A/N: I know I don't do this much, but here's a bit of context. I've had a pretty bad writer's block lately which is why MFSOB has been in a little...slump, so I took a break from it and decided to watch the Maze Runner movies. OH MY GOD I WISH I HADN'T. Newt's death hurt me like nothing else before, and I'm sure that others feel the same way. The only way I could cope with my grief was by writing this. I tried reading other existing fics, but none of them helped, and fanfiction is the embodiment of, "if you want it done right, do it yourself." It's still quite angsty, because that's just my writing style ahah but that makes the ending so much sweeter, I promise. Just stick with it. I tried to incorporate some elements of the book, too. God, I cried so much while writing this. I hope this helps other people like it's helped me. I honestly feel much better now, if anyone wanted to know. It starts immediately when Newt tells Thomas he's infected.

Chapter 1: Newt Survives

"So that's it, then? You're giving up?"

Newt turned back to look at Thomas, confused.

"It's not...giving up. There's nothing anyone can do about it. That's just the way it is. It could have happened to anybody, and...it happened to me."

Thomas wanted to do something to fix things. That's what he did, he fixed things. He got the Gladers out of the Maze, he organised the escape from WCKD, and now he was planning Minho's rescue. But this was a virus flowing through his best friend's veins as he breathed, and he couldn't stop that. At least, not right now. But he would, eventually.

"I will save you; I'm immune. We may not know how to do that just yet, but...we'll figure something out."

Thomas rubbed the sprawling, spider-like veins on his arm subconsciously, staring out at the dappled treetops, and didn't respond.

A few days later, Jorge, Brenda, Newt and Thomas were shifting supplies to the basement. Jorge and Brenda were stacking boxes there while Newt and Thomas were carrying them down. Newt stopped on one of the steps and swayed dangerously. Thomas dropped his box and gently pried Newt's box out of his weakening fingers, that didn't resist much.

"Newt, go lie down. I can take it from-"

"No, I'm fine, Tommy. Give me my box back."

"Newt, I'm serious-"

"So am I, now give it-"

"No!"

"I'M FINE, THOMAS! I...am…perfectly fine."

"This isn't a game, Newt."

Thomas regretted it as soon as he said it. The creases in Newt's face deepend as it twisted angrily, but not before there was a flicker of...something Thomas didn't recognise. He muttered something, and kicked one of the leftover boxes as he left.

"I know."

An afternoon a week later, Jorge wanted to scope a possible entry to The Last City with Thomas and Newt. Thomas had sneaked Newt a dose of the immune extract, which had helped considerably. Newt had almost smiled. When Thomas went to fetch Newt, he found him in a fitful sleep, shivering and mumbling feverishly, his shirt sticking to his back while he clenched his blanket with white knuckles. His forehead was clammy and burning up with a fever. Thomas yanked at his blanket, struggling to rip it out of Newt's iron grip until his fingers finally relinquished their hold. Newt shuddered violently and curled up into a ball.

Without the blanket, Thomas could see every twitch and jerk of Newt's muscle spasms, and the agonised expression on his face with his fringe plastered on his forehead. It was times like these that made the gravity of their situation sink in for Thomas. There were too many hypotheticals, too many conditions to save Newt, that Thomas would lose heart at times. He had been succumbing to despair a lot more the past few weeks without Newt brightening up the most dire of situations. Now the unthinkable was happening, and Thomas couldn't even turn to the one person who could make it all better, because this time even Newt couldn't do a thing.

Thomas couldn't stay there any longer and returned to Jorge, saying that Newt wanted to sit this one out because his leg wasn't feeling so good. The scope didn't work out, and Jorge was getting frustrated because that was their third failed lead that week.

"The later we find a way in, Thomas, the later we get Minho out. And he's already living on borrowed time."

Thomas didn't mention someone else who also was.

When Thomas and Jorge reached back, night had fallen. Brenda was fixing one of the broken generators, and Jorge joined her. Newt was sitting on one of the couches with his blanket clenched around him, his face gaunt in the dim light. He looked better, but still a bit too pale for Thomas' liking. Newt looked up when Thomas walked in, before looking away. Thomas took this as an invitation to sit down.

"How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful."

"Has your fever gone down?"

"...yeah."

Newt was different, and Thomas didn't know how to act. It seemed impossible to talk about the failed scope or saving Minho when the virus was manifesting itself more and more in Newt by the minute. And it was starting to affect Newt, too. Brave, loyal, kind Newt. Thomas was about to leave when Newt started talking hoarsely, haltingly.

"It was about a year after I was sent up to the Maze. We were starting to run out of ideas then, and...things were not looking good. So one morning, I woke up really early, before anyone else...and walked into the maze. For the first time. But I didn't really pay much attention to it. I was looking for...the tallest wall. I climbed up the ivy...and I jumped. I didn't feel scared, just relief. But I got tangled in the ivy, and snapped my leg in three different places. Then I was scared. My leg hurt like hell, and I hadn't expected to survive. Minho found me, somehow, some time later. I was delirious with pain by then, but I somehow managed to explain why I was...he didn't tell anyone. And he looked out for me after that. Minho would drop everything to rescue me. I need to see him again. He's the first friend I can remember."

Newt looked up, meeting Thomas' eyes for the first time in days and Thomas somehow managed to recognise the broken, scared boy in his eyes.

"Promise me, Tommy. Promise me you'll let me just see Minho again. Just once, just a glance, before I...turn."

Thomas wrapped a strong arm around Newt's trembling shoulders, and hugged him until his agitated breathing calmed down. Newt's hand was cold and sinewy and didn't feel like the normal warmth that only Newt could bring. For the first time, Thomas was scared. It was a different kind of fear that the Grievers, Cranks or even WCKD incited. This was a paralysing fear, the ominous foreboding of a terrible ending. This all was just like a twisted video game for WCKD - keeping them in a Maze, sending in Grievers, tricking them into thinking they were free, forcing them to watch their friends die time and time again...but none of that felt the same as losing Newt. Thomas' voice was surprisingly thick.

"Of course, Newty. I promise, if it's the last thing I do." Thomas sniffed, hating himself for becoming undone when he wasn't even the one dying. Newt was running out of time, and Thomas couldn't waste a second being scared, cowering behind uncertainty.

"When?"

"When we were escaping the tunnel of Cranks, I think. One of them latched onto my arm."

"That was a stupid mission. We didn't find out anything, other than that going there was a mistake. I wish we didn't go, so this wouldn't be happening."

Newt laughed, suddenly. It was a small, brief one, and it was almost physically painful to hear, but it made him smile and his dimples sent a funny jolt in Thomas' stomach. Most importantly, Thomas could see a shadow of the old Newt shining through.

"Tommy...if I didn't get affected now, I would have eventually."

"We don't know that for sure."

"It would be very probable. I'm not immune, Tommy."

"I just wish...I could do more. I just feel so useless and it kills me that I can't protect you. Not this time."

"Just stay. That's all we have, and that's enough."

Newt shifted and laid down on Tommy's lap, gazing at him lazily as Thomas watched him apprehensively.

"I'm here if you need me. Or don't need me. I'm here for you, like you've always been there for me."

They were quiet for a while. Newt closed his eyes and frowned slightly, like he was feeling something unpleasant. Thomas panicked and grasped Newt's small right hand with both of his own. Newt's facial features relaxed, and Thomas let go of a breath that he didn't know he was holding. He had a feeling he would be doing that more than he'd like over the next few weeks. The two boys were quiet for a while, hanging on to the moment of peace which they knew they were running out of, the ones they would stubbornly hold onto for as long as they could.

"I didn't feel so scared just now." Newt's grip tightened on Tommy's hand, but it wasn't the vice-like grip he had on his blanket or on the boxes before. It was the gentle, firm, confident hold of someone who knew he was loved.

"I have you."

That was one of the last nights Newt fell asleep feeling warm and safe, with a smile on his face.

Morning came, and the world returned into sharp focus. They continued making plans to rescue Minho, and except for the odd afternoon of agonising headaches or brief bouts of dizziness, nothing signified that anyone was anything less than perfectly normal. They had a few quiet evenings, which were empty voids filled with everything they weren't saying. They danced around the elephant in the room, both pretending that they were blind to its massive shadow looming over them as each day passed. Newt grew paler and more prone to aggressive outbursts. Thomas grew surlier and spent most of his time alone. It would have been impossible to tell which one of them was really infected by the virus if the black veins didn't keep creeping up Newt's arm.

Sometimes he would lose his head with some weapon in his hand. It'd start with a twitch in his right hand, the look in his eyes shifting, and someone would have to slap the weapon out of his hand. The first time this happened, Thomas ended up pinned to the floor with a dagger while Jorge and Brenda scrambled to hold him down until the fit subsided. As the days turned into weeks, Newt grew weaker and weaker, and it was getting harder and harder for Thomas to take care of him and look out for him, mostly because of the unsettling feeling that made him want to tear his hair out when he thought of Newt having to rely on others just to stay alive. Or stay sane, at the very least.

The night before their plan to rescue Minho, they got into a fight. It was unlike the small, petty fights they had been having. This one was serious. Newt was picking at his wrists, making shallow cuts with his dagger next to his blackened veins. Thomas slapped the dagger out of his hand in a heartbeat, but was more disconcerted by the perfectly rational expression on Newt's face when he looked up.

"What the hell were you doing that for?!"

"Face it, Thomas, I'm not going to live through this. What does it matter if I die a week earlier?"

"You don't understand, Tommy. You can't. You don't know what it's like, knowing you're a danger to all those around you. You'd be doing the exact same thing yourself."

"No, I wouldn't."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because I've never tried to off myself before!"

Newt stared at him resolutely, refusing to show how much Tommy's words had hurt him.

"Remember Winston?"

"Of course."

"Remember how we left him there to die?"

"That was his choice!"

"And mine as well! Why is Winston's death any different from mine, huh? "

Maybe because you're so fragile, pure and too good for this world to turn into something so evil and monstrous in the name of biology. Why can't you see that I need to protect you?

"Because you're not actually dead yet."

"I will be, soon enough."

"No, you won't, because -" Because your hand fits mine perfectly, and I don't think it's just a coincidence, so you're not meant to be further than necessary, which is slipping your fingers into mine. Because you're the only home I've ever known, and I'm not letting you leave me all alone, in this dark world where I won't be able to get over you. Because I've been brave and strong all my life, always fighting beside you, and now I've realised that I can't breathe without you. Because I need you. I need you right here, with me.

"The only thing that can stop this, Thomas, is the one thing that's out of our reach."

"It's out of our reach now. We can get it, eventually, we just need a plan."

"Why? Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Giving yourself hope when deep down, you know, it won't amount to anything. It never does. You can't do anything this time, Thomas."

Thomas wanted to explain until he realised he didn't know why himself. Newt was right - he couldn't stop the virus from crawling and consuming every inch of his body until it finally got through his brain. But he couldn't stop caring about him and fighting tirelessly for his every breath, especially when Newt was too weak to fight for himself. He couldn't stop his heart from beating as long as it meant that Newt's would beat too.

"I can fix things. I always do."

Newt scoffed and sneered down at Thomas, who tried to calm his hammering heart and pretend like Newt's symptoms weren't killing him inside.

"No, you don't, Thomas. You do the exact opposite - you ruin things. Like when it was your idea to escape WCKD into the Scorch, when Winston got infected. Or when you decided to place your trust in Teresa, and she turned around and betrayed us and is the whole reason we need to rescue Minho in the first place. Are you listening to this, Thomas? Things would be better if you didn't do anything."

It was times like this that it was hard for Thomas to remember that it was the virus talking, and not Newt. Right?

Things were quite strained between Newt and Thomas even during the mission to rescue Minho. They've had their fair share of disagreements before, but they never explicitly made up. Things would just fall back into the sync, with time. But time was the one thing they didn't have, and it was weighing on Thomas' mind relentlessly. Save Minho. Find the Bliss. Save Newt, temporarily. Find Theresa and a permanent cure. Save Newt...permanently.

Things were going quite well, and Newt was the strongest he had been in days, except for a little dizziness at a generator. It wasn't like other missions where Thomas would be on full alert, laser-focused. He felt a bit disconnected from it, like he had shifted into auto-pilot. It wasn't because he was thinking about Newt instead. He just didn't think at all, because he knew if he did, it would be about Newt, and his heart couldn't handle that. He wasn't strong enough.

They were cornered by a real WCKD guard, when suddenly Minho comes running out of nowhere and slams him into the wall, like some feral animal. Newt was overjoyed to see Minho, and even smiled. Thomas was also really happy that Minho was out, but it was starting to feel like he was pushing back the consequences. Like time had run out and the inevitable was closing in, but Thomas was fighting it back. In a way, Minho being rescued and Newt seeing him again felt like one less excuse for Newt not to die just yet.

Things were going so well. Thomas should have known better that that would mean things would screw up even more monumentally. They were so close to the Berg, inches away from completing the mission. Minho asked Newt how he felt, and he said that he felt terrible, but he still had a faint smile. The wispy back lines creeping across his face marred his smile in a way that just made Thomas want to scream. With anger, about the injustice of it all. Minho and Gally ran to the Berg to get the Bliss from Brenda. Thomas was about to carry Newt, when he stopped him. It was the first time Thomas had gotten a good look at Newt during the mission. The virus had crept up all the way to his face but by some miracle, was still sane. He kept pushing Thomas to take something, and Thomas kept refusing because that was yet another excuse gone for Newt to stay alive.

"No - give it to me later."

"Take it, Tommy-"

"No, we have to get you-"

"JUST TAKE IT!" They stared at each other silently for a few minutes, oblivious to the gunfire surrounding them, of the Last City crumbling. Newt was panting, breathless, and he didn't seem so scary and aggressive anymore, even with the black slime trickling out of his mouth. He seemed...scared, and desperate, like a wounded animal.

"Please, Tommy. Please."

Thomas didn't want to feel useless anymore, so he took it. It felt like he was doing more to save him just by closing his fingers around the object in Newt's trembling hand than when they had rescued Minho. This was something between him and Newt, and no one else.

"I just...wanted to say something. I'm not giving up. I'm...giving in. Tommy, please don't let me give in. I don't want to."

Thomas didn't know what to say. Newt was distraught, and so was he. He just hugged Newt, trying to ignore the agony inside of him when he felt Newt's fingers desperately clutching back. Thomas started babbling, anything to make Newt feel less scared.

"It's okay, it's all going to be fine, I'm with you, you'll be safe, I won't let anything happen to you. You're going to make out of this alive, Newt. I meant it." It crushed Thomas to say that, because he wasn't so sure if he really did mean it. Newt pulled away, and looked at Thomas with hope in his eyes, for the first time in a very long time, and Thomas wasn't strong enough to take that away, when he should have.

"I know you'll save me, Tommy."

Finally, Thomas managed to half-carry Newt as they walked towards the Berg.

"Come on. Come on. We're almost there, Newt. Stay with me, come on. Newt, no, no. Hey! Come on."

Then something distracted him. It was an announcement by Teresa, saying that he could save Newt. And everyone else, for the matter, but Thomas only wanted to know how he could save Newt. Permanently. Apparently, it was something to do with his blood. But she needed for him to come to her, and they didn't have that much time. Thomas knew all he needed to - his blood could save Newt. He turned to continue carrying Newt, but...something was different.

"Newt? Newt?"

Newt wasn't facing him, but when he turned, chills went down Thomas' spine. The black slime was flowing copiously from his mouth now, and his eyes were like liquid death. It was his worst nightmare come alive, but it hurt so much more than he could have ever dreamed. He screeched, like Tommy had heard so many Cranks before, and Thomas felt his heart strain, like someone had grabbed hold of it and was squeezing the life out of him. Newt launched himself at Thomas, who was stunned to do anything except shift slightly, so that Newt ended up sprawled on the ground.

That seemed to wake Thomas up slightly. He was more prepared for him this time, as Newt tried to attack him again. Thomas kept defending himself, all the while yelling gibberish at Newt to bring him back to his senses just for a little while. Just till they got the serum.

But it was hard for Thomas to be so hostile towards his best friend. The Flare was everything Newt was not - vile, unforgiving, emotionless. And it was corrupting even the most beautiful mind Thomas had ever known. Even as Newt reared up once again towards Thomas, Thomas had a flicker of a memory. When he was talking to Newt on his first night at the Glade. The lighting was exactly the same, and he could remember his smile, and how the light reflected in his eyes.

There was none of that now. There was a virus flowing through his veins, so it wasn't anyone's fault, except for WCKD's for making the damn thing in the first place. It was nothing personal, just purely biological. Now, there was a crazed Newt pinning him to the ground.

"Newt, please! Please! I know you're the one dying, but I'm the one losing a friend. I'm going to have to live the rest of my life without you, while you get to escape. I just...envy you, in that way."

Newt stilled, and something in him flickered, and that was all Thomas needed.

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

"It's okay, it's okay."

"Kill me. If you've ever been my friend, kill me."

Thomas stared at Newt, slack-jawed for too long as Newt scratched at his shoulders, yelling at him, as his aggressiveness returned.

"KILL ME, TOMMY! DO IT! BEFORE I BECOME ONE OF THEM! I trusted you, Tommy, now put me out of my misery. You would if you ever cared about me."

When Thomas still remained frozen, Newt swiftly pulled Thomas' gun from his holster and pointed it to his head, his right hand perfectly steady. Thomas shrieked and slapped the gun out of his hand. That enraged Newt and triggered him to slip back into being a Crank. He screeched again, raising the hairs at the back of Thomas' neck, and Thomas somehow managed to shove Newt off him. From then on, Thomas struggled to stay in the present to stop Newt from hurting anyone, including himself, but it was difficult - mostly because the present was too scary to face, and the past so pleasant and safe. All the while, he willed the serum to reach them faster. He didn't know how much longer he could hold Newt off.

Newt was attacking him with a dagger now, and was pressing closer and closer to him. Thomas was panicking - there was only so much he could do with Newt being so close to him and a knife pressed in between them. It was getting harder and harder to twist out of the dagger's path. Thomas didn't feel like fighting so hard anymore. Fight, for what? To survive? What was the point of living in a world where the only safe he had ever known was gone? A world without Newt...wasn't a world worth living in.

Suddenly, Newt stilled, his face looking completely shocked. That was when Thomas knew that he was dying. This would be the last thing on Thomas' mind as he would die and Newt would probably rave and spiral out-of-control, but not over the grief of his death - that they had finally run out of time, like they always would have, and there was nowhere left to run and hide.

Seconds passed, eons passed, Thomas didn't know. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he didn't feel a thing. He felt his blood run cold, and took a step back. There was the dagger's handle, obscenely sticking out of...Newt's shoulder. Thomas scurried to put a bit of distance between them while Newt howled and wrenched the knife out of his shoulder sickeningly. He turned around to face Thomas again, bloody dagger in his hand. He raised it menacingly-

When suddenly his arm slackened. His fingers uncurled from the handle of the dagger and it clattered resoundingly on the floor. He slumped to the ground, eyes closed, and there was Brenda, standing behind him, and empty vial in her hand. Thomas rushed over and, to Brenda's surprise, made a cut in his and Newt's arm using the dagger. He pressed Newt's weak arm to his for a while. Newt's face twitched - it was no longer completely slack and seemed to be a bit more tense, but it wasn't a crazed look like before.

They waited until Newt's pulse returned to normal. Then, Brenda and Thomas slung his arms across their shoulders and carried him back to the Berg. There was Teresa there, now, with a bunch of stolen laboratory equipment. Gally and the others didn't look too happy with her being there, but they rushed over to help as soon as they saw them limping towards the Berg. Minho and Gally laid Newt in a cot inside the Berg, and they flew off. Thomas felt something shift in his pocket when he sat down, and saw it was the object Newt had given him. He unscrewed it, and took out the paper neatly rolled inside it. He unfolded it slightly, and glimpsed Newt's loopy and graceful handwriting. A note, then. Probably written before the virus had taken over his muscles. Thomas resolutely folded it back and stuffed it in. He wasn't going to read it. Newt could read it to him in person, some day.

Because he could.