SPOILER ALERT: if you haven't finished the books up to The Death Cure, then STOP. Don't read any further.

I'm sorry for not placing this earlier.

Minho layed on his back with his head on top of his hands, near the shore on the grassy cliff they all arrived to after their escape two years ago. He kept his eyes closed, but he wasn't asleep. No one ever bothers him when he's like this. They know what was going through his head and that he needed time alone. The past. Every dreadful thing they went through back then would keep popping into his mind.

What haunted him the most were his friends, dead friends. Their images never left his head. Alby. Ben. Zart. Winston. Chuck. And even Teresa, whom he never trusted till she saved Thomas infront on his eyes and ended up sacrificing herself.

Memories of them, the good times in the Glade, and the times they were taken away from them. It pained him. Thinking of how everyone could've been so peaceful and happy here, if they lived, with them. Especially Newt.

Newt should be in this new world with them. But everything about the Newt they knew was probably gone by now. Last time they saw their best friend was in a Crank Palace, yelling at them to get lost, not wanting them to be with him as the madness slowly corrupted his brain. Though even with huge defeat of impossibility, Minho didn't want to accept things as it is.

How was he? Was he okay? Had he turned full crank? Was he still in that little corner they found him in back at Denver's Crank Palace?

Everyday, ever since they left him there, all Minho could think was to go back and get him. He promised himself he would come back for Newt, one of his precious bestfriends, but he was never able to. His urge to see Newt again grew stronger and stronger by the day. Thomas was the only person he could talk to about all this, but whenever he tried to convince him to look for their bestfriend he'd tell him that even if they did find Newt, he was still sick with the Flare. Even if they could get Newt to come back with them, they'd only watch him suffer from the disease.

"Newt wouldn't want that." Thomas would say, pained by his own words. Still, Minho didn't want to consider the cons of getting Newt back. He just wanted him back.

He stood now, determined to get Thomas to go with him. He was sure he'd get him to agree this time. Even if it were just to see Newt, Newt didn't have to see them. He knew Newt wouldn't want them to see him if he was already looking as bad as the terrifying crank they saw back at the Scorch.

He went to Thomas, back at their home. The home they built with the rescued Immunes. Thomas was sitting around, enjoying a little chat with some of the folks. They ended it as quickly as Minho spotted him. They parted, the folks off to do their work and Thomas back to his hut. Minho ran to him. There was no better chance than now to open up the topic with Thomas. They would be alone in Thomas's room.

"Thomas!" He called out.

Thomas turned and saw him, smiled at him. After two years of living in paradise, they all learned to smile a lot more, though their eyes still show the pain they'll all carry for the rest of their lives.

"Yeah? What is it, Minho?" Thomas asked.

Minho hesitated. How should he start? Should he even continue? Well, too late to back down now. "I have something important to tell you."

Thomas seemed to get where this was going, but agreed even still. "Sure. Why don't we go inside first?"

Minho stood by the bed as Thomas was opposite to him, placing away the stuff from his messy table to his shelf. "What's so important you that had to come running to me?" Thomas joked, without looking at Minho.

"It's.. about Newt."

Thomas paused, his smile fading. "Minho.."

"No," he held his hand up, "let me talk. Let me try to convince you again."

Thomas stayed quiet, not even making eye contact with him.

"Don't you ever think about the possibility that he could be alive out there? Don't you ever get the urge to see him? To at least know how he is? Because I do. All the time, shuck-face. I could've gone out there to look for him months ago, but you've always stopped me, saying it's dangerous out there alone. And so I ask you to come with me but you still say no. Why? Why don't you want to see him as badly as I do?"

He stopped talking, thinking of what to say next, but Thomas beat him to it. "Minho, we have a zero point ninety nine percent chance of survival out there."

"I'm willing to take that chance." Minho replied firmly.

Thomas sighed. "Well I'm not. We have responsibilities. As the rescuers, the people here want us to be the leaders and we had no choice but to accept that. And now everyone looks up to us. The order of this place would be gone if we were gone. We can't just leave them. And besides, it's been long ago since we left Newt, who knows he could be... de-"

"No!" Minho cut him off. "Shuck it, shuck-face! Don't dare finish that word, don't even think it." Thomas looked at his friend and gulped. Dead. Thomas was about to say dead. Minho didn't even consider that Newt would be dead. He couldn't be.

Thomas was looking at the floor now, seemed to be thinking of something, then back to Minho. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth before the words got out, then opened them again. "You don't understand, Minho." He said, with a hint of pain. "Minho, I-"

Minho shook his head at him. "Thomas, your the one who doesn't understand. Newt could be out there, and we're here living happily-ever-after in this shuck beauty of a place. He could be out there. Needing us..!"

Thomas leaned on the wall near him, placing his fingers to massage his forehead. "Think logically, Minho. Newt's probably past the gone or worse, dead."

"I told you not to say that!" He shouted. "What do we know? We've been isolated for two years. What if WCKD succeded with all the data they gathered from us? Maybe WCKD's already found a cure and Newt was lucky to get it. What if he's had the cure for months now, and he's looking for us. What if, after he got the cure, he had to live in some buggin' city out there and just didn't have the luxury to look for us. And no one has a clue about where we are, so even if Newt wasted his klunkin' time asking his butt off everday, he could never get close to finding us. What if-"

"Minho. Please. Please stop hoping for this. Please." Thomas pleaded, his eyes on the verge of tears. "Stop hoping you'll ever get to see Newt again!" He started shouting the last part as he looked directly into Minho's eyes.

Minho closed his eyes to avoid seeing his friend in pain. Breathe in. Breathe out. "Thomas.. I'm sorry I keep buggin' you with this, I'm sorry I still am, but.." he opened his eyes, ".. consider the things I said. Everything is possible. What if what I had just said was true? Do you really want Newt to hate us when he finally finds us saying 'What have you shanks been bloody doing? I've been alive for the last two years, looking for you slintheads!'?"

Thomas didn't say anything. He was calming himself down. The tears. They haven't fallen, but they're ready to burst any moment now. Minho was quiet, too. He really wanted to see Newt. Even with all the odds, he hasn't given up on Newt. A part of him keeps nagging him with the logical thing, but every other part of him over takes that. "Thomas," he spoke again, "I'm going to go back for him. I promised myself that I would. You, come or not, I don't care. I will go find hi-"

"He's dead." Thomas sprouted. Minho was about to continue, but Thomas repeated. "He's dead. Newt's... dead."

Surprise and confusion fell onto Minho. "What?" He asked. "How do you even know for sure?" He couldn't believe how negative Thomas was being. This was Newt they were talking about.

"I.. I just am.." Thomas let his gaze fall on the ground again.

Minho let out a small sigh that was kind of a laugh. "Okay. Just because he's probably way past the gone, doesn't mean he's dead. And that's the whole point of this. 'To see if he's alive.' , 'If the possibility of him alive and cured was right.', 'How he's shuckin' doing out there.'. Stop saying he's dead, Thomas! WE DO NOT KNOW, OKAY? HE IS NOT DEA-!"

"He is, Minho! HE'S DEAD. HE HAS BEEN FOR THE PAST TWO YEARS."

"W..what?" Minho was still in shock of the way Thomas was acting, "Thomas, what the klunk are you saying? What do you mean 'for the past two years'?

Thomas shook his head while trying to speak. All Minho could hear from him were: "I'm.. I'm sorry.." he dropped to the floor, covering his head with his hands as if something was about to hit him, slightly shaking. "I'm sorry.."

Minho walked over to him, held his shoulders, "Thomas." He said. "Thomas, what the klunk are you saying, shuck face..?!"

Thomas looked at him now. He shook Thomas, "Speak up, slinthead!" He demanded. "What do you mean he's been dead for the past two years?! How do you even know?!"

With his grip getting tighter, adding up on the pressure he gave to Thomas, Thomas tried to speak again but no words came out until Minho shook him again.

"I was there..!" Thomas finally shouted, letting go of what he's been holding in for so long. "I.. Newt.. I saw the bullet go through his head! And I ran!" He cried out. "I ran away from it! I ran away, I didn't want to see his body lay dead on the floor...!" The tears started falling on Thomas's cheeks, "I'm... sorry.."

Minho's heart stopped. It sank.

"Are you saying..." he dropped to the floor, sitting in front of Thomas, who was still crying. He could feel his own tears about to burst. "Are you shuckin' telling me that.. all this time.."

"he.. wasn't there?"

Then it started. He couldn't hold in the sudden shock, as if the pain took over. "No. No no no no no!" he shouted. The tears dripped from him as well.

"I'm sorry, Minho.. I just couldn't bring myself to tell you.. I'm so sorry.." Thomas spoke, still weeping.

"No! He can't be dead! Thomas, Newt can't be dead!" Minho raised his voice, stood up, crying, walking in circles. "He- he can't, he just, I, he.. He can't be dead, Thomas.." his voice started cracking, the tears just kept flowing. Thomas stood up and hugged his best friend.

Thomas held him as he wailed. Thomas knows how shattered his friend's heart was right now. There was nothing else he could do or say to Minho that would help.

Thomas hugged him tighter. Minho, still weak in his arms. He began crying again, too.

"I... I'm sorry I shot him.."

Hey guys, I just wanted to write this, and I'msosorry.

I mean, come on. Don't you dare say you never imagined what it would be like if Minho finally found out about Newt.

Still though, I'm so very sorry to mess you up. So.. Very.. Sorry..