A/N: Once again I find myself apologizing for the delay, but you may be able to see why I struggled with this chapter. The first half in particular warrants a couple of content/trigger warnings: allusions to self-harm and suicide, panic attacks, and general death. Yes, some of those triggers apply to me; yes, that is why I struggled; no, I will not be elaborating further. I will, however, provide a summary at the end for those who would prefer to skip such topics.
The next several days are weird. No one but Ash, Alby, and Minho are allowed inside the Medjack hut— not even Jeff or Clint, the other Medjacks. The three that are allowed inside are quiet and secretive when around the rest of the Gladers, and they seem to all be in agreement to not talk about what exactly happened out in the Maze.
A few of the other Builders whisper amongst themselves, but a single glare from Gally silences them quickly.
Eventually, Newt seems to be allowed to leave the Medjack hut, though one of the other three is always by his side, and he always has to use the crutches Gally had once needed. Since Minho still has to run the Maze, and Alby has to keep the rest of the Glade running smoothly, that task usually falls to Ash. Even from a distance, Gally can tell she always seems nervous being around the now-former Runner.
She mother-hens him, very reminiscent of when Gally had sprained his ankle. He can see now that she had meant it when she'd said cared about her friends.
He tries not to let it get to him.
Newt fights his recovery every step of the way, more stubborn than anyone else in the Glade… save one person. Ash herself.
After three months of back and forth arguing about bed rest, crutches, and a constant baby-sitter, she tries a new approach— a bet.
"If we're not out of here in the next eighteen months," Ash says quietly, "I'll let you do whatever the hell you want to yourself." He looks at her, eyes full of doubt. Meeting his gaze, she holds it steadily. Unflinching.
"I'm going to tell you a story first," she adds. "But then I'll let you do whatever."
"And if we somehow make it out of here before then?"
"I'll still tell you that story," she says, smirking for a brief moment. Newt rolls his eyes, finally looking away.
"And what makes you so sure we'll ever make it out?" he asks quietly.
She doesn't respond at first, training her eyes on a spot on the wall just behind him. Lips pursing, her shoulders slump as a deep breath releases from her nose. "I don't think I could answer that, even if I wanted to," she admits. "But we won't make it out if we don't keep trying."
Newt scoffs, but doesn't argue. Ash debates saying more, wanting to reassure her friend, but she's worried about who— or what— may be listening. Frustrated and fed up, Ash shakes her head before stepping outside. Alby's already waiting there, brows furrowed and arms crossed.
"Please don't tell me something else has happened," Ash sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't think I could handle-"
"Nah, everything's fine," Alby assures her, relaxing his stance somewhat. "I was just wondering about Newt's condition. How is he?"
She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, trying to figure out how exactly to respond. "I don't think he's going to try again," she says quietly. "Emotionally, I think he's more pissed than anything else at this point. I don't know if it's us, or himself, or the people who put us in here…"
"All of the above?" Alby suggests wryly.
"I'm gonna go grab some lunch and use the bathroom. Will you keep an eye on him?" Ash asks, and Alby nods.
She heads toward the bathrooms first, locking the door behind her. Leaning against the wall, she tries to take a deep breath as her throat threatens to close up on her. Her eyes burn with tears begging to be shed, but she wipes her sleeve across her face and bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood.
Stop it, she commands herself. They need you. Your friends need you— especially Newt. This isn't like before… these guys care about you. They're your friends.
No matter how true her mental statements may be, they don't really do much to head off the other thoughts brewing.
Covering her mouth and nose with one hand, she tangles her other in her hair, tugging just hard enough to feel the tension on her scalp. It's not enough to hurt, but it keeps her grounded. Something to distract her.
She focuses on that delicate not-quite-pain, and inhales for eight counts. Holds for four. Exhales for seven. She'd learned that technique a while ago. It's almost always been able to help her, including today.
After a few cycles, Ash begins to feel better already. She hears light scratching at the door, and opens it to see Nellie waiting for her, her favorite stick on the ground. The dog's ears are back, and she's whining.
Shaking her head with a sigh, Ash picks the stick up and tosses it a good distance away. It spins end over end until it lands, and it's like a switch has been flipped. Nellie bolts off after it, her ears forward once more and her tail wagging. Ash steps back inside the bathroom to splash her face with some water from the sink, then uses her sleeve to dry off.
There's no mirrors in the Glade, so she can only hope that she doesn't look like she's been crying. She doesn't need anyone asking her about it— or worse, teasing her. There are very few who would dare, but she doesn't like taking chances.
By the time Nellie returns with her stick, Ash is back outside. Collecting the stick, Ash throws it again— this time, in the opposite direction of the kitchens. As Nellie chases after it, Ash heads away to go get some food. She passes a couple of the slicers, nodding to them in a brief acknowledgment.
Lunchtime has become much more relaxed in the time she's been here, she's noticed. Breakfast and dinner are both served all at once, and Gladers are expected to grab their servings in their respective timeframes. Lunch, however, has become more of a "whenever you get a chance" meal. Which, of course, can mean different times for different jobs.
Ash is usually one of the last to eat, mostly because she often gets so distracted by other things that she just forgets that she hasn't eaten yet. Today, however, she seems to be among the first to get lunch.
Frypan greets her with a big smile, a wave, and a portion of lunch.
"How's Newt?" he asks. It's the first thing anyone really says to her these days. She understands, but sometimes it can be a little grating on her nerves.
"Driving me nuts," she says plainly. "The sooner I can get him out of that hut, the better. We started testing his weight on his bad leg today. He's definitely gonna have a limp for a while…"
"What about you?" Fry asks, his dark eyes darting across her face.
"Lemme guess, I look awful?" she says dryly. "Like I haven't slept in a week?"
He shrugs, looking mildly sheepish. "I was gonna say it nicer than that, but yeah."
Nellie interrupts for some more play time, but Ash tells her no, and looks back to Frypan.
"I've certainly been better," she admits, leaning against the windowsill as she picks at her food. "It's just all so stressful. Not like ugh it's so annoying, but like… I'm constantly worried about him, you know?"
"I mean, he just broke his leg," Frypan points out. "It's not like he got Stung, or stabbed or something, right? He's not still in danger."
"Right," Ash says quietly, biting her tongue.
"He's probably bored as hell, right?"
She nods as a few more Gladers come up to get food. One of them, the latest greenie, smiles at her. His name is Jack, she recalls, and she smiles back at him, though not quite as enthusiastically. Her mind is halfway somewhere else.
Minho runs alone, barely stopping long enough to scarf down the sandwich he'd packed for the day. The ivy covered walls loom over him, casting shadows he can't escape. He puts all his focus on the twists and turns, learning the path he's taken.
Continuing to run is the only thing that's kept him from dwelling too hard on what's going on with Newt. His best friend. His (former) running partner. His…
Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Minho skids to a halt as he takes in the sight before him. The narrow corridors have given way to a much wider path, only slightly curving off in the distance. Minho has a feeling this particular path circles the entire Maze, and his heartbeat quickens with a spike of hope.
Is this the key?
The wall on the other side of the wider corridor is somewhat cleaner than the rest of the Maze, devoid of ivy— but it's covered in grooves that look almost like claw marks in the concrete. A chill races down his spine as he thinks of the similar marks he's seen. Unlike before, however, there's no half-dried slime trailing around.
Checking his watch, he decides to give himself an hour to head down this path. He picks a direction and starts running again.
It's not long before he sees a large symbol painted on the outer wall, right next to a section that looks a bit like the Maze Doors at night. It's a number— 5. After about fifteen minutes, he comes across another one, a large 6.
He turns and heads in the opposite direction, coming across an opening with the number 4 painted beside it. Checking his watch again, he does the math in his head. Each number seems to be evenly spaced.
How many of these sections are there? he wonders. He knows he doesn't have time to investigate further, not if he wants to make it back to the Glade before the doors close.
With a heavy sigh, he forces himself to turn around once more and make his way back to the Glade. He passes the spot where he'd found Newt that day, and has to slap his own cheek to keep himself focused on the path ahead. It doesn't take much longer, though he barely makes it in time, having only about ten minutes to spare.
Alby's waiting for him, concern etched into his features.
"I was startin' to get worried," he says, but Minho barely pays any attention, keeping his pace to get all the way to the woods. He can hear Alby behind him, following.
It isn't until they reach the safety of the secret hut— the map room— with the door closed behind them, that Minho speaks.
"I found something," he says, and Alby's eyes nearly bulge out of his head.
"What?! Where?"
"It's like… like an outer section," he says, pulling out the map he and Newt had spent months upon months to create. Every line was created painstakingly, hours at a time spent cooped up together in this very room to capture every detail.
"I think there were doors— like what we've got between us and the Maze," Minho continues. "But the ones I saw were all closed. The only reason I know they're doors is because there was one that was open. They've all got numbers painted on the wall next to 'em."
He grabs a pencil and adds a few small marks— the numbers four through six— in roughly the spots he'd seen them.
"So there's even more Maze?" Alby asks, shoulders deflating.
"Yeah, but I think this is different," Minho defends his discovery. "The corridor where these doors were, was a lot wider and cleaner. Like it's… newer, or something."
"It's progress," Alby says slowly, crossing his arms. "Which… man, we haven't had any in a while. Thanks, Minho."
"Don't thank me yet," Minho replies. He shakes his head, running one gloved hand through his hair. "I have a feeling we still have a ways to go. You're not gonna like this next part, especially after what happened with Newt, but I'm gonna need help with this, Alby."
The leader surprisingly nods his head in agreement. "We need more runners."
A/N: Summary: The aftermath of Newt's 'accident' out in the Maze, where he and Ash essentially make a bet surrounding their eventual potential escape. Afterward, Ash has a bit of a mental breakdown. Meanwhile, Minho discovers the numbered outer sections of the Maze, and he and Alby agree that more Runners are necessary to explore these new areas.