The last sight Thomas saw was the squished Griever goop all over the stone and twitching mechanical legs before there was a green glow of the circular panel as the last numbers of the sequence were entered, before the hole closed encasing the surviving Glader in darkness. Shallow breaths filled the silence of the black, they were so close, almost out.

Thomas felt a hand clamp around his arm not entirely sure who it was Thomas removed the death grip and interlocked their fingers instead, squeezing reassuringly. A whine of metal pierced the tension of the dark and a round door swung open until the Gladers were squinting in the tinted light of a deserted hallway. Thomas looked down at the hand joined to his and slowly trailed his eyes upwards up the pale arm until he stared into the honey brown eyes of the second in command. The blonde met his gaze and colour hazed his cheeks as he attempted to remove the hold he had on his Thomas's hand. The brunette tightened his grip refusing to let the warmth of the hand go, he offered a sheepish smile to Newt, to his surprise the brit squeezed back and a jolt of affection shot through him as the older boy beamed. He'd gotten them out and the relief of the towering ivy covered walls of the maze was entirely welcome, but nothing could've beat the warm and oddly nervous feeling that filled him at the sight of one of Newt's rare smiles.

No one mentioned the fact of their joint hands, probably occupied with freedom or just politely ignoring the show of affection. Definitely the first one, politely and Minho in the same sentence is just about as ludicrous as Gally in a ball gown. The only exception was Chuck who stayed tightly by Thomas, smiling down at their hands when no one was looking. They started down the corridor warily, lest a surprise Griever or whatever they had here leap out at them, soon they were faced with a rusted door knob and a bright exit sign.

"Seriously." Frypan said voicing all of their thoughts.

Thomas reached for the handle and pushed the door, the shift of metal against metal was soon replace by the soft thrumming of the security alarms. Newt's grip tightened as they all moved by the still bodies and broken glass, Thomas was watching the covered corpses on the examination tables with a sick fear that whatever happened to them might happen to any of his friends.

There were bullet hole through glass and showers of sparks raining down from the ceiling in places where wires hung loose. More bodies littered the floor, blood smeared on the walls and beneath its previous owners. The air was clinical and clean like some sort of hospital with the taint of recently fired guns.

"What happened here?" Wondered Minho aloud, and was left unanswered as they separated and explored the lab like building.

Newt was leaning over a desk, looking at screens of areas of the glade and what looked like scanned pictures of brain activity. "So they were watchin' us. This whole time." Even though he'd suspected the fact, it was no less disturbing.

Newt left the discovery to stand by Thomas who'd found a flashing red button. Thomas turned to look at Newt before hesitantly pressing the screen, a recorded message of a blonde middle age woman with a sharp face, and a contrasting voice appeared announcing herself as Dr. Ava Paige part of the organisation World Catastrophe Killzone Department she spoke about a virus called the Flare and the terrible state the world was in, apparently they were the answer to the world's problems because of their unique immunity. She set a gun to her head as the armed men began shooting up the place, her last words "WICKED is good" sent a chill through Thomas as he remembered the same voice in his dreams. He knew this woman.

Could he really have done something like this? To the people around him? To Newt? Thomas had no idea what to think as he turned from the gunshot and saw the woman's body collapsed on her office floor.

He walked towards her still form, the images he just saw tearing through his mind at phenomenal speeds, they had got out but were the remnants of the world really worth the escape? A blare of noise sounded drawing the attention of the Gladers as a door opened with a hiss. They all starred at the hall ahead not knowing what to do.

"Is it over." Asked Chuck his voice desperate as if they would walk up there only to find another maze at the end.

"She said we were important," said Newt from his place beside Thomas sounding confused, "Well what are we supposed to do now."

They all turned to him as if he had all the answers. He'd barely gotten them all out alive and they still trusted him to make the right decisions, to save them all, lead them to a life they all wanted to live. A life with nothing Wicked.

"I don't know." Thomas's voice was a mix of worry and relief, emotion overwhelming as freedom was finally in sight. "But let's get out of here."

"No." Stated a raw and frightened voice from behind them, turning Thomas saw the owner to be Gally, looking like he'd been through literal hell.

"Gally?" Thomas asked gesturing for Teresa to get behind him.

"Don't," she warned with a hand on his shoulder, he looked at her questioningly. "He's been stung."

Thomas realised she was right as he took in the sunken blood shot eyes, trembling limbs and dark sickly veins running along his skin, Gally dropped the Griever key and continued to stare at them. He gave a morose sniff shaking his head, "We can't leave."

Thomas was suddenly aware of the shaking weapon in the sick boy's hand and knew he had to calm him down, or someone would end up shot full of holes. "We did. Gally, we're out. We're free." He raised his arms calmingly.

"Free." Gally said unbelievingly turning his head to the other Gladers as if their opinions were different. "You think we're free out there? No," the boy shook his head, raising his arm and aiming the shaking gun, "No there's no escape from this place."

Thomas was trying to keep everyone in his sight and keeping his eyes on Gally at the same time. "Gally listen to me, you're not thinking straight."

Minho tightened his grip on the spear in his hand preparing for every outcome.

"You're not Gally. Now we can help you, just put down the gun."

Gally's hand gave a tremble, for a second Thomas thought he was complying, "I belong to the maze."

"Just put down the gun!"

"We all do." He said with finality.

There was a chorus of frightened "Gally!" as the gun fired with a crack and Minho's spear corresponded with a sickening thud. Gally sucked in wretched breaths as he stared at the spear protruding from his chest before falling to his knees. He gave a last gurgle and dropped the gun slumping to the ground.

There was a sharp intake of breath and Thomas spun to see Newt with a dark stain spreading over his lower abdomen.

"Tommy." Newt muttered keening over towards the ground, Thomas moved to catch the blond and lowered him shakily to the floor.

Thomas couldn't breathe the air was thick and heavy his lungs did not have the strength to push the sudden weight descending on his chest as he starred down at Newt, unbelievingly No, please, please. It was supposed to be him, Gally wanted to kill him.

"Newt…" Thomas's voice shook with the effort it took to remain whole, as he placed a trembling hand over the source of the spreading stain, Newt giving a quiet whine at the contact. "No you- you can't. We're almost there Newt, please. We're almost out."

"Killed by Gally guess it's better than the Grievers, though they sort of had a part in-"

"You're not going to die Newt." Thomas cut him off sharply. "Why does this have to happen now?"

"Always with the questions Tommy." Newt smiled. Actually smiled despite his pending death his eyes wandering off as if reliving some pleasant memory. "Could never answer them all." His gaze suddenly returned with the usual clarity in his doe brown eyes. "You got us out of there Tommy. Thank you."

"Not you Newt, I didn't get you out." Thomas sobbed, ashamed to say that he would've traded anyone of the Gladers at that moment if he could just get Newt out.

"You know Tommy. I think if you'd come a little earlier I wouldn't have this buggin' limp of mine." Newt grinned, and it would have been sunny if not for the stain of red on his lips.

Thomas not being in the glade at that time didn't understand the full meaning of Newt's words, but Minho heard and it cracked his normally impenetrable façade and he turned away from the two running a hand threw his a hair and covering his mouth lest a sob escape, the tears were another story though.

Newt stayed starring at Thomas, just gazing into the dark mahogany of his best friend's eyes he felt a warm haze spread over his mind not at all what he expected, but entirely welcome.

"Newt I can't do it without you. Please Newt." Thomas sobbed cradling his friend in his arms, there was so much blood, too much. He clung to the calloused hand of his friend squeezing tightly and earning a small squeeze in return.

"I need you Newt."

"And they need you Tommy. More that you need me."

"You're wrong. I-"

Suddenly the door at the end of the hallway burst open and the sun came blazing in along with half a dozen soldiers who began grabbing the Gladers and pulling them towards the exit.

Thomas, despite all the commotion, heard only the quiet voice of his fading friend. The whispered words brought waves of emotion that was far too much for Thomas to hold inside. He heaved a sob, tears falling free into the blonde strands as he buried his face in the softness seeking any comfort, any at all. "Not you…"

Somebody hoisted him away with strong arms looped around him he protested and screamed as his grasp on Newt's hand was lost and he watched as his friend cried out weakly for him stretching his arm out in a last attempt.

Thomas couldn't handle it he broke free from the relentless grip and slid back to Newt's side, quickly resting his forehead against Newt's and wrapped his arms around his limp shoulders. "It's okay Newt. You'll be fine." He assured, Newt just nodded weakly his eyes full of fear. Again the arms were dragging him away "Wait for me Newt!" Thomas was dragged into the whipping of the scorching sand. He gained his feet and started running towards the helicopter, he could see Minho hanging out of the side reaching to give him a hand up.

He sat next to his friend in the rising machine, feeling guilt ridden and impossibly alive since he wasn't definitely sure there was no longer a heart in his chest. All he could see was the fear in Newt's eyes, that horrible fear of death that he should have consoled, he should have fought harder to stay. The tattered remains of the Earth seamed completely incinerated without him. The whispered words echoing in his mind, soft and tearing, it was wrong that something so quiet and gentle could hurt so much. Words he wished so desperately that he had heard earlier that it cut deeply into whatever was left of his vital organ.

"You're worth it, Tommy. You were worth everything. All of it."

*A/N: Well I can end it there, but I do have ideas to further the story so depending on the response this gets will influence writing or nay. Oh and an alternate ending is in my head, which ever one did not happen, if you'd like that as well. The death in my fanfics I know the toll is rising, it's fun to write. Should it be? Any who thanks for the read!*