1 – paradise

Paradise lasts two weeks. Two weeks of peace, if Thomas could even call it that. The last fourteen days had been night of nightmare after nightmare, either crying or screaming himself to consciousness. It seemed like the moment all the adrenaline of constantly fighting left his body, Thomas finally succumbed to what he was feeling.

He wasn't the only one though. Minho and Gally grunted and thrashed at night. Brenda woke up sobbing. Some of the others were worse for wear, but most were doing okay.

Thomas felt the guilt swallowing him whole.

"Thomas, you klunk-head! We need you by the waterfront, there's an issue." Minho's voice snaps Thomas out of his daze, and the brunette stands up from the secluded rock he had been sitting on. "Coming!"

As he emerges from the trees, Brenda immediately bounces up to him. Thomas lets her hug him and kiss his cheek, ignoring the raised eyebrows and look of worry. Her hand traces the circles under his eyes wearily. Behind her, there are people fluttering about, washing, hunting, building, cooking, laughing and just. . .living. Thomas's heart stutters. He can't even imagine what they must feel like.

Brenda follows him to where Minho, Gally, and Frypan stand.

Its sundown, the fourteenth day on paradise, and Minho alerts Thomas that someone spotted something moving on the skyline, and everything goes to literal klunk. Thomas can see it. The white blob that leaves a trail of smoky clouds in its wake.

As it comes closer and closer, Minho attempts to calm down the masses, who have slowly begun to realize something is looming upon them. Frypan goes to cook a meal at some point, but the rest of them just stand there, the same dread filling them all up, in silence. Brenda squeezes his hand from where she's standing next to him and finally breaks the silence. "What. . . what is that?"

Thomas moves closer for a better view. Although it was clearly a flying machine, it looked nothing like a Berg. In fact, it kind of looked like a plane. Brenda comes up on his right and Gally comes up on his left.

"Is that. . .is that a plane?" Gally asks hesitantly. Him and Thomas still have it rough getting along at points, but something about surviving all they did changes how you hate someone.

"I- I think it is," Brenda mutters, completely amazed.

"But. . ." Thomas mumbles, but doesn't finish. Planes were a thing from before the Flare. He remembers them, knows he's been on one before, but has no idea why or with who and how. The small amount of memories Thomas has received back since the Maze start to leave him more and more confused as time goes on. He ignores the way it bubbles discomfort and steps back, the plane is minutes from landing, looking bigger than ever and sounding louder and louder.

Behind them, they hear Minho yell angrily. "Thomas, Gally, and Brenda! Get your shuck asses back here and grab a weapon. I don't care if it's a bunch of unicorns driving or it's more cranks. We're gonna be shucking prepared when they get here."

Thomas smiles fondly at his friend, nods, and jogs back to where everyone has lined up, shoulder to shoulder. The four of them stand in the front, leaving little room for the plane to arrive. Suddenly, he remembers something. Planes need a landing strip. He turns around and hollers loudly, maybe a minute before the planes estimated landing time. "GET BACK! MOVE!"

They listen. They always do. Thomas refuses to think about it.

Brenda pulls him back and the plane lands, taking a few seconds to fully stop, right in front of where the four of them stand bravely, hands on their weapons.

A million what if's go through his mind, and Thomas swallows nervously. Whatever it is, they can handle it. He hopes.

When the door opens, a dark haired hunk of muscle jumps out, landing smoothly and looking towards the crowds, who Thomas notices have assembled behind them, some sort of weapon in their hands. He's dressed in dark jeans, boots, a grey shirt and a simple leather jacket. He has a five o'clock shadow and green blue eyes. Thomas can't see any weapons on him, but that means nothing. His wardrobe and appearance surprise him, and he can tell he's not the only one wo feel that way.

Minho's there before the man even has time to finish looking around. With a gun pointed at the man's chest, he starts talking. "Who the shuck are you?"

The man doesn't reply, and his gaze locks with Thomas's. Something about the way the other man's eyes widen and the stare intensifies makes Thomas want to hide. The man, probably in his early or mid-twenties, is looking at Thomas like he hung the moon.

Someone else jumps out of the plane door. Minho's gun is pointed at the dark skinned woman, about the same age as the other guy, before she even looks up from her feet. She's dressed in similar attire, and is obviously just as good looking as the man beside her. There are long scars covering her neck gruesomely and Thomas wonders how she survived them. Immediately, she locks her gaze on him. Her stare makes him feel even worse than the man's does.

"Stiles."

It was barely a whisper on her lips, but almost everyone hears it, the entire population quiet as the two strangers stand in front of Minho's gun. Stiles, he repeats in his head.

Somehow, Thomas knows the woman's referring to him, but he refuses to accept it. Minho starts.

"What the shucking shuck is a Stiles?" Minho looks exasperated and angry, unsure of who to point his gun at. He chooses the girl, since she's the one who spoke. Also, there's an obvious gun in a holster at her waist and she's wearing a badge of sorts around her neck. Neither are good signs. "And answer my questions, now."

As if Gally thought Minho wasn't doing a good job, he moves forward and joins them near the plane, adding his own gun to the mix. "Talk."

The strangers are still eyeing him up and down. Their gazes pause on his shoulders, his attire, his hair, and the confusion in his eyes. The man and the woman give each other a look. It's the first time they rip their eyes away from Thomas. Stiles. . .

The woman starts speaking. "My name is Braeden Tandy and this is Derek Hale." She pauses, looking towards Thomas for any sign of recognition. When none is rendered, and Thomas feels more confused than he did before, she continues, her voice loud and clear. "I am a United States Marshall. Whatever you think you know, it's not true. WICKED fed you lies. The world is completely safe from the Flare, and there were no disastrous sun flares ever to occur."

This causes an uproar. Everyone goes mad and starts yelling, throwing things and trying to condemn this woman, who thinks she can feed them another lie. Thomas has enough of it after a couple of seconds. He stomps up closer to where Minho and Gally are still pointing their guns in disbelief at the two strangers and holds his ground. Like earlier, he puts all his might into his words. "SHUT UP! CALM DOWN, AND SHUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT THEY HAVE TO SAY!"

Most of them are shocked into silence, and Thomas can feel the burning gazes of the strangers behind him. He hears someone else jump from the plane door. Thomas spins around and sucks in a breath. No –

It can't be possible. It can't. He feels and hears almost everyone fall quiet, except for murmurs of confusion or leftover arguers, Gally's, Minho's and Brenda's shocked gasps.

It's like Thomas's lungs decide to stop working, because he can't breathe.

"It's true."

There he is. His hair has grown back into the bald spot that was there the last time Thomas saw him. The bruises and sharp cuts there were before are gone, and Thomas looks at the side of the blonde's head.

No gaping wound. No bleeding. Like nothing even happened.

His insides constrict and Thomas breathes out one word, almost choking. He feels a worried glance from the man named Derek. He ignores it. "Newt."

Minho and Gally abandon their guns and run at the taller boy. Brenda runs up until she's right beside Thomas; still, he can't move, frozen in place.

Newt's smile when he hugs Gally and Minho makes Thomas's eyes tear up.

The world was okay again.

But. . . how? Somehow, Thomas hadn't lost this friend. Hadn't killed his friend.

Teresa. . . Chuck. . . but somehow not Newt.

When Newt's warm brown eyes make contact with his own, Thomas feels lightheaded. Suddenly, there's a body against his and arms around his back and- and Thomas is sobbing.

"Tommy."

His voice is so warm, that rich foreign accent so kind and soothing. After what seemed like so long but not long enough, Newt pulls back. Thomas stutters, not sure of what is happening. "Wha- how? Newt."

The boy looks a thousand times healthier than he ever did in the Maze. His skin is slightly pale, like he hasn't seen the sun, but he looks like he has no scars, no fears, no worries. Only happiness. Thomas recounts what the boy in front of him had said as a crank begging for death.

Thinking of it springs new tears to his eyes and he feels his heart turn cold. A wound that had been recently numbed burst back into pain.

Newt's eyes are just as teary as his own. "Tommy?"

Thomas takes a deep breath, steps back, and looks at Braeden and Derek, who are both staring with equal expressions of shock and pain. "Who are these people?" he whispers to Newt shakily. His voice sounds foreign and hoarse.

Thomas swears he sees Derek's sharp intake of breath, as if someone had stabbed him. Suddenly, he knows the answer to his own question.

"They're your friends, Tommy. You're Stiles."