Disclaimer - I do not own the Maze Runner trilogy, or The Kill Order. Those masterpieces belong to Mr. James Dashner. I don't read other Maze Runner fics either (I read fanfics of the stuff I DON'T write.), so this is right out of my head.

A/N - I hope you like what you're about to read! If you do, tell me what you think! (I don't mind flames, either.) This story can be read as a Thomas x Brenda or Thomas x Minho fic. There's more Thomas x Minho, though.

Thomas still couldn't believe it. No more WICKED, no more Right Arm, no more Cranks, Flare, nothing. Well, not entirely anyway. They were here now, and the rest of the world could deal with that klunk. It was all over. The cost had been almost unbearable; but Thomas hoped it would be worth it. He lay on the edge of the forest, with the others, trying to get some sleep.

Paradise - that was what they'd called it - had a lot of work set out for them. Civilization to rebuild. After all they'd been through, the Immunes had decided to work on it later, and get some much needed sleep first.

Fatigue occupied every cell in Thomas' body, but somehow, his mind kept him awake. Thoughts of Chuck, Newt, Teresa and so many others who had died at WICKED's or the Right Arm's hands clouded his mind. He wished he had known all of them - their names, at least. He wished Brenda were here, but she was sleeping a hundred meters or so away, with all the other girls. He sighed.

"Thomas, you awake?" someone whispered. Minho.

Thomas' heart sped up. The burden of what he'd done to Newt weighed on him, and he didn't know what Minho would think if he found out. Minho was his best friend in the whole world, and he didn't plan on losing him too. So he wouldn't tell him, Thomas promised himself again.

"Yeah." he finally replied, keeping his eyes on the night sky.

"What do you think happened to Newt?" Minho asked.

"Dunno. What do you think?"

"I think...it's better not to think about it. For all we know, he's probably past the Gone. It would have been easier for him to just die, huh?"

Tears filled Thomas' eyes. He turned to his side, his back facing Minho. "Get some sleep."

The older boy was silent for a few seconds. "Goodnight." he finally said.

"Goodnight."

He stands next to Teresa, watching the screens. He is about fifteen years old, only slightly younger than the Thomas who is dreaming.

They are watching a group of boys on the screen. The Gladers. He can recognise some of them. Minho. Newt. Frypan. Alby. They're fighting about something at a Gathering, but Thomas can't tell what it is.

Teresa stares at the screen, struggling to hide the anxiety Thomas knows she's feeling. "One of them tried to commit suicide."

"Which one?" he asks, dreading that he knows the answer.

Her face is now unreadable. "Newt." she says.

"Thomas. Hey, shuck-face!" Thomas didn't have to be awake to know it was Minho shaking him. He groaned, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Dude!" Minho said. "You're the last one sleeping. Get your butt up."

"What if I don't want to?" Thomas asked groggily.

"Look, man, I'd love to sleep in, too. But we gotta get things runnin'. Start a community. We don't have time for slackers. Like back at the Glade."

Reluctantly, Thomas got up. The other Immunes were already milling about, some building gathering fruits and berries, some making crude weapons. The Gladers seemed to be continuing whatever jobs they'd had earlier. Frypan didn't seem very thrilled to serve people only fruits and nuts, but that was all they had for now.

"Looks like we're back to the Stone Age." Thomas remarked.

Minho's mouth barely pulled up at the corners. "Maybe it's better this way. No radiation causing techno-stuff, bombs, guns, crazy man-made viruses, pollution and all that crap. For the first time, we're probably... safe." He sighed.

Safe. That was a big word. As much as Thomas tried not to get his hopes up, his heart never listened. Safety. Possibly the most expensive necessity in this shucked-up world. He sighed.

"Okay, shank. What are you going to do?"

Thomas blinked. "What do you mean?"

Minho rolled his eyes. "What, you want all play and no work? This isn't how things work. Never was, if you think about it."

"I didn't know you could think." Thomas joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sorry to disappoint."

Thomas couldn't tell if he was joking or not. There was a dead light in Minho's eyes, the kind Thomas had seen more than once in Newt's.

Newt.

Last night's dream came rushing back to Thomas, taking away his humour.

"I'll probably help build stuff." He finally said.

"Or..." Minho trailed off, his eyes brightening a little.

"Or what?" Thomas asked.

The Asian grinned. "Whatcha say we go running?"