it could be. Another still of the van that drove off with Thomas's unconscious body. Next to that was all the information they could find on that van based on its license plate number, which was written above the paper. A red string connected that to a page taped on the other side of the board which was about the owner of the van, the owner who was dead, so that didn't help. Newt only felt mildly bad for thinking that. Thomas's missing person poster was taped in the top corner, only the name on it was Stiles Stilinski. Which was Thomas's real name, or the name he had before WICKED erased it. Newt let out an exasperated sigh.

There was something else that bothered him though. Newt opened the marker in his hand and wrote beside Thomas's missing poster in big letters; WHERE IS MINHO.

"You okay?" Newt capped the marker and looked over at Scott who joined him in front of the board, their relationship was forged in necessity but in all honesty, Newt liked Scott. He was easy going and never seemed to let the stress of the situation overwhelm him. He was probably the most optimistic person Newt had ever known.

After Scott had accused Newt of working with WICKED or being under there control still and pretty much any other variation of Newt having to do with Thomas disappearing, he had come back later to apologize. Newt just brushed it off, if the roles were reversed he wouldn't have handled the situation much differently. And after that, they pretty much got on pretty well, spent almost all of their time looking for Thomas, but Scott was pretty smart, in his own way. Although, at the time he didn't understand why so many of his friends hung on every word he said.

Newt could help but grin at the memory, that was before he found out about the werewolves.

"Just wish Tommy or Minho were here, none of this is even helpful." Newt motioned at the board. He wasn't dumb, not by a long shot, but this was too big and too important and Newt couldn't wrap his head around all the pieces. He'd always been better in the garden anyways.

"I know what you mean, we're all lost without Stiles, or Thomas I guess. He was kind of our unsung hero, like the wizard behind the curtain and all that." Newt just looked at him, Scott chuckled and continued, "What I mean is that I might have been the Alpha of the Pack, but Stiles was our leader. At least before he was taken the first time. Since then, well, we might seem okay and all but we only really come together to keep all the bad things out of beacon hills and then fall apart and wait for the next disaster."

"Yeah, Tommy was our leader pretty quickly in the maze, he was only there two days before he started breaking all our rules and making his own, but he did more in his short time in the glade than the rest of us did in a year." Scott was nodding along with Newt's words.

"Stiles is good at breaking the rules," Newt and Scott both looked up to see the Sheriff leaning against the door. Newt noticed how dark the circles under his eyes were and the way his shoulders sagged. "I brought another piece of the puzzle," He said, with a small smile, holding up a box that was clearly marked SHERIFF'S STATION DO NOT REMOVE. Newt didn't comment on it though, he had come to learn that the Sheriff pretty much did whatever he wanted. Newt and Scott moved automatically to pull files out of the box.

The three of them spent the rest of the day reading page after page of police reports from the FBI from the day they were all rescued from WICKED. Each agent had filled one out, a lot of them were word for word identical, only a few of them mentioned anyone other than Thomas, Minho or Newt.

Through all the chaos Newt had all but forgotten about Minho, the boy who'd been his best friend all the time they spent in the maze together. He never knew what happened to Minho, if he'd found his family like Thomas had, or if he was sucked back in. Newt scowled and picked up a new report.

In the time Newt spent in WICKED after their supposed rescue he'd hardly ever been allowed outside his room. At least not as himself. So he never got to look for his friends. And then when they took over his body when they used him. Well, he only remembered the worst parts of that.

Newt glanced at the Sheriff who sat at the desk flipping through more identical pages. Occasionally he'd mutter something under his breath but sometimes Newt found himself wondering if the Sheriff remembered who shot him. If he did, he never said anything. Newts chest tightened with the thought.

He looked away from the Sheriff, forcing those memories away and glancing at Scott instead, spread out on the bed. He had four or five pages spread out around him. Newt looked back to the page in his lap, and with a sigh continued to read.

Occasionally someone would stand and tape something on the board that stood out or connected with something already up there, Newt left this part to the other two, if he found something odd he'd just hand it to Scott or the Sheriff to deal with.

Newt quickly lost track of time, getting lost in all the different accounts of Thomas carrying him out of the building and refusing to let him go. That part made his eyes water. It was the Sheriff that broke the easy silence they shared to announce he was going to bed, and that Scott should go home soon before his mother worried, then he left the room.

"We'll find him. We did last time." Scott said, sending a small smile in Newt's direction. Newt didn't feel like they'd ever find him, not at this rate. Newt often got the feeling that Scott was used to having to hold everyone else up.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right." Scott left about an hour later and Newt was left in the middle of a sea of paperwork that told them nothing. Frustrated, Newt stood and crossed the room to the calendar hanging on the wall. He crossed out another day. Another day with no leads. Another day of dead ends. Another day without Thomas. Another day that everything in Newt screamed wrong wrong wrong.

Newt made his way out of the room, flipping off the lights and heading into the living room where he made himself comfortable, as comfortable as he could be with the anxiety eating away at him.

The Sheriff had insisted on Newt saying with him, if only for it to be easier for them to work out finding Thomas but Newt felt like that was about as weak as an excuse could be. He even offered him Thomas's bed but it just didn't feel right. He settled on the couch instead. He wasn't quick to trust the situation at the start and ended up not sleeping until his body literally shut down from exhaustion. It took him almost a month to trust the Sheriff enough to go to sleep every night. Even now as he saw how much the Sheriff and even Scott cared about Thomas, how much they all really loved him, he still found it hard sometimes.

Sleep wouldn't come tonight, though. He knew it wouldn't. The familiar feeling of the empty room pushing down on him was to present. He couldn't shake it and he remembered the last time he felt like this. At least in WICKED, he was out of his mind most of the time, sometimes Newt was left wondering how truly terrible his mind was. Because the last time he felt this crushing pressure on his chest he'd gotten up early and ran into the Maze.

He stared at the ceiling and tried not to imagine what they were doing to Thomas. He knew full well what WICKED was truly capable of, and every bit of it lived up to their name. He had almost found himself wishing Thomas was dead if only so he wouldn't have to go through what Newt had. It sounded bad, even in his head it sounded bad, but how could he wish for Thomas to be alive when that would mean endless torment? The thoughts always left a bad taste in Newt's mouth and tears in his eyes, but they were always there. Always at the back of his mind.

Newt was buried in these thoughts when he heard what he thought almost sounded like knocking. Newt held his breath and listened. A few moments later he could hear it again. He stayed still and waited, counting slowly in his head. The rapping came again only slightly louder. It sounded like someone was knocking on the front door, but it was near 2 in the morning.

He got up carefully and padded barefoot to the door. He peeked out the window next to the door and at first, he thought he must have been imagining things, there was no one there, nothing knocking on the door. He went to go back to bed, laughing at himself for making something of nothing, but then he caught sight of movement just as he let the curtains fall closed. He quickly ripped them open again and saw the back of someone walking down the road far enough away that there was no way he could have been at the door less than three minutes ago. Newt watched until he could no longer see the person through the window before he silently pulled the door open to get a better look, he took a step outside and felt something odd under his foot.

Newt bent to pick the envelope up and examine it. The only thing written on the outside was his name. He quickly glanced down the road again but the figure was gone. He went back inside and locked the door, turning the envelope over in his hands before carefully opening it. He peeked inside, genuinely worried that something might jump out at him. But it was only a slip of paper.

Library

Now

I can help you find Thomas.

Newts heart skipped a beat as he stared at the handwriting, willing himself to recognize it, although he didn't know how he could. He didn't make a habit of memorizing anyone's handwriting, but something about it felt familiar. And they said they can find Thomas. Newt turned the note over in shaking hands, looking for more information and getting disappointed when he found none.

He knew how to get to the library, The Sheriff had made sure he had access to it pretty early on in case it proved useful. Newt had spent a lot of time there in the past few months while Scott was at school, seeing as how the library was connected to the school and during lunches he and Scott could discuss new leads. And sometimes they would just talk about Thomas, who he was before the Maze, who he was in the Maze. Newt liked learning everything he could about who Thomas used to be and a lot of it surprised him. How he longed for Thomas in this moment. He would know what to do. Or rather, he would tell Newt the obvious, that this was a trap and make him promise not to go, then he'd sneak off to follow the lead on his own. So maybe that was his answer.

Newts hands shook as he pulled his shoes on. This definitely had all the makings of a trap and Newt sat there a moment waiting for the overwhelming sense of wrong to back up what he already knew. Only this didn't feel wrong. For the first time in over six months, newt didn't feel wrong, he just felt anxious. Like whatever he was about to do was going to change everything.

Newt didn't stop to consider that the last time he felt this kind of anxious excitement, he was clinging to ivy at the top of a wall.

But did it really matter if it was a trap? What was the worst that could happen? The very worst thing was that he would be taken back to WICKED and even with all the horrid things that that would entail he would still more than likely get to see Tommy.

Newt paused with a hand on the doorknob. Trap or no. WICKED or no. He couldn't show up without some way of protecting himself. He practically tiptoed through the house, stopping in front of the Sheriff's gun safe, which he was given the passkey to. So that meant that it would be okay to take one… right? It didn't feel right, even as he typed in the numbers and picked up a handgun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans like all the spies did in the movies that Scott would occasionally make them watch when 'they needed a break'.

His bike was leaning against the post on the front porch and he walked it down the driveway. He didn't know how to drive, if he ever did know how, the knowledge was gone from his head.

The bike ride went by too quickly before the School parking lot came into view. Even in Newt's excitement, he wasn't a complete idiot. He circled the school and library once, twice, three and four times. He was looking for anyone that could be waiting to ambush him but there was no one there. No cars, or people that he could see. But then again there was only so much he could see. He cursed under his breath and leaned his bike on a light pole. He should have brought a stupid werewolf, he thought to himself while heading to the library. As the library doors came into view that wrong feeling started to resurface... He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The library, at first glance, looked empty. Newt hovered, just inside the door, cringing when it fell closed behind him. It wasn't loud but the soft click was the only interruption to the silence. Newt hated the silence. He hated how positively loud it was in his ears.

Newt walked deeper into the library. The lights flickered on, stopping Newt in his tracks.

"Bout time, shank." Newt wasn't sure where the source of the voice was but something about it felt familiar. Wrong Almost like a ghost. Wrong! Newt took a few steps forward but stopped again when he saw a figure appearing from between two bookshelves. Newt reached around to grip the handle of the gun. This was a mistake. This is a trap. This is wrong. Wrong.

"I know what you're thinking." The boy moved closer to Newt and he could see who it was clear as day. And it was wrong and wrong and wrong. He approached Newt with his hands held out in front of him. "Please, just listen" Newt's heart was beating in his chest so hard he could feel it against his ribs.

Newt pulled out his gun and pointed at the boy.

"Newt please let me explain."

Wrong…