Thomas came to slowly, hovering just above consciousness. His mind was cloudy and the voices he could just barely hear around him came through muffled. Like he was under water, but he could feel the ground underneath him. He could feel the sun hitting his skin. He tried to remember why that was odd. Tried to remember where he was before this instant. This instant that lasted forever.

"Do you think he's okay?"

"He's here, isn't he? I'm pretty sure he's not okay."

"Here isn't so bad."

Thomas felt like he knew these voices. No, he definitely knew these voices, but something was wrong. Whoever the voices belonged to, Thomas shouldn't be hearing them.

"Should we wake him up?" that voice hurt to hear, and Thomas couldn't remember why it hurt but the sound of it pushed Thomas into consciousness. He sat straight up, gulping down as much air as he could, he felt like he hadn't breathed in ages. He clutched his stomach expecting something to hurt. Something always hurt when he woke up like this didn't it? He felt around his chest, his arms, all the while the sun burned his eyes, keeping him from seeing much. He heard a faint noise, like a soft ringing in his ears, but it was drowned out by the voices around him.

"Thomas!" he didn't have time to take in much more of his surroundings before his arms were full of someone, a boy with curly hair, Thomas couldn't place why he suddenly felt like crying. His arms wrapped around the shorter boy on their own He felt confused by the presence of the curly haired kid. Shouldn't he be somewhere else? Somewhere that kept Thomas from seeing him? Thomas's head hurt.

"Hey, Chuckie." His own voice surprised him, saying the name like it was the most natural thing in the world. Chuckie, but that wasn't right. That wasn't right because Chuck wasn't around anymore, Chuck wasn't around anymore because chuck died. He died in place of Thomas. Jumped in front of a bullet to save him. Chuck was dead. Chuck had his arms wrapped around Thomas's neck.

"Hey shank, what the shuck you doing? What happened?" Thomas pulled away from Chuck, Chuck's alive? Chuck's death. Then he started to look around. He was in the Glade, at least it looked almost like the glade. He could see the homestead, leaning walls and all, the farm, the path of trees he knew to be the deadheads, it looked like home. Thomas didn't stop to wonder why he saw the glade as a home instead of a prison.

"I came up in the box just like you," Thomas said. It took him far too long to realize there were no walls, no giant doors, no maze. Just an endless field. It wasn't like he was refusing to connect the dots, a part of him knew how wrong this place looked. A small part, but still a part of him, knew what exactly was going on. The bigger part of him, wanted this all to be real. Wanted Winston and Zart to be real, wanted the Alby to be real. He wanted Chuck, who was still half in his lap, to be real. But it wasn't, was it? The boys that stood around him in a half circle exchanged a look and Thomas suddenly felt very very small.

"Yeah, okay, how's Newt?" Frypan asked, and the words hit him, actually hit him so hard in the chest, he could feel the impact like he was being hit, but Thomas remembered. Remembered Newt. He gasped and crawled backward from Chuck, scrabbling to get a hold of himself. The ringing grew louder in his ears.

"Thomas? You okay." Chuck said slowly but Thomas didn't hear him or didn't want to hear him. He felt something hit his chest again. And he doubled over himself. It was like someone was trying to break his ribs.

"What is this, you, you're all... Fry?" Thomas pulled himself together enough to look up at the boys, at his friends, and he felt tears in his eyes all over again. The reality of the situation coming into focus in ways he did not, did not, did not want them to.

"Dead," Alby said, kneeling down next to Thomas and placing his hand on his shoulder and it felt like First Day all over again. He half expected Gally to call him greenie and haul him out of the box, but there was no box, no walls, no maze. No box, no walls, no maze, no WICKED.

"I'm not..." Thomas started, shaking his head. Memories started to surface. The white room, Newt. being rescued at the end of their escape, Newt being dragged away from him. He didn't see what happened to Minho, why didn't he see what happened to Minho? His dad, Melissa. A group of friends he couldn't remember but he wanted to, he wanted to. Derek, kissing him, hitting him, saving him, Newt. Newt was infected again, not again still. Still infected, Newt. They felt like electricity. He couldn't remember how he knew what electricity felt like and maybe that was for the best The ringing got more persistent in his ears.

"Not yet." Alby sighed "not yet, you can't be, you still have work to do." Alby was smiling at him but all Thomas could see was Chuck. Chuck who was just a kid, just a child who never knew life outside the maze. His fault. All his fault. Thomas stared at Chuck who stood there smiling at him. Chuck never had a choice, his fault his fault. Thomas realized all over again the memory hitting him hard in the chest like electricity. He killed Chuck. It was his fault. His vision darkened like he was seeing through a tunnel.

"Chuck I'm so sorry, you didn't," Thomas felt something hit his chest again and he couldn't breathe. "You didn't." he gasped. You didn't have a choice, Thomas wanted to shout, he wanted to cry, he wanted to beg forgiveness, his fault, but he couldn't find his voice.

"Its okay," Chuck grinned at him. Thomas wanted to scream at him, tell him it's not okay, there's nothing okay about it. He wanted Chuck to be angry. Wanted him to realize how unfair this was. He wanted him to hate WICKED. He wanted Chuck to hate him for breaking his promise. Chuck blurred and his eyes burned he opened his mouth and nothing came out.

"Listen to me Thomas," Alby said, forcing Thomas's attention back to him, clamping down harder on Thomas's shoulder. "you have to go back." Thomas felt himself nodding, but he didn't know what he was nodding to exactly. And then Alby punched him hard square in the chest sending Thomas falling backward, his head hitting the ground hard and his vision darkening, darkening.

And he was falling

Thomas could still hear the ringing in his ears when he stopped falling, had he stopped falling? and he struggled to open his eyes, to sit up, to breathe. His lungs burned in his chest and he wondered if this was it. He was paralyzed. And the ringing in his ears got louder and louder until it was the only thing he knew, a constant high pitched ring.

His chest was hit with another shockwave, he wanted it to stop, it hurt. His lungs burned with want for air. It hurt. He wanted to go back to his friends.

It hit again and this time Thomas could breathe. He sat up, at least he thought he sat up, everything around him was still black but the ringing was less constant. Pulsating with his uneven heartbeat. He stood up, shakily at first, looking around. He recognized this place if he could even call it that, it was more of an emptiness, a void. It was the backdrop for over half of his nightmares. It wasn't just black, it was deeper than that, darker than black, but the darkness almost felt alive, like it was flexing and folding over him. but he could breath

He could almost see movement out of the corner of his eyes and sometimes, sometimes he thought he could see a shape of someone or something. But he could never catch it. His breathing started to come to him easier, if by only a little, and his legs felt more solid under him. He could hear voices floating around him but couldn't make out their words.

Thomas ran. He didn't know why he ran, he didn't know where he was running to, but he ran. He could have been running in place for all he knew the black around him never changed, only shifted around him, bending at his knees and his elbows, like it was attached to his own joints. But Thomas ran because that's all he knew to do. He was a runner, so he ran.

"Tommy." it was the first voice that Thomas could make sense of in this empty place. But he held onto it. pushing his legs harder. He knew where he was running to now. Where he'd always been running to. Where he would forever run to. He was running to Newt.

"Please wake up Tommy." wake up, wake up, wake up. He had to wake up, for Newt, for his dad, for all his new old friends that he had to get to know, for Minho who he had to find, for Chuck who died so he could live. He had to wake up. He had to wake up. He had to wake up.

"I'm here, Tommy." the voice got louder and Thomas felt something touching him, like the ghost of a hand brushing the hair out of his face and it felt like him.

Thomas ran faster. The ringing in his ear had settled into a steady rhythm then he set his running too, turned into more of a beeping sound. Beep, beep, beep, left, right, left. He could feel it now. He could feel it under his feet, something solid, he could feel it in his heart beating against his chest with a new found strength, he could feel it in Newt's voice as it snaked through him getting louder and louder. He flexed his fingers, curling them into fists as he ran because now he could.

Thomas could see it, or see something different in this void. It was nothing cheesy like a light in the middle of the darkness but it was him, it was Newt just standing there. Grinning in the way that Thomas had only seen once before. It was right when he came up in the box, Newt had been one of the first people he had seen, he wasn't smiling then, it was later, after Thomas ran, after Thomas fell, he remembered the group of boys running to him, laughing and Newt was among them, granted he was behind the main group, he had a limp. But his smile was the biggest and most beautiful he thought he'd ever seen. The memory fueled him to close the remaining few feet. To reach out. To touch Newt.

Thomas fell.

His feet tangling under him only he didn't hit the ground at Newts feet, he fell through it, tumbling over himself reaching out for something to grab onto. Watching Newt disappear above him.

"Please don't die on me Tommy" the words were so much quieter and Thomas's heart broke with the voice. He was so close, so close so close.

The impact was unexpected. Unexpected in that Thomas couldn't see it. Unexpected in how much it hurt, landing on nothingness, it jarred his entire body. His bones ached and his joints protested. Unexpected when it knocked the wind out of him. But there was something else. A sound.

A sound that sent chills down his spine. It was like laughter, like hollow laughter that Thomas couldn't remember ever hearing before. A sound that Thomas couldn't remember not hearing. A sound that made him want to scream. It was the last thing he heard in that place, in that void. Before he lost consciousness if that even was what he had in the first place.

Thomas opened his eyes to bright light and white ceilings. He didn't panic like he'd done the first time he woke up to this view. He breathed, wincing when his chest pulled tight but still he breathed as deeply as he could. That's all he did for awhile, either unable or unwilling to move much more than that. He knew when he did the hurt would be much harder to ignore. It was like his entire body had been set on fire. And he guessed, in a way, it had.

Thomas didn't know how he got out of that place, or how he even survived in the first place, he didn't know how long he'd been in the hospital or even how long he was with Monroe. There were few things that Thomas did know.

One, someone told Monroe who he was, who he used to be and whoever that person was, is dead. Someone else is dead. And it was his fault.

Two, he should not have survived any of that.

And three, the connection between him and WICKED, the thing they put in his head, was fried. Thomas could only assume that this meant they couldn't control him, they couldn't block his memories, Teresa couldn't talk to him. And while that was all good news, it also meant they'd go to more extremes to get him back. That meant more people died and for what? A cure for a disease that they created? A disease that hasn't touched any other part of the world. There was so much left that still didn't make sense. So much that he needed answers for and there was only one place he was going to get them. Even if the idea turned his stomach, even if no one would allow it. He had to get his answers.

Thomas pulled himself up, ignoring his body's protest. He ignored the pull of the IVs on his arms, he had every intention of ripping them out and getting out of here, away from anyone that might still be in the hospital, away from innocent people that would only get in WICKEDs way when they came for him. The surprising thing was he wasn't scared. Not of WICKED. He knew exactly what could happen to him when he went back. He knew it would be horrible but he didn't fear it.

Thomas managed to put his feet on the floor before he had to stop to collect himself. He supposed it made sense, it would probably take his body a minute to remember how to walk after someone tried to cook him. Honestly, Thomas thought, what could be worse than that?

"Tommy." Thomas didn't notice when the door opened while he was trying to stand. He didn't move. It was hard to admit to himself that he was scared to look. He didn't know what he would see if it would be WICKED's puppet or the boy from the glade he'd fallen in love with. So instead of facing it, he stared at his bare feet against the cold floor and hands that were clutching the edge of the bed so tight his knuckles matched the sheets until his vision blurred. He screwed his eyes closed then and tried to breathe without releasing the sob stuck in his throat. He heard movement before he felt hands on his knees. "Tommy look at me." he wanted to, god he'd never wanted anything more in his life, but he was so scared. His breath caught in his throat with the sob.

"I can't" Thomas wasn't sure if he said it out loud but he knew he was thinking it. He couldn't, because as soon as he did Newt would be gone, everything would be gone and he'd be alone again. He knew it as well as he knew anything. And when the hands on his knees disappeared Thomas sobbed out loud because he was right, he was right and Newt was gone now.

A hand cupped his face, lightly, hesitantly, then another on the other side. They were tilting his head up and he was too busy sobbing to fight them. Not that he would have in the first place.

Then there were lips against his. This was nothing like the last few times Thomas had been kissed. This took his breath away, in the best way. His eyes fluttered open on their own and he was looking at Newt, not a dream, not a puppet, not anything other than Newt, and Newt was kissing him. He was kissing him and all Thomas could do was stare at his closed eyes. Newt kissed him until the only thing Thomas knew was Newt. Until his hands relaxed their grip on the bed. until he could breathe again, but couldn't at the same time because he didn't want to pull away from him, from Newt.

Until Newt pulled away.

And for half a second Thomas panicked, thinking he would disappear before his eyes.

But he didn't disappear. He didn't disappear. He was standing here in front of Thomas.

But just in case Thomas lifted a shaky hand to Newt's face. Newt leaned into Thomas's touch and the last of Thomas's fear fell away.

"Tommy, i" Newt's eyes were dark, they always got darker when he was worried, or sad, or angry. They were still beautiful, always beautiful. Thomas rubbed circles on newts cheek with his thumb.

"Its okay, I'm okay." Thomas found himself saying, whether it was true or not because Thomas would always do anything for Newt.

Thomas wanted this moment to last forever.

They stood there in silence. It was all Thomas could do to look at Newt, his beautiful brown eyes that were so, so warm they might as well have been the sun. he couldn't look away. Because this is what he'd been fighting for. Newt. okay, and healthy and now that they were together again they could face anything.

"I thought I'd lost you, Tommy," Newt said, breaking the silence.

"I thought id lost you a long time ago," Thomas replied remembering the way Newt had looked at him. Not when he was being controlled by WICKED. Not when he shot his dad, but when he had told Thomas he hated him. When he'd told Thomas to kill him. He never thought he could have had this moment with Newt.

"You're never losing me, Tommy, the things I said to you, the things I did, I'm so bloody sorry Tommy." Newt took a step backward and took all his warmth with him, leaving Thomas shivering.

"Hey, it wasn't you, none of it was you." Thomas let his hand drop from Newt's face only to grab Newt's hand and gently pull him back to his spot between Thomas's knees.

"It was, though. And I'm so bloody, so-" Thomas cleaned up as much as he could, pressing his lips to Newts. Newt hesitated, making Thomas pull away, searching Newt's eyes. They were staring at each other only mere centimeters apart when the door swung open.

Newt took a small step back but didn't let go of his hand.

"Thomas! Oh," Thomas looked up at Derek standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide and he could see Derek's hands trembling at his side, and he wanted to do something, anything, to still them.

"I, I just," Thomas had never heard Derek talk like this. He'd always been so sure with his words, with everything really. The most Thomas had ever seen him show any emotion was when Derek kissed him and even that, he was guarded. Now Derek stood half in the doorway of his hospital room with his mouth hanging slightly open looking like he wanted to be anywhere but right there at this particular moment.

"Derek." Thomas started because he knew, didn't he? He knew that they'd had something in the past, the kiss had proven that. But what could Thomas do about it now?

"Wait, you're Derek?" Newt asked before Thomas could say anything else. "You're the one that saved Thomas from that place right?" Derek closed his mouth and Thomas could see his jaw clench as he nodded. This was new information to Thomas. "Thank you." Newt started to walk to Derek but Thomas held onto his hand, pulling him back. Newt looked at him with a question in his eyes. Nut otherwise stayed put.

"Yeah. well. I have to go for a while." Derek looked right at Thomas with cold hard eyes when he said this, and Thomas tried to ignore the disappointment that settled in his stomach. Then he was gone.

"Newt," Thomas looked up at him.

"You need to rest Tommy. You almost didn't make it and now here you are about to pull your bloody IVs out." Newt gently pushed Thomas back into the bed and Thomas let himself be taken care of.

Thomas didn't sleep that night, he watched Newt slowly drift into sleep instead. He watched the rise and fall of his chest. He listened to his breathing and when he was sure he was sound asleep Thomas slid out of bed. He investigated the IV bag, it was nearly empty so he pulled the tubes out, albeit more gently than the last time. He found clothes someone must have brought for him and pulled them on as quietly as he could. His body still ached and his hands shook with the effort.

He paused in the doorway, his hands on either side of the threshold. What if this was the last time? What if he never saw him again? Thomas thought as he glanced over the shoulder at Newt, sleeping soundly against the bed. He was so beautiful when he slept.

"I love you" Thomas whispered because he had to say it at least once. Even if Newt would never hear it, he had to say it.

The hallways in the hospital were nearly empty. A few nurses passed him but none seemed to pay him any attention. His footsteps were too loud they echoed in his ears as he made his way down the hall. His palms were sweating and he kept looking behind him sure he'd see someone following him. He had to get out of here as fast as he could. But first, he had one more stop to make.

He found His dad's room easily, it was down the hall from his own. He stared at the name tag, 'Noah Stilinski'. Thomases hands were shaking as he reached for the door handle. He glanced around before slipping into the room, and pulled the door closed silently. He couldn't move, He stood there one hand on the door handle and the other on the doorframe and he couldn't move.

"Son?" The Sheriff's voice sounded heavy "Son, is that you?" like he wasn't quite awake. Thomas stared at the wood of the door, leaning his forehead on it.

"No, you're just dreaming dad," he said barely loud enough for the man to hear him.

"You're leaving?" Thomas pushed himself off the door and turned to face his dad.

"You're dreaming." Thomas felt a tear fall down his cheek and ignored it.

"No, you're leaving. Its okay Stiles, its okay I understand." Thomas almost choked on a sob.

"Go back to sleep." Thomas took a few steps closer and pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.

"I love you son." Thomas left the paper folded into four on the table by the bed.

"Good night dad." Thomas didn't stay, didn't wait to hear if his dad said anything else.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Nothing should really surprise him anymore. He walked out of the hospital into the parking lot and he saw her immediately. She wasn't looking at him, but he had a feeling she knew he was here. Even if they weren't connected anymore it didn't mean she didn't know him. He didn't see any point in putting it off any longer, he walked up beside her.

"Hi Tom." he could feel her eyes on him.

"Teresa."

"Are you coming home?" she asked. The air was cold and Thomas glanced behind him at the Hospital.

"No, I'm leaving home," he responded, looking at her for the first time.

"WICKED is your home."

"You have to promise you'll leave everyone here alone." She smirked at him, Thomas wasn't the kind of guy that would ever hit a girl but he'd never felt more tempted than right now.

"You mean your boyfriend?"

"Teresa. You leave them all alone or I'm not coming with you."

"I don't know tom. Your track record with keeping your word doesn't seem too good does it?"

"That was different." he started.

"You left me there Tom! You left me there!" Teressa was yelling now and Thomas was grateful it was so late, or maybe it was early.

"I didn't have a choice, they weren't exactly offering to let us stay. Do we have a deal or not?" Teresa started to laugh.

"And what makes you think you have a choice?" she asked in between giggles. "What makes you think that you have any place to stand here tom?" he didn't like the way she said that. He started to look around for someone he may have missed. "You don't get a choice anymore tom."

Thomas felt something stick in his neck. He felt it but he didn't know where it came from. His hand flew up feeling the needle sticking out of his neck and he wondered how he'd let himself be so stupid. He pulled it out and looked from it to Teresa.

"You don't get to choose anymore," Teresa said again. It looked like the world was spinning as Teressa fell away from him, or he fell away from her, he couldn't be sure.

Thomas felt he should be used to falling. Used to landing on hard surfaces. Used to losing his breath.

It was empty and suffocating in the place he opened his eyes, just like it always was and for a moment Thomas contemplated death.

Thomas didn't want to die. But what were the chances hed escape WICKED again? And what kind of life is that?

Thomas didn't want to die, but maybe he didn't want to live either.

Thomas didn't want to die, but maybe he did.

Maybe he did.

'Oh, you don't really want to die, do you?' Thomas jumped to his feet, looking around for the owner of the voice.

'After everything you've survived, you're going to call it quits now.' the voice floated around him ominously. Thomas spun around in circles looking for the source of the voice, feeling the black fold around him like fabric.

"Who are you?" he shouted into the black abyss.

'Oh Stiles, you don't remember me? I mean forgetting everything else, I get. But forget me? Me? I'm a thousand years old, Stiles. You cant forget me.' the voice was everywhere, like the sound itself was pressing into him.

"My name is not Stiles."

'Your name hardly matters. Do you want to hear a riddle? When is a door not a door?' Thomas stood there dumbstruck.

'When is a door not a door.' 'when is a door not a door' the phrase bounced around Thomas, ricocheting off invisible walls and hitting him full force.

"Who are you?" he shouted again spinning around looking for some sign that he wasn't alone. A figure appeared in front of him out of nowhere and Thomas fell back.

'I'm you, Stiles' and Thomas saw himself standing above him. Only his hair stood on end and there were dark circles around his eyes.

"No."

'No? No? That's funny Stiles. You know it hurt, after all, I've done to keep you alive, to keep us alive and you really have no idea what I am? What you are?' Thomas shook his head and turned away from the mirror image of himself. He felt sick to his stomach.

'Don't worry stiles, you'll answer my question sooner or later.' the thing wearing his face laughed, the sound filled the space like there were millions of him.

"What question?" Thomas snapped and all the laughter immediately stopped. Everything falling into an eerie silence. Thomas felt a hand on his chin, forcing his head to turn.

'When is a door not a door?' he leaned in to whisper it inches away from Thomas's face. He disappeared in front of Thomas as he talked, his body fading to nothing until the darkness had swallowed him whole and Thomas was left hearing echoes of 'when is a door not a door'