Darkness. Quiet, soothing, darkness. He was warm, comfortable, as a cool sensation gently whipped his hair off of his forehead. There was something soft beneath him, cradling him (some voice in the back of his mind offered the word "bed" but Newt preferred to push it away). These were the first sensations that Newt picked up on. It was…peaceful. A steady, drum-like sensation reverberated in his head. With his eyes closed and his head resting on something soft the rhythmic beat could have lulled him to sleep. Well, it could have, if it wasn't for the sudden rush of mind shattering pain that followed only moments later.

His eyes snapped open, but he couldn't see. He didn't know where he was. Suddenly the darkness wasn't wrapping him in safety, it was strangling him, crushing him. He struggled to move but that only made everything worse as it caused more jolts of fire to rush up and down his body. The pain was consuming him. It was like there was a voice screaming in his head, pushing at all sides to get out, punching and kicking at the wall. He was sure his head would split open. Cloth was wrapped along his legs and arms, tying him down, locking him in, and trapping him. He opened his mouth to call out, for Minho, Alby, hell even for Gally, he didn't care, but no noise came out. That's when the raw panic set in. He couldn't breathe. Tears of pure fear and frustration were welling up in his eyes and he felt himself start to shake. Every part of his body was burning and he opened and closed him mouth, trying to yell, speak, or even cough. His heart was racing. He was being closed in from all sides. Darkness choked him. Rope held him down. His arms spasmed as he tried to reach out for something, someone…

"Newt!" A pair of strong hands grabbed him and pushed him into an upright sitting position. "Newt!" the voice repeated, "Newt breathe!"

Newt managed a gasp. He coughed harshly, choking slightly, and took another shuddering breath. In, out, in, out, in, out…He repeated it over and over again. The bed creaked softly as the person sat beside him.

"You're alright Newt." The voice said, and Newt felt the hands give him a soft squeeze on the shoulders. Minho. The voice was from Minho. He couldn't see him (for it was night, Newt realized) but he would recognize that voice anywhere. But-how the hell could it be Minho? That could only mean… he was shucking alive.

He felt like he was falling all over again.

You shucking idiot! You bloody useless slinthead! Oh this was rich. Only he could manage to do something this stupid. How hard was it to kill yourself, huh? It wasn't even like the plan was difficult. Climb. Jump. Climb. Jump. Now what was he going to do? How could he let his friends know what happened? Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. Why? Why!? His head pounded. He wanted to scream at the sky, at the bloody Creators. They were having a right laugh, he was sure of it.

"Hey, Newt. Newt!" Minho grabbed his hands and pulled them away from his head. He didn't even notice he'd been clutching at his hair. Newt suddenly became aware the tears streaming down his face and quickly went to wipe them off.

"Thanks Minho." He mumbled quietly. His head was buzzing and there was still a slight quiver in his limbs.

"Newt…" Minho began, and the question hung in the air between them. What the hell just happened?

Newt sighed, and cut Minho off before he could begin talking again.

"Right now Minho I'm tired, everything hurts, and I'm pretty sure its bloody midnight. Just let me sleep. I'll talking to you in the morning."

It was a klunk excuse, and he could feel Minho's reluctance, but the runner was clearly exhausted. He could hear it in his voice, feel it in his slumped posture. He knew he would give in.

"Alright Newt," Minho replied with a softness that honestly surprised Newt a little bit. "We'll talk tomorrow. Call me if you need something."

"Will do." Newt muttered, staring at his hands, even though he couldn't see them in the darkness. "Thanks."

The bed creaked quietly, almost as though it was afraid of interrupting the boys, as Minho stood up. Light, soft footsteps made their way across the room towards the door. The soft whoosh and click announced his exit.

Newt laid back onto his bed, his pounding head cradled softly by the worn pillow. He began to feel every ache and stab of pain as the adrenaline drained out of his body. With a small groan he shifted himself into a more comfortable position. He felt his eyes droop. Yes, he decided, it can all wait 'till morning. With that, he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Ok, ok, ok. I know this chapter was suuuuuper short, but I really wanted to get it out to you guys because I know you have been waiting a while. I was going to make this whole bit one chapter, but I've split it up. I think there's still enough feels right now that you all can manage with this. Please review and I'm sorry for any spelling errors. Also, it's pretty funny because after the Scorch Trials came out the amount of views on this spiked insanely. So here's what you all get for now. I'll try to add on soon. Thanks you shanks, and all of you bloody greenies who are new to this story as well.