Chapter 1: Minho

A/N I sure hope Minho's not OOC in this. Leave a review and tell me what you think. Only my second or third Maze Runner fic, though, so please be nice.:)

Another scream tore through the air. Minho wanted to cover his ears, but then felt terrible for doing so. That was his friend in there for goodness sake! He decided to go see Thomas, even though he knew what it'd look like. He didn't want his friend to be alone, even if he wasn't aware of anyone else.

"Minho! He's gotta rest! Sorry, but you know the rules, you can't see him." Clint said.

"I can and I will! That guy saved my butt and Alby's out in the Maze, and he just took a Griever sting on purpose to get the memories we need to get out of this shuckin' Maze. So I'm going to see my friend, like it or not! Get out of my way!" He shoved Clint aside and got in the room. He was almost sick from the green veined, purple splotched sight in front of him, but he stayed. Minho wasn't normally so serious, mushy serious anyway, about his friends. He always tried to keep things light with jokes and wise cracks, but this was Thomas going through this nasty thing. This was Thomas that was in pain. The stupid shank who'd saved his tail in the Maze, that night he'd run in to save him and Alby.

He'd thought at the time that Thomas was just plain stupid. An idiot. Nobody had ever survived the night in the Maze, and then they had. If Thomas hadn't had the guts or insanity, whatever it had been driving him to run through that Door that night, Minho knew that he and Alby would definitely died.

He startled as he went over to where the chair was. Newt was sitting on it. And it looked like he was crying a bit. Newt looked just as startled when his eyes had cleared enough for him to see Minho.

"What are you doing here, Minho? Clint was supposed to keep everyone out. Thomas needs to rest."

He said, his strange accent strong. He hurried to wipe the tears off his face.

"Uh huh, and how's he supposed to rest with you in here blubbering over him?"

"I was being quiet!" Newt retorted, blushing a little with embarrassment.

"Right, and so will I. I won't say a word." Minho promised as he ushered a still sputtering Newt out the door. Poor guy had hardly left Thomas' side, issuing his orders through the Medjacks and Frypan, who were going up and down the stairs rather frequently to deliver supplies.

As Minho sat down next to the green and purple splotched heap in the bed though, he felt all his humor fade away. He put his hand out to touch Thomas' shoulder. He felt a lump in his throat. They hadn't been able to give Thomas the whole dose of Grief Serum, because the syringe had been broken and most of the last of the treatment dribbled out. He'd gotten only about a fourth of the usual dose and the Medjacks had been debating behind closed doors as to whether it would enough.

"Thomas, you gotta pull through this, you ugly shank." He said, a sob threatening to bubble up his throat. His eyes started tearing up, but he refused to let them fall. The Medjacks or Frypan could walk in at any moment, and he decided that he didn't want the same unpleasant surprise that he'd given Newt. When had he ever felt such a strong connection to anyone? Other than Newt that was.

"Thomas, I know why you did it. You gotta get those memories and keep 'em. Save us Thomas, save us all from the Maze. Help us get at those Creators!" He knew Thomas couldn't hear him, hoped it anyway. A part of him hoped that Thomas could hear him, would hear him and try even harder to remember, would hear him and try even harder in his fight for survival. The other part hoped fervently that Thomas couldn't hear him, couldn't hear how desperate he was. Thomas would know it wasn't just the memories that Minho wanted from this. Minho admitted to himself that he wanted more than anything for Thomas to survive, and if Thomas could hear him, Thomas would know.

"Thomas, I'm gonna be honest with you. All of us in the Glade, we're like family. The Newbies get some new guy treatment, but it's all in fun, nobody means anything by it. We all love each other and we all grieve extensively when one of us dies. Thomas, you have to pull through this. I know it's hard. It's gotta be. But you have to pull through for me, Newt and little Chuckie. Do it for us Thomas, 'cause if you die, slinthead, we're all going to. Not just literally, but our hearts are gonna just shrivel up. You may not have been here long, but we all love you. Yeah, even me. If you wake up from this, who knows? I might give you a big fat hug and decide not to let go." Minho chuckled a little, but it quickly turned into quiet sobbing. He'd never really been that open with his emotions before, had always covered them with jokes and wise cracks, and it felt good to let it go. He suddenly really didn't care if someone came in now and saw him bawling like a baby. He just hoped with all his heart that Thomas would pull through.