Part 1 of the story: 'Rise & Fall'. A tale of Newt's attempted suicide, told in the most realistic, detailed and emotive way.

Disclaimer: I do not own this story.

~0~

Looking back on it, he knows that it wasn't a heat of the moment thing. No, it had been a long time coming. The intense mental pressure had been dragging him down for weeks now, and this was simply the last form that it was going to manifest in.

Oh shank, he was going to end his own life.

Newt felt that there was always going to be a part of himself that couldn't fully process it. Then he chuckled and slowly stood up straight from his previous sitting position. He was going to finish it all. Go out with a bang. Alby always said that he had a dramatic tendency, and Newt could only hope the he and Minho won't be too sad about what he had chosen to do. He shook his head to clear the traces of oncoming regret and steeled himself. Alby and Minho were the type of leaders that he wanted, but failed to be. They weren't going to miss their coward of a friend who wanted out in the easiest way. They might mourn him for a while, but they had each other, and the other Gladers to look after.

They were better off without him.

In fact, if he was lucky, they'd think he got lost and then stuck in the Maze when night came- maybe even think the Grievers had got to him. They might never know that he was a bloody coward.

As Newt looked down at the roughly twenty feet fall from the ledge that he'd clambered up, he wondered when it had started- when it was that he decided to completely give up on living.

It could have been a few weeks ago, when they'd welcomed the newest greenie. Alby, Minho, Gally, he and a few others were all there. They were the leaders of the Glade and the others just curious bystanders. The greenie was a tall, muscular boy strong enough to nearly drag Alby into the Cage when he had tried to help him out. The shank had gotten over his panic in a few moments and with his bright smile, the stupid newbie was the epitome of hope.

Alby and Minho clapped him on the back and welcomed him; while Gally buzzed around, no doubt hoping that the newcomer was going to be a builder. But Newt could only offer a nod and ignore the despair churning in his heart. The light in the greenie's eyes were going to be dimmed in a few weeks' time, when he realised that to hope was hopeless the Glade.

He couldn't sleep for the next few days. His mind was too turbulent with unwieldy thoughts, and there was a deep pit of despair just waiting for him to fall into. Or rather, he mused, perhaps he had already fallen in and just couldn't get out. Whenever his mind shifted towards sleep he'd been woken by images of the bloodied and pale bodies of the boys that they had lost. They taunted him, making his life a living nightmare.

After a while, it was just too bothersome to try catching a few winks, especially when a night of constantly waking tired him a lot more than not sleeping.

He'd sit outside when the others slept, wrapped in a rug and staring at the night sky, listening to the strange clanking of Grievers. The noise terrified him, but there was something dependable about reality- as disturbing as it was. When he was awake, he could just look back at the lights of the Homestead and see his friends, and the sight fuelled the small part of him that just refused to give it all up.

Minho excused him from running duty a few days later when he couldn't keep his food down.

Newt refused food for the next two or three days and then remembered collapsing in the gardens one afternoon. Alby told him that he was semi-conscious when they found him dragged his ass to the Med-bay. Jeff and Clint asked him a few questions, which he was too sick to answer. So they concluded that he probably had an upset stomach or a light case of food poisoning and warned Frypan to make sure all the food was probably cooked and cleaned before it was served in the future.

He had wanted to laugh then, but couldn't- he was too busy spewing his innards out. So he decided to make up for the laughter now, and he felt the first inklings of insanity as the strangely empty sound rang out across the Maze.

What he had was much more than a physical malady. It was the physical manifestation of hopelessness. He wasn't stupid- he could see the angry glances filled with blame that the other Gladers threw at him, Alby and Minho. As if not being able to get out the bloody Maze was their fault.

He just couldn't take that anymore.

They gave him some kind of plant to eat and Alby grinded up the leafy thing and made sure that he took the powder with hot water every morning.

Much good that did, Newt thought bitterly. He sure wasn't vomiting anymore, but for the next few days he was wracked with intense and periodical abdominal pains that he could only conquer by lying in his hammock and not moving for hours at a time when they struck.

One early morning after that he jerked awake suddenly and tumbled to the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness, drenched with sweat and limbed jerking uncontrollably. His midsection seemed to be on fire, and he moaned as his stomach was shot through with pains so severe that he wanted to scream.

Jeff and Clint only knew basic first aid, so he couldn't blame them, but in that incoherent moment, he swore at them mentally.

Newt shook his head angrily now, too lost in memories to feel the unnatural heat that was emanating from his skin, even though the cold air of the Maze was normally enough to chill a man to the bone.

He had shuffled his way over to Alby's hammock, and murmured his friend's name until he woke up. Alby took one pitying look at him, lifted him up as though he weighted nothing, and took him into the Med-Bay, where there were comfortable beds for him to lie in until the pain passed.

So he did, drifting in and out of sleep as Jeff and Clint tried to ease his pain. They heated water to fill a water bottle for him to hold over his sore stomach area under the covers. They worked to lower his fever, but nothing could ease his pain.

The next morning, he was sick all over again. Minho rubbed his back as he retched into a bucket and helped shift him into a comfortable position when he finished. He had never been more grateful towards his friends, but he had also come to a final conclusion.

It was perhaps at that moment, Newt now mused, that he realised that there was only one form of relief from their current suffering.

The Creators had never meant for them to escape- they were supposed to remain here for the rest of their lives, until they all became crazed beings ranting for an end to their torture. Or perhaps, all of this was a dream, and the only way to find a conclusion was to shock one's body so much that it came out of its trance and into the real world.

It certainly didn't occur to him then, or now, that his body, under extreme stress and burning with fever, was incapable of logical thought.

He simply took a deep breath and stepped into the empty air.

~0~

Minho glanced up at the sky.

The first tingles of red were just beginning to show. It was probably time to go back, he decided, it wouldn't do to be stuck in the maze at night.

If the Grievers didn't get him, well… Alby would berate him to death upon his return.

He took off, running along the route he knew so well. Left. Right. Left. Left. Right. A few more turns and he would be back in the Glade. The surroundings were so familiar now that his mind could run on autopilot. He chuckled absentmindedly to himself for a moment at the pun, before the soft laughter fell away.

He would have to face the desperate glances of his fellow Gladers when he got back. It seems that hope was something foreign these few days.

Strange, he thought, nothing had changed in their usual routine- as the Keeper of the Runners, he still authorised four runners to go into the Maze every day and search until dusk. But in light of their second year here coming to an end, the mood was just a bit more desperate and more depressed. He had heard rumours that some thought they just weren't ever going to get out of this place- this hell.

About a month ago, he, Newt and Alby had come together to a secret meeting in the woods. The issue of discussion was that the maze had been searched from bottom to top. Every inch of it had been explored and there was no sign of any clue as to how to get out. There were no other places to examine. All the patterns of movements have been mapped and confirmed through periods of observation, and there was no more actual work for the runners to be done.

Alby, as their leader, had been understandably angry. He ranted loudly and punched the table in frustration, saying that they had failed the others. Newt just stood by and not said much, unwilling to side with either of them, only backing Minho up about the technicalities of the Maze when needed. Their eyes met once over the temporary conference table and he was dumbfounded by the despair he saw there. Silence didn't mean acceptance with Newt, it seemed.

Adding to that, Gally had been following them around everywhere, demanding to be told the recent developments. Shank. He was just in charge of the builders, but Minho knew he was firing up the other guys, as if awaiting a confrontation. One that will never come- they needed to work together.

Minho took a deep breath and kept running. Something like a familiar voice echoed from the left, and he hesitated for a moment. It sounded like Newt, but that wasn't possible- he had ordered him to rest until he was feeling better. The voice didn't come again, and he shook his head to clear it. It wouldn't do for the Keeper of the Runners to be hearing voices.

He started jogging again, and his mind continued its line of thought.

A few days after the meeting, Newt had gotten sick. What of? Minho had no idea- he wasn't a doctor, but Jeff and Clint had deduced it to be a stomach bug. That, and a case of nerves, he personally thought.

At least it was all behind us now, Minho reassured himself, he would never need to feel worry gnawing his insides as he rubbed Newt's back while he vomited into a bucket, or watch as he dry heaved when there was nothing left to come up. Newt was getting better, and seemed to be sleeping peacefully when he checked this morning.

Finally, the runner burst through the exit to the Maze and dropped on to the ground, puffing heavily. The other three had already returned, from the sight of the three running packs on the grass, but Alby didn't look as relived at his homecoming as he normally did.

"Minho," Alby handed him a drink bottle, "Have you seen Newt?"

He took a deep gulp and savoured the taste of the cool liquid in his mouth. So great was the feeling that it took a moment for him to process what his friend just said. When he did, he almost choked. But he forced himself to swallow and got to his feet.

"No? What do you mean?"

Alby ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, "That shank. He's gone. Are you sure you didn't see him?"

"What do you mean- gone? Man, I was in the Maze all day." Minho said, "I have no idea where he is. Did you search the woods?"

"We've searched everywhere. I got Frypan, Clint, Jeff and Ben looking for him all day. There's nowhere he could be that we didn't search. Unless he got really good at hide and seek-"

The runner jerked upright suddenly and gripped his friend's arm, "Oh damn."

"What?"

"He's in the Maze." Minho said, his voice tensing at the realisation.

Alby meet his gaze, "No way. Why? I-"

"Shit!" Minho nearly tripped over in his haste, "I'm going back in. Get the other runners."

The leader of the Gladers stopped him with a firm hand, "How can you be sure?"

"It's a gut feeling."

Alby met his desperate gaze for a moment, scrutinising him from any sign of discomfort- madness even. "Alright. You're exhausted. Go back to the Homestead and get the Med-jacks and a few runners."

"I need to go find Newt!"

"No," the leader said as he unsheathed the knife strapped to his back, "I will."

Minho reared back in shock, "That's suicide! Alby, you don't even know the Maze. It's going to be dark soon. I should-"

But Alby was resolute. "No. I've seen the map of the Maze, I don't get lost. Now, I've given you an order. Go and carry it out."

The Keeper of the Runners hesitated for a moment. They had chosen Alby to be their de facto leader; there was no real reason to listen to his 'orders'. But then he paused, listening to his own rasping breathes and knew that he was nearly out of energy. Adrenaline was useful, but he wouldn't be able to fight or even carry Newt if he found him. He couldn't even subdue him if he had been stung.

"Fine. Go." He said, "But be careful. I'll be at the first intersection, call if you need help."

At that, his friend gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and sprinted into the Maze. That was all the confirmation that he needed. Minho was sure that everything would be alright- as long as he could keep that cynical and pessimistic part of himself at bay.

Find him, Minho urged mentally, and bring him back.

~0~

AN: Newt has always been my favourite character in The Maze Runner Trilogy. I see a lot of depth in as a representation of the classic antihero, with a bit of a twist. Call this story a tribute if you like, or just an expansion on one of Newt's character details that defines his entire being. I've tried to make it a more interesting read by using some suspense (e.g. cliff hangers), and varying character viewpoints- hopefully capturing some attention and further exploring the characters of Newt, Minho and Alby.

I will update in a few days. Please leave me a review with feedback!

H.