A/N Guess who the frick frack is uploading again

Stroke of Luck

Newt had known Kyle for two years and had never, not once, seen him without a smile on his face. Whether that smile had been forced, sarcastic, sad, or amused, it had been perpetually present and annoyingly infectious. He looked at the boy on the bed in front of him, how he was screaming, twitching, and howling in some garbled speech that Clint and Jeff were trying to ignore as they tied him down; this boy was not smiling. 'This boy is not Kyle', he thought with cold determination. Not believing it but pretending he did, Newt stepped forward out of his daze to help the Med-jacks.

It took a good deal of effort but they finally managed to fasten Kyle's hands and feet to the bed so that his mad flailing was somewhat restricted, and the three of them sat down breathing heavily. Nick and Alby looked on solemnly, and Newt could hear more Gladers gathering outside the shack trying to get a look at what was going on.

"I've never seen a sting take hold so quickly," Clint muttered, "He was fine an hour ago, and now…" He waved his hand at the manic spasming body in front of them.

"We'll keep a close eye on him," Nick said in his best comforting voice. "Do we have any Serum?"

Alby shook his head. "None in the last supplies, unless there's some hidden away somewhere he'll have to wait until this week's delivery."

"That's five days away," Newt said hollowly. He stood and rounded on Nick and Alby. "Look at him. Do you really think he'll last five days?"

"We don't have a choice Newt, there's no other option-"

Newt stormed from the room and shoved his way through the throng outside blindly, ignoring the indignant cries of "Hey!" and "What's his problem?"

He barely noticed where he was going, a few minutes later realizing that he was stock still in the middle of the woods. Sitting down against a tree, Newt looked at his trembling hands and clasped them together tightly to try and stop the movement.

"Get a hold of yourself," he said forcefully. "It's not like you haven't seen this before."

Not Kyle, said a nasty voice in his head. Not a friend who's been here nearly as long as you.

Newt sat against the tree, a gaping darkness gnawing a hole in his chest. He had never felt so helpless. His friends were disappearing one by one, vanishing into the Maze, or surviving it only to waste away in the aftereffects of being stung. He and the other Runners spent every day looking for a way out like it was just going to appear one day on one of the paths they had scoured time and time again. That was what kept everyone going, that mad hope that they'll find something. That was enough to give them all a reason to keep going, to keep trying, why wasn't it enough for him?

Because it doesn't help, because you don't help, because you can't actually do anything that makes a real shucking difference, because Kyle is lying there right now and for every day you spend running that piece of klunk Maze, he is right in front of you and you can't do a shucking thing.

The trembling had spread to his whole body now. It had begun to rain.

Three days later, Newt woke to an unfamiliar brightness. Groaning, he sat up and looked around; Gladers were up and about in the distance, the other hammocks were empty, and it was both too hot and too sunny for it to be morning. Realizing the others had let him sleep through wake up, Newt pulled clothes on and set out to find Nick. He walked past the kitchen without a second glance, not feeling hungry in the slightest despite having missed the past three meals.

As it turned out, Nick found him first. "There you are," the older boy breathed heavily he jogged up to Newt. "I've been looking for you, where have you been?"

"Alby didn't wake me up," Newt said simply.

Looking a bit affronted, Nick surveyed him with a calculating expression before speaking again. "I thought you'd like to know that we found some Serum, Adam found some in the Mapper's hut, shuck knows why it was there though-"

"Have you given it to him yet?" Newt interrupted.

"I think they're doing it now-"

"Well let's go then," Newt said abruptly, walking off in the direction of the Med-jack's shack. He knew he was being rude and that Nick was the last person who deserved it but he didn't have the mind to care; it was the first time since Kyle had been stung that he had felt any sort of faith that his fellow Runner might make it through.

They entered the shack to find Minho, Alby, Jeff, Gally, and a few other spectators watching Clint pull the needle from Kyle's arm.

"Tim, would you go ask G to bring some food over, he'll be starving when he wakes up," Clint said as he put the empty Serum syringe away.

As Tim left, Newt approached the bed and looked down at his friend; he was no longer spasming, his body now relaxed and limp, but he by no means looked healthy. Dark vein-like webs crisscrossed his skin, and his pallid pale face was covered in sweat despite his lips being so dry that they were cracked and bleeding. His rasping labored breath wheezed in and out of his mouth, shallow and rapid.

"It doesn't look it but he's not doing too bad," Clint said from beside him. "He's been like this since you were last here but that's it, he hasn't been deteriorating or anything, just this."

"Are stings usually like that?" Newt asked, more than a little concerned.

"Not really, but it doesn't seem to be a bad thing for this shank," Clint replied with a tired smile.

Newt wasn't satisfied, and he shared a glance with Minho. "Yeah but-"

"Just leave it Newt," Gally snapped. "Let him have his stroke of luck."

Before Newt or Minho could retaliate, there was a horrible gasp from the bed. They all rounded on Kyle to see the boy struggling heavily against his restraints, his back arched at an unnatural angle and his eyes open to reveal only whites.

Clint and Jeff leapt forward to try and calm him, but Kyle only began to twitch once more, a white foam frothing from his mouth.

"What's happening?!" Newt yelled from where Alby and Minho were holding him back.

"I don't know- Maybe- Maybe-" Clint yelled back as he forced Kyle's chest flat onto the bed.

"Maybe what?!" Minho shouted as he clung to Newt's shoulder.

"Maybe a reaction to the Serum- I don't- I've never seen-"

There was a sickening crack; Kyle had snapped his wrist straining against the straps holding his limbs down.

"We have to untie him, he's not stopping," Jeff said, looking terrified.

"We can't, what if he-"

A strangled scream wrangled its way out of Kyle's throat and he choked on the foam in his mouth.

"You have to, Clint," Gally said as he leapt forward to help, "We gotta untie him."

They fumbled with the straps, Clint still not looking happy with the plan, and the three of them each grabbed a limb as it was released, another Glader jumping up to hold down Kyle's other leg. There was a few minutes of strained struggle before Kyle finally went limp again, screams falling silent and the gurgling foam dripping down his face.

The four Gladers released Kyle's arms and legs and fell heavily to the ground, panting.

"Is that going to happen again?" Gally asked breathlessly.

Clint shook his head and shrugged, obviously as confused as the rest of them.

"Will he be okay?" Minho asked with uncharacteristic tentativeness.

Clint just looked at them blankly. "You guys know I'm not a real doctor, right?"

A surge of anger that he knew was irrational coursed through Newt, and he forced down the urge to snap back. Wrenching his arms out of Minho and Alby's grasp, Newt glared at Kyle's form where he lay, unnervingly still after the last few minutes.

"I'll go get something for the foam," Jeff said meekly, backing away further into the hut to find a cloth.

"Yeah, God forbid he gets messy, then we'd really be in trouble," Newt muttered darkly.

Minho slapped his arm. "Play nice," the Runner apprehended.

"Coming from you Minho, that doesn't really mean-"

With a sudden flash of movement, Kyle scrambled off the bed, hit the ground and sprinted past them, disappearing out the door with a deranged gasp. It happened so fast that no one had time to grab him and for the briefest moment none of them moved, mouths agape, before half of them started yelling and the other half broke into a sprint. Newt led the latter group, running at top speed after the boy, not paying attention to what the others were saying, and barely looking where they were headed as he trained his eyes on the rabid boy a few metres in front of him.

Continuous months of running had primed Newt for situations like this one, but Kyle was just as prepared. Minho caught up easily to him, and distantly Newt acknowledged his friend's aptness as Keeper of the Runners, but neither of them could close the last few metres, the shrieking Glader in front of them unnaturally fast.

They had reached half way across the main field when Newt realised there was someone standing stock still in front of them; the Glader was staring at them in shock, presumably frozen at the bizarre sight and not seeming to comprehend the danger of the situation.

"Move!" Minho yelled beside him, waving his hands desperately. "Get out of here G! Go!"

Cold washed over Newt; it was G. In her hands was the meal she had been bringing over to the Med-jack's shack for the boy now sprinting towards her with foam dripping from his mouth. It was too late; driven with some maddened rage, Kyle's outstretched hands collided into her and they both tumbled to the ground. Panic flared in Newt as he saw the boy's fists begin to fly and G's hands retaliating but doing nothing to stop the attack.

Breathing heavily, Newt saw Kyle's fingers close around her neck, not seeming to notice the pain his broken wrist must have been causing; he lifted her up and slammed her head against the ground. She was dazed, Newt could see that even as they closed the final distance, but she threw her fist out blindly, catching Kyle on the cheek and his head snapped to the left. He didn't seem to notice, not loosening his grasp on her neck. Newt and Minho slammed into the boy and seized him by the shoulders as G's breath began to rasp and stutter. Heaving, they were joined by Alby and Gally, who wrenched Kyle's arms away from G's neck and pulled the girl away. Kyle screamed brokenly and tore from them with wild jerks, falling to the ground and floundering around in the grass, panting. He reached the discarded tray of food and suddenly he had leapt back to his feet with a knife in his hands, kicking the tray to the side and backing away from the group with wide, bloodshot eyes.

"Kyle," Newt said in a low voice, raising his hands to beside his head. "Kyle, put the knife down."

The Runner gave no indication that he had understood or even heard him, his short shallow breaths coming fast and loud.

Nick skidded to a halt beside Minho and assumed a similar posture as Newt, hands raised in a weak attempt to placate the boy, but he did not say anything.

G was coughing behind them, Alby and Gally helping her to her feet as she wiped blood off her lip. Kyle's eyes trained on her, and Newt stepped to the side, blocking off Kyle's line of vision and forcing the boy's attention back to him.

"Kyle, come on man, you know me," he tried slowly. "You know me."

"We can help you Kyle," Nick said beside him. "Just put down the knife."

Kyle's eyes were flicking between them like a frightened animal, his two handed grasp on the knife remaining tight and outstretched in front of him, still not reacting to his broken wrist.

Newt took a slow step towards the boy, hands still raised. "Kyle…"

The movement did the opposite of what Newt had intended, and Kyle gave a maddened shriek, the trembling in his hands increased tenfold and his breathing speeding up into ragged gasps. He fell backwards and the knife twirled around in his hands until its hilt faced the Gladers in front of him.

Yells erupted from the group as the boy's intention became clear.

"Kyle no!"

"Kyle!

"Someone grab him!"

They weren't fast enough. Kyle drove the knife into his own throat.

Newt felt Nick push him away back towards Alby, Gally, and G, but his eyes were fixed on Kyle. The boy was holding the knife in place, his eyes bulging and his face almost surprised. There was a gurgle forcing its way out between his pale lips, blood bubbling in the corners of his mouth. Kyle's hands were moving, the knife tearing through his own skin and muscle, blood streaming onto the grass.

Figures engulfed the boy and Newt's view was cut off entirely, but it didn't really matter. The image of Kyle's hands twisting the blade embedded in his neck was seared into Newt's vision, and he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. Sound became dulled and blurred except for a loud piercing ring that he wasn't entirely sure anyone else was hearing. It felt like he had been struck in the head. The thought of this comparison took a while to process as he sat dazed on the grass, but when it did he suddenly remembered G.

Blinking slowly, Newt tried to focus his vision and realized that Minho was crouched in front of him, speaking.

"…hear me?"

Newt squinted at him. "What?" His own voice sounded far off and oddly foreign.

"Can you hear me?" Minho repeated, looking concerned. The expression didn't seem to fit right on his face, where a snarky smile or smirk usually rested comfortably.

Newt nodded, looking around in confusion. It was significantly cooler and the sun was lower in the sky. There was no one on the field but them.

"Where is everyone?"

"You've been out of it man, you were just sitting here," Minho said, a tremor in his voice. "It's been hours."

Newt frowned. "Where's Kyle?"

Minho looked at the ground. "They're burying him now."

Newt felt his throat close up and a stinging in his eyes that felt less like he was going to cry and more like he had been punched in the nose. "And G?" He managed to choke out.

The Runner gave a weak half smile. "She's fine- well, you know, as fine as you can be after nearly being strangled. She's with the Med-jacks."

"Those guys have had a busy few weeks," Newt joked emptily.

Minho didn't reply, he just stared at him. Making a point to look at his clasped hands with interest, Newt avoided the gaze and the question that he could feel coming.

"Newt, what-"

"I think I'm going to go see G," Newt said abruptly, cutting Minho off. He stood eyed the sky, calculating that it was about two hours before the Door shut.

"Newt…"
"Don't Minho, just don't." Newt walked away, leaving Minho alone in the field. He knew Minho wanted to know why he was reacting the way he was, why it was affecting him this much, but he didn't know how to word it, and he wasn't sure he even wanted to tell anyone in the first place.

With a jolt he realized that they would have a new Glader arriving in just a few days. Newt wondered if anyone would tell the newcomer about Kyle's suicide. He wondered who would be next.

He wondered if it would be him.