Hello my fellow fanfictionites. :3 How are you doing on this fine day? My friend Dawn writes some fanfics in her free time and she asked me to post this one. BTW, Dawn is the same friend that wrote Stormy Night, so if you liked that fic, please take a look at this one as well. She's also got something to say, so here:

Hi guys, I just finished the Maze Runner trilogy (yeah, I know. I'm late), and I really enjoyed it. Recently, I've started up writing little stories for all my obsessions, and this basically came up! Hopefully, you enjoy it...

-Dawn

So now that that's out of the way, I hope you enjoy my friends fic. :D

Please, Tommy, Please

Please, Tommy. Please. The words still rang in Thomas' ears, echoing endlessly in his mind. He'd never gotten over the fact that he had killed-no, slaughtered-his best friend, and it didn't matter whether or not Newt had wanted him to do it.

He was the one who had pulled the trigger. He had let him go, without a single goodbye. He had allowed himself to murder the person who had stayed by his side, through the Maze, through the Scorch. And because of him, Newt was dead. He was gone.

Even after the Immunes had been transported to the safehaven of their dreams, Thomas still had his moments of grief. After a long day of hard work, he'd go up to the roof of some Glader's house and watch the sun go down. There, he could gather his thoughts-alone-and try to relax while pondering the deaths of his friends.

Often times, Brenda would appear-from where, he didn't know. She'd cautiously approach him, place herself a small distance from him, and sit, until he'd turn to her and allow a warm embrace. Maybe even a kiss. No words would be spoken, no thoughts exchanged.

Once, Thomas had tried to speak, but Brenda just moved a gentle finger to his lips. "Hush…" she'd whispered, then pointed at the dim light of the sun. "Just watch." Together they had watched the sunlight disappear altogether, and Thomas had felt an almost calming peace.

And so they would always sit in silence, staring at the darkening sky. Afterwards, they'd walk back, once Thomas' sorrow had finally left him. But it would always come back the next day, even stronger than before.

Somedays, it got to the point that those painful memories would invade his sleep. The same nightmares would torment his mind, preventing him from rest. He often woke up screaming Newt's name. Someone would always rush to his aid, soothing him, calming him. It was usually Brenda, yelling "Thomas!", and sometimes it was Minho, whose stern, but concerned, gaze somehow made Thomas feel better.

Tonight, however, there was no one. No one to rescue him from his horrors. Not Minho, not Brenda. Only Thomas.

He was frozen with fear, standing stricken in that same place. That same, exact place. The place where he killed his best friend. But he didn't know that yet.

Newt was rushing at him, full speed ahead, and of course, Thomas couldn't move. He was enveloped by a panic, one that felt so similar to the claustrophobia of the Maze. But even the Maze was better than this.

All of a sudden, a cold, heavy weight slammed into Thomas' gut. His old friend tackled him to the ground and grasped his throat tightly, and for a few seconds, he couldn't breathe. Dread worked its way up to Thomas' dry mouth, and he let out a strangled cry, flailing and gasping for air. Newt forcefully pinned him to the ground, cursing and spitting as he struggled to keep his squirming prisoner under control.

It almost reminded Thomas of Ben, the crazy Glader who'd attacked him in the Glade when he'd first arrived, but then again, he was losing oxygen. He couldn't think straight-at least he hoped he couldn't. But the thought vanished nearly as fast as it had appeared.

"I should rip your eyes out!" Newt yelled, sprinkling Thomas' face with saliva. Thomas imagined the contaminated spit slowly burning his skin, and he pawed feebly at the rough hands around his neck, trying to escape from both the choking sensation and the drool that had landed on his forehead. But Newt held on, ignoring his victim's weak protests. "Teach you a lesson in stupidity. Why'd you even come here? Expected a hug? Huh? A nice sit-down to talk about the good times in the Glade?"

By now, Thomas had given up on loosening Newt's grip. Instead he frantically shook his head, keeping his eyes on his former friend while quietly reaching for the gun in his pocket. Newt didn't seem to notice, he just kept shouting.

"You wanna know why I have this limp, Tommy? Did I ever tell you? No, I don't think I did." Thomas seized the chance to keep Newt distracted, and despite his fear, he offered him a tight smile, maybe a grimace.

"What happened?" he panted, finally finding a cool, firm grip on his pistol.

Newt glared at him, and not for the first time, Thomas noticed the sick wildness that filled his eyes. The Crank moved his face closer to Thomas-who flinched-as if to expose a dark secret, then drew back and, at last, dropped his hands off of Thomas' neck.

Thomas heaved in heavy, relieved breaths of air, barely paying attention while Newt stared bitterly at his leg, the one with a limp.

"I tried to kill myself in the Maze." he spat, mostly to himself. "Climbed halfway up one of those walls and jumped right off. Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade right before the Doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all… your… fault!"

He suddenly twisted, catching Thomas by surprise, and clutched Thomas' sweaty, clammy hand, the one holding the gun. Jerking it upwards, he forced the end of the pistol against his forehead. Thomas tried to pull his hand away, tried to pull the pistol away, but Newt refused to let up.

"Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!"

Thomas fought for control of his own gun, but Newt was surprisingly strong. "I can't, Newt, I can't!" he insisted, bile rising up in his throat along with the accompanying feeling of helplessness.

Newt tightened his grip on Thomas' arm and raised his voice angrily. "Make amends! Repent for what you did!" He forced every word out of his trembling body, then his voice became a pained whisper. "Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery."

Thomas gasped, the words shocking him speechless, but he made himself speak. "Newt, no! Maybe we can-"

"Be quiet! Just stop! I trusted you! Now do it!" Newt emphasized the last words, but Thomas continued to shake his head.

"I can't."

"Do it!"

"I can't!" Still Thomas protested. How could Newt do this to him? How could he ask him a favor so cruel, so painful?

"Kill me, or I'll kill you. Kill me! Do it!"

Thomas tried for one last objection. "Newt… please…"

"Do it before I become one of them!" Thomas glimpsed a hint of pain in Newt's sad, crazy eyes. He knew it would be for the best, but...

"I… I can't…"

"KILL ME!" Newt's eyes cleared of the morbid insanity that had just overwhelmed him, and he softened his tone. "Please, Tommy. Please."

But this time was unlike all the others. Thomas didn't pull the trigger. He didn't kill Newt. He only pulled himself away.

And so Newt was transformed before his very eyes. He lost all that was left of his dirty mess of hair. His skin became wrinkled and pale, covered with festering wounds and scars. His eyes were now wholly insane, and there was a wild, animalistic look about them.

He was no longer Newt. He was just another Crank.

The monster locked gazes with Thomas, and in a raspy voice that was scarily close to Newt's, it croaked,

"Please, Tommy. Please."

Thomas staggered back, not only startled by the sudden change in Newt, but pained by it too. His confusion drained away. His mind filled with agonizing clarity. This was the monster Newt had turned into.

And to think he'd hesitated. And it was then, and only then, that Thomas pulled the trigger.

He sat up straight in bed, heart pounding and body shaking. Sweat dripped down his face, almost like rain, and his clothes were drenched. For once he didn't cry out. He couldn't. Because those same words were still ringing, still echoing.

Please, Tommy. Please.

Yes, I know the ending was weird, but I just randomly came up with the idea...and this happened! Yup! Well, I hope you liked it!

-Dawn

Thanks for reading my friend's fic! Please review and motivate her to write more!

~Lea