-Here we are, FINALLY. I have been waiting so long to update this. Sorry for the wait, but hey, now you can read it! :) I apologize if the end of the chapter seems rushed; I was so excited to get this done. Anyway, enjoy! Let me know if you had a favorite part or, yeah XD-

Thomas had remained behind in Haven after Minho had run off. It wasn't that he didn't want to look for Sarah. Rather, it was that as soon as he'd taken a step into the trees, Lydia had grabbed him by the shirt. She'd then proceeded to cry, asking him why Sarah had run off and if there were things in the forest that could hurt her. Thomas had no answer to these questions, of course. But he reluctantly stayed with her to comfort the poor woman. Guiding her back into the main community, he murmured soothing words and watched the people spread out into the trees.

It didn't look good. The boys that ventured out earlier all came back empty-handed. Gally's green eyes were troubled with the defeat and Brenda insisted that she had to go out searching again. Victor shot Thomas a glower as he passed by. He forced himself to ignore the other boy. He hated what Victor had said to Minho, but a fight wasn't going to solve anything.

David had staggered tiredly out of the undergrowth again and wandered over to a small group of other men. They gathered together and spoke in low tones. They all held equally grave expressions. David shook his head slowly. Not a good sign. The calls of Sarah's name were growing fainter and less often. It seemed like the Immunes were losing hope. Lydia buried her face in her drawn-up knees and wept into her dress. Thomas patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"We won't give up, okay?" he promised her quietly, ducking down to see her face. It was strained and tearstained, her dark eyes pleading. Thomas gave her a sympathetic smile. "We'll find her."

"Who knows what's out in those woods?" Lydia whimpered, shoving straggly, brown hair out of her face. "Who knows what she could be doing or—or what animals might've found her?"

Thomas's heart ached. "She's going to be all right. None of us are giving up without bringing Sarah home. You just have to wait a little longer."

"Oh God, I don't know..."

"Shhh, try to calm down. I swear, we'll find her."

"Oh, Thomas," she sobbed, shaking her head. "Thomas..." Burying her face back in her knees, she trembled next to him. Thomas sighed and rested an arm across her shoulders. He wished he knew how to better comfort the frantic mother, but there really wasn't much he could do. They needed Sarah to come home, safe. That was the only thing that could help them now.

Just then, the sound of Brenda's voice shouting in astonishment made Thomas glance up. David paused in his speaking with the other Immunes and looked around confusedly. Brenda's bronze hair was visible at the edge of the forest, glowing softly in the gathering darkness. Her body was rigid, a finger pointing incredulously into the trees. "Look!"

They all looked. Even Lydia raised her head, sniffling. A rustle of grass and twigs shivered in the air as a small shape bounded toward them between the oak trees. Thomas peered at the figure, hardly daring to believe. But Lydia had no problem believing at all. With a broken cry of, "Sarah!" she leapt up from the ground and tore across the clearing. Several people jumped out of her way with startled exclamations. Straightening up, Thomas looked on with a growing smile, as Lydia crashed into her daughter, already in an embrace. The Immunes all breathed out sighs of relief, a few of the teenage ones hooting in triumph. Lydia rained kisses all over Sarah's face and head, half-scolding her for running off and half-thanking God for returning her daughter. It was a touching scene.

Until Thomas noticed something off. Sarah's cheeks were scratched and bits of dirt clung to her disheveled hair. The same went for her clothes. Even from a few yards back, he could see her trembling violently. Each time she opened her mouth in a panic and struggled to get some words out, her mother cut her off with tearful sayings. But the girl was obviously shaken. Thomas felt his stomach curl uneasily. What had happened out there?

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like the Gladers win again," Gally remarked, half of a smile directed at Thomas. There was a leaf stuck in his black hair from running around during the search. He shrugged. "Well, I mean, technically we didn't FIND her, she found us, but still."

"It was a close call," Thomas replied, still studying Sarah's stammering worriedly.

"Yeah." Glancing around them at the falling night, Gally shuddered. "D'you really think there're animals out there? I mean, dangerous ones?"

"I think there's dangerous animals anywhere you live."

"I guess... It's still creepy though. It's not like we have stone walls around us anymore."

Thomas slanted him a dry look. "Would you rather be back in the Maze then?" he asked sarcastically.

Gally made a face at that. "Erm, no. I'll pass."

"That's what I thought."

"Yeah, I don't think—"

The conversation stumbled to a halt as a new voice shouted from their left: "what the hell is that?" It was David, and he was staring at something over Sarah's shoulder, a good ways away from the happy reunion. His brow furrowed in concern. Striding over to Lydia, he waved his arms at the people gathering around him. "Everybody, quiet!" he commanded.

Instant silence engulfed them. Murmurs died away and the shifting of anxious feet ceased. Thomas found himself holding his breath. Tipping his head slightly, David raised a finger. "Do you hear that?"

Everyone listened. Thomas was sure that all of their hearts froze when they heard it. There was no way you couldn't hear it. It was too close to their home and moving closer still: crashing undergrowth, cracking branches, steps pounding the forest floor, and worst of all, the bloodcurdling sound of animals screaming into the sky. Thomas was rooted to the spot, his blood chilling inside of him. God, what could make a sound like that? He could hear the things snarling, pawsteps thundering from behind a screen of oak branches; he even imagined he heard their snapping jaws. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, even after hearing the Grievers' haunting wails.

David shared an equally unnerved glance with the Immunes closest to him. In her mother's arms, Sarah began to cry. "All right," David announced, upon seeing the child's reaction, "I think we should all—"

They exploded from the forest like a thunderstorm breaking.

The people all gasped and screamed in terror, hurrying back toward one of the log cabins. "What the shuck?" Gally hissed, backing up with them, Thomas still at his side. "Christ, what did they get?"

He was talking about the wolves. The seething, howling, raging wolves. They came rolling out into the open in a tangle of limbs and fur, viciously attacking some poor animal. There were so many of them and they were ripping at it so fiercely, that Thomas couldn't even tell what it was exactly they were slaughtering. It was a grisly sight. He felt sickened watching it, but he couldn't look away. How were they supposed to get rid of a pack of wolves now? They hadn't even known there were wolves living so close.

Then something in the pack shifted. Thomas caught a flicker of the thing between the writhing bodies. His heart stopped beating and fell out of his chest onto the cold ground. "Oh my God."

Gally blinked. "What? What's...Oh SHIT."

Sarah screamed, "MINHO!"

The sickly smell of blood rose into the air as Minho limped under the weight of the attacking pack. He was fighting for his life, even managing to throw one of the animals off of his back. But there was another to replace it, and another, and another. The only way one knew it was even him was his jagged, raven hair and his torn clothes. Other than that, he was nothing but a crimson blur. Thomas's throat closed up as he watched his heart be ripped apart in front of him. Minho fell to his knees under the mass of wolves. One of them tore something from the pile and trotted to the side, gnawing on a strip of dripping red. Oh god, they were eating him alive.

"Minho!" David rushed forward and the rest of the men were close behind. Some of them had snagged burning torches and others drew knives from their pockets. Brandishing the weapons, they yelled furiously and fell on the wolves like soldiers going to war. The screeches and snarls swelled like distant bombs.

Thomas started forward too, but was halted when Jorge grabbed him by the shoulders. "No, Thomas!" he cried, digging his heels into the ground. "Let them handle this! We can't have anyone else getting hurt!"

Thomas growled desperately and fought against him, but he couldn't break free. He wouldn't hurt Jorge, so all he could do was try to wrench his arms from Jorge's grip. He was too strong. "He needs me," Thomas whimpered. "He needs me..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, hermano," Jorge replied in a strained voice. The older man didn't let go though. "But if they get hurt, we need people who can help."

"No, please." Thomas watched with tears in his eyes, as his friends battled with the pack. Minho was visible as a crumpled heap on the ground between them. "Please, let me see him."

"I'm sorry, Thomas," Jorge repeated again, the sadness evident in his voice.

Thomas swallowed down his tears as blazing torches were driven into the flesh of wolves, as blades lifted and came down again, and men yelled for each other. With a collective yelping chorus of cries, the pack licked at their wounds and tore back across Haven. Their paws drummed the ground and their pained barks echoed as they galloped for the trees. In a matter of moments, they'd vanished. Thomas wasted no time in tearing free from Jorge and stumbling toward Minho. There were men grumbling in pain from bites and scratches, checking in with each other. David and a couple of others were circling around the boy lying on the ground. "We need to get him to Matheus, now!" David was calling. Matheus was an older man who lived near the edge of the log cabins. He was their unofficial medical team, considering he was the only one of them that had been a doctor before.

Thomas dodged around David, nearly pushing over another man by accident, and knelt down next to Minho. Minho was sprawled out on his back, an arm across his bloodied stomach. He looked horrible. Crimson slashes from unforgiving fangs marred his skin, all over. His tank top was torn in places where teeth had ripped at it to get beneath. The hand over his stomach was red with his own blood. It clumped in his hair, ran down his neck, soaked his clothes. Thomas's heart hurt.

"Minho..." he whispered, tentatively touching Minho's shoulder.

Flinching under the probing fingertips, Minho gave a long, low noise. His head lolled limply to one side, jaw clenching with pain.

"Help him," Thomas pleaded, and raised his gaze up to David and the others around him.

David's mouth was set in a hard line. Nodding shortly, he bent down beside him and looked over Minho concernedly. "Minho?" he asked. "We're gonna get you some help, okay? We'll take you to Matheus."

Moaning softly, Minho shifted, consciousness slipping. "Thom..."

Thomas's heart ached. "I'm here," he said, taking Minho's hand. "I'm here."

"He's shucked," someone muttered off to their right. Similar agreements rippled throughout the group.

David swept them all with a harsh glance. "C'mon," he ordered, "help me carry him." With that, he began looping his arms under Minho's legs.

Thomas climbed to his feet and stepped back as the others moved in front of him to help. Hands took Minho's arms and legs, and hooked under his back. As carefully as possible, they hefted him up off the ground. A whine of pain escaped the Keeper as his head fell back on its own, one arm dangling. Drops of scarlet dripped from his fingertips. They began to carry him across the clearing, toward Matheus's cabin. Hurrying him along as much as they could, they slipped past the others gathering there. Thomas jogged after them, his throat feeling clogged with cotton.

"How did this happen?!"

That was the first thing Matheus squawked out as the cluster of Immunes burst through his door with no announcement. David spared a quick glance at the gray-haired man. "No time to explain," he replied gruffly. "Get him on a table. And someone grab a towel for the blood."

"I—I have one," Matheus stammered. He snagged a worn, white towel from a stack in the corner. Scraping a wooden table over to the center of the floor, he draped the towel over it. The men snapped at each other to be careful as they lowered Minho onto it. Minho was clinging to wakefulness, chest rising with harsh breaths. Matheus gaped at the ravaged boy in front of him. "Well, I'd still like to know why I have a dying kid in my home!" he snapped, ashy-gray eyes wide.

Thomas gripped the edge of the table. "He's not dying!" he argued.

"He was attacked by wolves," David explained with a warning look fired toward Thomas.

"Wolves?" Matheus echoed. He looked down at Minho through his black-rimmed spectacles. "What were you doing, provoking wolves?"

Minho fought for deep breaths, wincing from his wounds. "Found them...with Sarah," he managed weakly. "Were gonna...attack...her..."

David's face cleared in understanding. "You let them take you instead."

Hissing as Matheus began to assess his injuries with sure fingers, Minho nodded. David shook his head slowly. "Damn, Minho," he muttered. "They would've killed her. Grown men aren't brave enough to do what you did."

Minho offered half of a strained smile. "Thanks..."

Matheus threw his hands up with a huffed exhale. His hair stuck out at all angles as he raked his fingers through it. "That's it; I can't do this with him like wounds need cleaned thoroughly, and bandaged, and I can't do that without help."

"What do you needs us to do?" Thomas asked at once. He glanced down at Minho and the other boy met his gaze, dark eyes softening slightly. "We'll do anything."

Matheus was turning away and rummaging through his medical supplies, boxes and cases of all different sizes. Without looking back, he called over his shoulder, "sit him up and get his shirt off. I'm gonna need to see the wounds on his back..."

"Okay," David exhaled, taking Minho's shoulders to help him sit up. He glanced up at the men gathering uncertainly around him. "You guys can leave. We don't need a big crowd in the way. Victor and Thomas, you can stay."

"Oh, damn," Victor growled.

"Oh, shit," Minho muttered in return.

David rolled his eyes. "Just sit up, Minho."

Cautious, Thomas helped the two others lift Minho up off the table. The other men filed out of the lamplit room, already spreading the gossip of what had happened to the Immunes waiting outside. Thomas had taken a place by Minho's head, one hand on the back of it to cradle him up. The hair there was sticky with blood and made him shudder. Minho gritted his teeth as they made him sit up and then they were easing up the hem of his tank top. "Ah—" he gasped as he was forced to raise his arms and they dragged the fabric up his body. Thomas couldn't help but grimace when he saw the ugly gashes in Minho's back, rippling over the muscle. There were similar injuries bit into his collarbone and his sides.

"Well," Matheus said flatly, hauling some gauzy bandages and a jar of something clear over, "it looks like the worst of it's on your back. Which is good. Shielding the front was smart, as there are more vital organs there..." He trailed off, mumbling things to himself about medical treatments as he studied Minho's wounds.

Thomas kept holding the back of Minho's head as he watched the doctor work. Gently, he rubbed his fingers through Minho's hair there. Minho glanced at him gratefully. "Hey," he mumbled.

"Hey." Thomas smiled a wobbly smile. Watching David talk in low tones with Matheus, helping point out scratches and bites, he sighed. "I'm only good for holding you up while they do the work," he muttered. "Wish I could do more."

"You're doing fine, shank," Minho replied. "I thought you'd be giving me hell for getting attacked by wolves."

"I will later, trust me," Thomas joked. Then he frowned. "I...I thought you were...I was so..." He stumbled to a halt. Awkwardly, he just leaned in and touched a kiss to Minho's cheek. "I'm glad you're not dead," he murmured warmly.

Minho's mouth curved up at the corner. "Love you too, shuckface."

Matheus had been checking the damage, pushing his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. There didn't seem to be much worry on his face yet. Retrieving a rag and that clear jar, he popped off the lid. A sharp scent was released into the air, the too-clean smell of antiseptic. He didn't have much, as it had been carefully kept with him from his doctoring years, but it was enough. "All right," he muttered, dipping the rag into the liquid. "Let's see here." He began cleaning out the more minor bite marks on Minho's collar and ribs. Minho sucked in a breath at the sting of the antiseptic. Matheus spared him a glance. "You okay?"

"Fine," Minho bit out. His head tilted back instinctively into Thomas's hand cupping his head.

Thomas lightly massaged the nape of Minho's neck, trying to sooth him. The Keeper's eyes closed in something like relief for a second, until Matheus announced, "done. Now let me see your back."

Minho glanced at the others uncertainly. David nodded to him once, already starting over. "We'll help you," he said, with no hesitation. As he and Thomas took Minho's shoulders to help flip him over, he shot a glare toward Victor. "You can help too, Victor."

Exhaling a rough, dramatic sigh, Victor tossed his hands up. "Aw, why?" he whined. "I don't want the guy's blood on me."

"Suck it up," David shot back.

"The slinthead's always picking a fight with me!" Victor argued. He glowered at Minho, who glowered right back. "He deserved what he got."

Thomas stiffened. "Shut up."

"Oh, of course his slut over there is gonna stand up for him."

Bristling, Thomas nearly strode over to punch the jackass, but Minho's hand on his arm stopped him. David's head jerked up, icy eyes flashing. "Victor!" he snapped threateningly.

Victor was rigid, rat-like eyes daring Thomas to shake off Minho's hold and start a fight already. He was scared of Minho. He wasn't as scared of Thomas. Finally, he flashed David a dirty look and trudged over to help. This time, it took Thomas holding onto Minho's legs to get him flipped over. They did it as carefully as possible, going slow and easy. But they all still felt the same unease once Minho was laying on his stomach and his beaten back was on display. It was bad. Thomas could tell. Strips of skin had been torn from either side of his spine. Blood oozed from the wounds and soaked into the towel beneath him. Thomas nearly gagged at the black smell of it and retreated back to standing by Minho's head.

Matheus cleared his throat in a mixture of thought and concern. "Hm. Well, first, let me get it cleaned." With no other warning, he poured some of the antiseptic across the gashes on Minho's back.

Thomas could only imagine that it burned like hell, because Minho planted his forearms on the table and made a small pained sound. His jaw was tight as he bowed his head, hair brushing the towel beneath him. His hands were in fists, forearms holding his head and upper body off the table. Thomas trembled at the sight of the muscles tightening in the open wounds.

"Shuck," Minho muttered roughly.

Finished with the cleaning, Matheus went back to examining Minho's back. Whatever he saw made him frown and scrub the back of his head with a hand. "I'm sorry," he said at last, "but you need stitches. There's no other way to make sure it heals properly." Wringing his hands, he sighed. "I'm afraid I have no way of...numbing you..."

Victor promptly left the room, due to his queasiness about the entire situation. David dragged his hand over his face and shifted his weight to his other foot. Minho had stilled. "What?" he asked in a smaller voice.

"I'm sorry," Matheus repeated. "But we can't leave the wound open."

"I—" Minho broke off, staring at the ground. "Okay."

"Good." Turning away, Matheus retrieved a clean needle from a little box, along with thread. It was probably a major win for him, to have stolen the medical thread while he'd been a doctor at WICKED. Making sure he had a long enough piece, he expertly threaded the needle. Minho lay tense under him. Leaning over the injuries, Matheus readied his hands. "Okay, we're going to start right here..." he murmured to himself.

Minho shivered. "Thomas?"

"I'm still here," Thomas replied, his stomach twisting at the trace of fear in Minho's voice. He touched Minho's arm reassuringly.

The needle sank in.

Minho's gasp tore sharply into the room. Thomas tightened his grip on the Keeper's arm as Matheus continued looping the thread through Minho's skin. Each time the needle dipped in, Minho whimpered and hid his face from the onlookers. Thomas's throat felt like a stone had been lodged inside of it. He couldn't stand to see Minho in pain, especially when there was nothing he could do to help. He could just stand beside him and stroke his hair every now and then, murmuring soothing words in his ear. He wasn't sure if Minho heard him over his own strained sounds of pain. He felt so utterly useless, the way he always did when Minho had to face things on his own. Minho had always been stronger than him, never needing help. But Thomas couldn't stop trying.

He'd tried to be there for Minho in the Maze and the Scorch. He'd tried to be there for Minho after Newt had died. He knew he could never save Minho from all the horrors, or replace Newt in Minho's heart.

But he couldn't stop trying.