Hi, guys! I did it again. After three years and after seeing the first Maze Runner movie recently, I read the trilogy again and it still had such an impact on me that I had to get it off my chest and decided to continue the story. Hope you enjoy it! I appreciate all the reviews :)

Newt could hear shuffling inside the back of the truck and a wheezy intake of breath to his right. The back door slammed shut behind him, but he could see a leg that had been stretched out into the strip of light withdraw quickly a second before the light disappeared. His heartbeat quickened and his insides clenched in fear. Slowly he was able to make out shapes in the dim light and he braced himself against the door behind him, awaiting attack. But none came.

The shapes just sat quietly and Newt gradually realized that their posture wasn't threatening; furthermore, the people looked like they couldn't care less for the new arrival. There were about six or seven of them, sitting on the floor, their backs against the walls, slumped and somehow... defeated.

The truck lurched forward, making Newt lose his balance. His knees buckled and he slid to the floor. The other bodies jerked at the motion but no one changed their position or said anything. They just sat there. For a second, Newt wanted the others to finally acknowledge him in some way, bad or good, but the feeling went away as soon as it came. Newt realized he understood them.

There was nothing for any of them. This was just the beginning of their end, a ride that marked their official exclusion from the society of healthy people and the world as they knew it. Their future lacked possibilities, excitement, the ability to make a difference, even the notion of happiness. They were just sent off to die at a place, where the others wouldn't have to feel pity for them. This made Newt incredibly sad as the full weight of his situation crashed on him. Somehow in the Glade and the Scorch, there had always been that hope, however distant, that his life would get better. Even if WICKED didn't find the cure, somehow he felt like his life meant something. But now, sitting on a hard metal floor of a moving truck, that was taking him to a place where he would slowly succumb to nothing more than an animal in a pathetic damaged human shell, Newt felt the loss. His life was meaningless. He was meaningless. He felt tears burn in his eyes and a lump forming in his throat.

And then through the sorrow came a flash of anger. Anger at those who still had a chance - Minho, Frypan, Clint, Leo, that bloody traitor Teresa... And Tommy. Always Tommy.

What made them better? Why did he deserve a death sentence and none of them? Ever since he had learned he wasn't immune to the Flare, he had felt pathetic and weak next to them, like he was supposed to do something differently and failed. They were just born like that. Immune. Unlike him, they had a shot at a life for no other reason than being born different. It wasn't fair. Bloody Munies...

He needed to get away from himself. He needed to stop thinking for a while, just like he had done back in the Berg, too tired of analyzing, trying to regain control of himself to no avail, looking for a solution to a problem that didn't have one. Because now he saw that he was the problem.

He suddenly missed the Glade. Terrifying as the Maze was, there had been a time when Newt believed things could be good; when he believed that he could be useful and that his life had a purpose. It was shortly after he hit rock bottom and tried to commit suicide that he decided to stop pitying himself and fight instead. Be strong, if not for himself then at least for the others, like James had once been.

Short brown hair, dark eyes framed with eyelashes every girl would kill for, he had been perhaps the nicest person in the Glade. A Med-jack. The job fit him perfectly as he was selfless and always wanted to help. He was the one who took care of Newt after he... faltered. Newt tried to never think back to his Runner days, those had been his dark days when feelings of being caged overwhelmed him, and it all escalated that one day when he... lost it.

James. Who would never lose patience when Newt refused to eat, who never looked judgmental like Gally or angry like Alby or hurt like Minho when the word spread of what Newt had tried to do to himself. James never showed pity, nor did he try to get an explanation. He just carried out his medical duty, cleaning Newt with a wet cloth, changing his bandages, holding his hand and whispering soft calming words when the pains came. James had been strong for him in a way that he probably hadn't even realized.

A couple of weeks after the incident Alby visited Newt in his room in the Homestead. And he talked about the thing he always did when he came by. Why, Newt? How could you? I just want to understand, please tell me, Newt, Newt, Newt... Alby wasn't known for holding his temper and he somehow couldn't understand that Newt didn't want to talk about it. When his voice rose to a level where he was practically shouting, James suddenly came in, took the older boy by the arm and dragged him out of the room, not saying a word. Alby seemed so surprised by his sudden authority that he didn't protest until the door shut behind them. Newt could hear his angry voice outside and James's quieter one responding with somewhat urgency and strain. James never lost his temper, but this was as close as Newt had ever heard him come. A moment later, Alby's footsteps had been shaking the floor outside, as the older boy retreated. James entered the room with a somber expression on his face. His eyes locked with Newt's and he went to sit by the bed, pulling his chair closer and leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees.

"He won't do that again," he said in his low voice. "Nobody else will either. If you ever feel like sharing the obvious, it will be your choice."

"They just don't get it!" Newt's voice came out shaky like it was about to crack. He inwardly flinched at its intensity, compared to the other boy's soft tone it almost sounded like a shout. "What I did was bloody stupid, I know," he continued in a lower register, "but rubbing it in my face doesn't make me feel any better." He paused for a second. "What do you mean 'sharing the obvious'?"

James just shrugged. "I mean, we all have our weak moments, you just decided to deal with it in a more selfish way than the rest of us usually do. Now, when you've had time to think, you're ashamed of it and you want to move on and forget it ever happened."

Newt worked his jaw for a while, trying to form a response, but his mind went blank. That kid has said it so matter-of-factly that the insult didn't even register as an insult.

"Get some sleep," James said as he got up to leave. "I'll be back with some food in a couple of hours."

Newt lowered himself to lie down, careful not to disturb his leg, which was immobilized but still even the slightest movement send sharp shards of pain through his ankle. The rest of his injuries healed well, but his leg seemed to be making no progress whatsoever. Most of the time it throbbed and even his pulse seemed like a hammer pounding down on the broken limb, crushing it over and over again. And that was with the painkillers. Drowsiness took over him soon and he fell into a restless slumber.

He clutched the ivy vines and felt the burning in his palms. He looked down below him and his eyes widened in terror. He was so far up; he couldn't see the ground anymore. (Just end it.) He felt the fatigue in his limbs, growing more and more tired every second. He desperately looked up. If he could make it all the way to the top... The wall stretched above him endlessly all the way to the sky. Above, bellow, to his right and left, a vast stonewall covered with spots of thick ivy. (Just let go. It'll be over then. There is no way you could survive a fall like that.) But death wasn't what terrified him. It was the fall. His insides lurching as he would fall for a long time, knowing that he would crash into the concrete floor of the corridor, but not before he would realize he was going to die and he wouldn't be able to take it back because he would already be falling, rushing down, perhaps becoming sick, wanting to live like never before, but he would keep falling, plummeting towards the hard cold concrete ground...

"Wake up! Newt, it's just a dream, wake up!" Somebody was shaking him, disturbing his bandaged leg and the pain was what made Newt come away from his nightmare. He couldn't see anything, didn't know where he was or what was happening, panic began to grip him and he flailed his arms in the air, connecting with something halfway through the movement. He heard a painful hiss and two strong arms grabbed him by the wrists and restrained him. The world came into focus and Newt stilled, his heart pounding inside his chest and a knot of anxiety slowly uncurling in the pit of his stomach. Blackness slowly faded into deep blue and he could make out the lighter area of the window to his left and a dark figure to his right, leaning over him. James.

He was lying in his recovery bed, his breathing erratic, his ankle crying from the way he had jerked his legs when he woke from the falling dream, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as if it wanted to break free. He was alive. The realization washed over him, and he burst into tears as the anxiety and panic slowly began to dissipate.

James let go of his wrists and straightened. He turned to leave but then looked back at the boy on the bed for a long moment and returned, lying on the bed next to him, sliding his left arm under Newt's head and tightening his right around his shoulders. Newt turned to his side awkwardly, trying not to move his crushed leg, and pressed his face into the Med-jack's shirt, clinging to the fabric with his fists, sobs jerking his whole torso.

The tears took away the heaviness in his chest and left him somewhat numb. He could feel a warm palm running soothingly up and down his back, he could hear the even breaths of the other boy, and gradually he felt himself relax. He knew he should feel embarrassed for crying like a little girl, but all he felt was gratitude. The knowledge that James wouldn't judge him or make smart remarks later on made Newt feel safe. His breathing evened out and he let himself get lost in the warmth and smell of disinfectant and soap which he found strangely calming, like a long lost memory from his childhood.

He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position and hissed in pain - the painkillers were wearing off.

"That's why I came," James murmured and carefully withdrew the hand he had placed under Newt's head, lifting himself off the bed. He went over to a little table across the room and picked up a tray, he had probably set there when he came into the room to check on his patient. He came to sit on the edge of the bed and set the tray on his lap.

"Here," he said, handing over two pills and a glass of water. "I also brought you a sandwich."

"I'm not really hungry," Newt replied breathlessly after he had emptied the glass with big gulps.

"Okay, if you need anything else, just call," said James as he took the glass from the other boy and stood up to leave for the second time.

"Wait!" Newt blurted and felt slightly embarrassed for not wanting to stay alone. "Could you please stay?" he murmured quickly, adverting his eyes to a distant corner of the room. He wasn't ready to face the darkness alone but he also wasn't ready to say it out loud. He hoped James would understand.

"Scoot over," said the Med-jack with a slight smile and took off his shoes.

Nestled against him and listening to his heartbeat, Newt quickly slipped to sleep. He didn't dream this time.