Archive of Our Own ^beta

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He didn't know why, but he was cold. So very, very cold. There was no light apart from the the bright splotches that danced across his eyes as if he had just looked up at the sun for a very long time. He couldn’t feel his limbs… or what he thought were his limbs. And then he saw a light over head, and mumbling voices. The clattering of metal on metal rang through his ears like bells. Fuzzy images started to form into moving shapes as people bustled around the table. He tried to move, to say or do something, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even twitch to give them some sort of sign that he was awake. He saw them nod to one another, and one picked up a scalpel. He tried screaming, thrashing around, but couldn’t even move his pinkie. It was hopeless. His lungs constricted in terror as the knife dug into his exposed head, and a blinding white light pulled him out of the room.
Thomas woke up panting in his bed. He found that his sheets and pillow were drenched in sweat. The room was pitch black, and no sound was made except for the gentle snoring coming from a sleeping Mino. Thomas ran his hands through his sticky hair and threw his legs over the side of the bed. When he got to the bathroom he turned on the faucet, and closed his eyes as his hands brought cold water running down his hot face.
“Another bad dream?” He heard a voice behind him say. Thomas’s eyes jerked open as his lungs filled with alarm. His eyes traveled to the mirror which revealed Newt, who was leaning against the door frame; his hands crossed across his chest in a nonchalant way. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to face his old friend. He nodded, and walked over to where Newt stood.
“You need to stop doing this to yourself mate. It’s not healthy for ya.” If Thomas hadn’t know any better, he would have sworn he saw a flicker of remorse in Newt’s eyes. Newt quickly shook it off though, and went back to being a concerned friend.
“ What was this one about?” He asked as though it nothing to big.
“I… I don’t know. It was mostly a blur. I was on a table, and I couldn’t move, and I… and they… they were cutting into my head. I couldn’t warn them. They were cutting me open, and I couldn’t warn them…” Thomas's voice trailed away into silence. Newt’s eyes were filled with worry, and he pulled Thomas into a hug.
“It’ll be alright Tommy. Don’t worry. It’ll be alright.”

Chapter Text

The next morning Thomas watched as the rest of the gladers woke up. Minho grumbled, sitting up in bed and giving his hair a quick toss. Looking over to Thomas staring at him, he cracked a sly smile.
“Like what ya see?” He joked. Thomas rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? You’re the ugliest shank I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Minho gave a huff and rolled off the bed.
During breakfast, everyone was gathered around the small table in the trailer. The smell of Fry Pan cooking bacon wafted around the room like a fog. The table was full of laughter, and talking. It was so peaceful, and so wonderful, it was easy to forget about WICKED. About what was going on in the world.
Fry Pan had made a special breakfast considering it was medical day. The deal the gladers had made with WICKED was that they could live happy and peaceful lives as long as once every week they sent them a vile of blood from each glader. That was the deal. Thomas and the rest of the boys had been living in the trailer given by WICKED for 4 weeks now. It wasn’t the biggest home in the world. There was one bathroom for the boys to share, and two bunk beds. The gladers took turns sleeping on the floor. Towards the front of the car there was a small kitchen with a faucet that barely worked, and a gas stove. A breakfast nook stood in one corner, and a large foldable table was spread out in the middle of the room. It was there that the boys were now waiting for their breakfast to be made.
“It’s about time WICKED sent over some good food,” Winston yelled over the commotion. “I thought I was gonna turn into the likes of one of those cranks out there!”
“What a load of klunk!” One of the the boys countered, “you’re already past the gone!” Everyone laughed, although the joke was not that funny. Thomas gave a half hearted chuckle, and looked down at his hands. He could still feel the fear that had overtaken his body as he watched the scalpel get closer and closer. He put a hand to his chest, and felt another hand on his back.
“You alright Greenie? You look like a pile of klunk,” he heard Minho say to him as the bacon was set down on the table. Thomas nodded, shook Minho’s hand off, and reached for a piece of meat.

Chapter Text

Thomas was sitting on the bed. He had always been a bit jittery around needles, so the blood taking was left to Minho and Newt. The boys stood one after the other in two lines. They each sat on the bed one at a time, and let either Minor or Newt draw a vile of blood. The two gladers each had a cart filled with needles, and blood bags which were labeled with the boy’s name, and shipped of to WICKED for testing. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but it was good enough. It just so happened that Thomas ended up in Newt’s line. His stomach was twisting in noughts about talking to Newt after last night, and as he got closer, the more nervous he got. When it was finally his turn Newt put on a pleasant smile, and patted the empty space on the bed next to him. Thomas tentatively sat down on the covers, and Newt got right to work, tying a rubber string around Thomas’s forearm, and feeling for a vein.
“So Tommy, how are ya feeling?” He asked, breaking the awkward silence.
“Alright, I guess. Tired is all.”
“What was that about last night? You’ve woken up at least 4 times this past week. Is there something going on in that head of yers?” With this he shoved the needle into Thomas’s arm. He winced, but that was all.
“I just keep having these nightmares… about WICKED,” Thomas told him, watching as the vile slowly filled up with his blood. Newt nodded, and told him,
“Why don’t we go outside after this. Just to talk.” Thomas nodded, and scrunched up his face as Newt tugged out the needle and handed him a cotton ball. Thomas met his eyes one more time before turning around, and heading towards the door.

Chapter Text

The morning air smelled of fresh dew. The sun towered over Thomas, showering him with warmth. There was a slight breeze, which made his newly combed hair toss around in the wind. Grass was planted about a half a mile out in a perfect circle. At the end lay a clear force field bubble that kept people out, but also kept the gladers in. This was one of the very few places that WICKED was able to protect before the outbreak truly started. Thomas sucked in a deep breath, and stepped off into the grass. He heard the door open behind him, and Newt sat down on the wet grass next to him.
“Beautiful day isn’t it?” Newt said staring off into the distance. A crank was visibly see beyond the wall. He walked in twitching motions, and every time he got close to the clear force he would reach out his hand and jump back in fear when something stopped his arm. Newt’s attention turned back to Thomas, who was absentmindedly picking at a blade of grass.
“So greenie, about these nightmares.” Thomas took a deep breath, and swung his head in Newt’s direction.
“They started about 4 weeks ago.”
“About the time that WICKED gave us this trailer…” Newt thought outloud. Thomas just nodded and continued his story.
“They started small at first, just glimpses. And it was as if I was a person, looking in. And then they got bigger, and more clear when I started to become the person rather than just watching what was happening. But last night… last night, I felt something. I felt what was happening as if it was actually happening in real life. It was real Newt. I felt it.”
“Tommy it was just a dream.” Thomas could feel that Newt knew more than he was letting on behind those eyes, but he just couldn’t place it.
“No. I really felt it. It didn’t feel like a dream. Newt you have to believe me! It was real!”
“ I know Thomas, you made that perfectly clear.” Newt looked down at the brown soil, and traced his hand over the tips of the blades. Frustration pulsed through Thomas’s veins, and he looked up at the great big blue sky.
“Why don’t you go inside and make yourself a coffee. You look like a bloody crank,” Newt chuckled. Thomas couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his friend's expression, and soon Newt joined in. And there they sat, in the tiny field, with the crank pacing just outside the barrier; on the steps to the tiny trailer that they called home, rolling with laughter.

Chapter Text

Back inside the trailer everyone was muffling down whispers and snickers as Thomas came back into the room. Minho was trying to quiet the boys, but nothing prevailed.
“What are you all bloody staring at?” Newt asked everyone, shooting death stares to anyone who tried to speak. The trailer was deathly still as Thomas walked over to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, trying not to feel the overwhelming amount of embarrassment washing over him as he downed the stale liquid leftover from breakfast. He didn’t show it, but he was glad Newt was there for him. Although they were nearly the same age, Newt had always acted like a brother to Thomas. He was his first caring friend in the maze, and he had been there for him when they had gotten out. He had cared about him so much, and Thomas was grateful for him.
Newt was now scolding all of the boys who even looked in Thomas’s direction. Thomas gave a little wave to Minho who smiled back, and then continued his work of taking blood from all of the boys lined up. Newt stood up and walked over to Thomas. All eyes followed him as he grabbed the pot of coffee from Thomas and poured it into a cup for himself. He took a small sip, and then turned back to the boys.
“Don’t just stand there! Be about your own bloody business.” There was a moment's hesitation before they all started to return to the present.

When Minho was done with all of the boys It was finally Newt’s turn. As he sat down on the bed Thomas sat down next to him. He didn’t feel quite ready to leave his side just yet. Thomas knew that it was childish, but he wanted to be by Newt. When Newt was done He stood up and patted Thomas on the back.
“Let’s go greenie,” He said, strutting towards the door of the car.
“Where are we going?” Thomas complained, stumbling to catch up to Newt.
“Us? We’re going on a bloody walk.” And with this he stepped out of the door and was gone. Thomas stood there in a state of bewilderment for several seconds before reality hit him, and he stumbled out of the trailer after his friend.

Chapter Text

“Where are we going?” Thomas asked Newt, whose face was stricken in determination.
“I wanna show ya something.” This was all he said, but Thomas decided not to push farther. Instead, he trotted after his friend. They were nearing the barrier that separated the gladers from the outside barren landscape, and Thomas opened his mouth in an attempt to warn his friend, just as Newt abruptly stopped. They were in the middle of the wide open field. The clear blue sky encircled them, and Thomas had to squint to see against the blinding sunlight that was magnified in the almost glass like barrier.
“We’re here.” Newt said, getting down on his hands and knees in a spot in the clearing. Thomas looked down, confusion plastered on his face. Until he saw what Newt was digging up. A little mound of thrown up dirt was built up on the ground. It was difficult to make out with all of the grass and weeds encircling it, and you would never have see it unless you were looking for it. Thomas got down on his knees and started to dig with Newt. Before long they struck something. It was hard and rough, almost like old wood. Newt looked up at Thomas. A look of fear and knowingness was stuck there, and it made Thomas feel insecure. If Newt was afraid, Thomas had every reason to be. Newt looked back down into their one foot deep hole and started to dig under the solid structure. Thomas watched in awe as he witnessed Newt pull out an old weathered chest. As Newt pulled it up onto the ground he brushed off the last of the dirt covering the box.
“I found this while I was out on the patrol rounds. I didn’t want to bring it back, but I wanted you to see it.” With this he un-hooked the small latches on the chest and opened the top. It made an awful screeching sound as the hinges were put into action, and Thomas cringed at the shrillness. He looked down and his eyes widened at what he saw. Papers upon papers were overflowing the chest. On closer inspection he found that they were all documents and birth certificates for each of the gladers, dating back to the beginning. Back before the maze, and WICKED, and the flares. There were certificates and papers for people Thomas had never met, or even heard of.
“I want to sort them. Give them out to the gladers. Maybe they can learn a thing or two about themselves. He paused, almost readying himself for what he was to say next. “And then there’s you.” He dug deep into the box and pulled out an old manila folder overflowing with papers. Newt looked at the loopy letters of Thomas’s name on the front, and handed it over to him.
“I read a couple of them. There are letters, and documents, and… and I think they’re from WICKED.” Newt looked at him dead on, and Thomas couldn’t help but let out a shudder. He had know he had helped WICKED a long time ago, but he never liked to think about it. There were so many things wrong with what they were trying to do. Not only had they made the disease and spread it across the world, they had dragged a bunch of kids in to help stop it. It was awful, and humiliating to think that he had once supported this idea. He opened the folder and pulled out a page displaying everything about his family in bold letters.
“I have one too.” Newt said before Thomas could read the old leathery paper.
“My Mum was named Alice, and my Dad was Eric. She named me Simon. Simon Kelly. I had a little sister. She was taken. By WICKED.” Newt was quite then.
“I… I’m sorry New-... Simon. I had no idea.” Newt looked up at him, and with a voice so full of morning agony and remorse that it shook Thomas to the core he responded,
“Neither did I.” Thomas could feel that black sadness creeping up on him. Like a lion pursuing it’s prey. He had never been good at saying sorry or goodbye, and this was no exception. With this Newt sniffed, making the feeling settle down, hiding for later. Letting out a sigh he looked at Thomas.
“What did your family look like? What’s your name?” Thomas looked back down at one of the papers and read off his family history.
“My name was… is Stephen. Stephen Parkins. My Mom was named Sally, and my Dad left when I was three. I lived in California, and I had a big brother. He… he was in the war, and he died in an explosion. That was all that was on the paper, but that was all he needed to hear.
“At least he didn’t suffer,” Newt offered quietly. Thomas’s eyes lowered in sadness, and even though he didn’t remember them, even though he never got to meet his family, he still felt a pang of remorse roll around in his stomach. Thomas wiped his cheek and turned toward where they had come from the trailer.
“I guess we should head back. Give the boys their papers and all that.” Newt just nodded and didn’t say anything as the two of them hoisted up the heavy chest, and started the trek towards the trailer.

Back at the trailer Newt and Thomas explained what had happened, and what they had for the Gladers. They then handed out the different documents and papers and soon each Glader was either crying, or on the verge of tears. When everything was said and done, Thomas went over to a corner of the trailer over by the bed, and opened the folder. No one questioned him as he pulled out the first letter from WICKED directed to his mom.

Dear Ms. Parkins,
We are writing to inform you of the upcoming events in you and your child’s future. As you are aware, we have been in contact with you and your family for several months, and we have to come to a decision.
You are aware of the Flare, and the effects that it has had on humanity. There has been no solution, until now. We are trying to gather all immune children from around the globe in an act of trying to save humanity. We think that your child is a vital asset to this program called WICKED. We will inform you further with the details, but we will be sending people to come pick you child up between the dates of February 12th - February 20th. Thank you for your understanding and continuous support in this program.
Sincerely, Councillor Paige

Thomas read the words over and over again trying to let them make sense, make them make sense. But he just couldn’t grasp it. His mother had let him been taken. She was a part of this. All this time he had thought that he had been stolen deep in the night with his mother and father asleep in their bed; and when they couldn’t find him they had wept for months and months, searching high and low for their lost son. But no.
An overwhelming sadness filled Thomas's heart, and he dropped the folder on the floor, not daring enough to read another. Thomas looked over to where the rest of the boys were reading their letters. Newt was one of them. He was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, his brow furrowed in concentration, or possible sadness as he flipped through the old weathered pages. Thomas thought about going over to talk to him, but instead walked over to Minho, who was sitting in stoned silence.
“Hey Minho, are you alright?” Thomas asked. He knew it wasn’t the best of questions, but at least it was something.
“Yhea, yhea. I’m fine,” Mino replied, staring blankly out behind Thomas. He nodded, not knowing what to say, or what to do. Thankfully Newt walked over and put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder.
“How ya doin Tommy?” He asked, sincerity showing in his voice.
“I… I’m fine. Just trying to make sense of all this klunk.” He stared at the letter that he still held in his hands, but the words that were printed in ink did not change. Facts were still facts.
“ I’m sorry Tommy. I truly am.”
“ It’s fine,” Thomas told them, even though all three of them knew it wasn’t fine. Not fine at all.

Chapter Text

Thomas went the rest of the afternoon going through the motions. Talk with the gladers, but only when you’re talked to. Yell at them to settle down, but not too harsley. Fry the potatoes, but don’t burn them. Wash the dishes, but hand them to Albert to put away. Run around, but don’t run into the wall. All the while the only thing he could think about was reading more of those letters. Finding out what had happened all those years ago. Back when his life was just as predictable and familiar as the sun coming up in the morning and going down again at night. Now, even that was uncertain.
When the sun was a slew of colors across the sky Thomas and the Gladers headed out to watch it sink into the earth. A sunset is what WICKED had called it. Of course, that was a silly thing to call it. Thomas would have much rather named it a painter’s sky. Because that’s what it was. It was as if a man had smothered his brush in thick paint and drew it across the world. No matter what was going on, Thomas knew he would always make time to watch the painter’s sky.
“Bloody beautiful sunset isn’t it Tommy,” Newt asked, breaking Thomas from his thoughts.
“Huh? Oh… yeah, I guess.” Newt wasn’t convince.
“Oh come on greenie. Talk to me. What’s on ya mind?” Thomas didn’t look up at him, and instead traced his eyes across the sky.
“Well, we just found an old box filled with all the information about our family and letters from WICKED, and we have no idea how these things got here or why they would want us to see them.” Thomas almost had to smile at the mystery of it. He heard Newt draw in a breath, but before he could make a sound one of the gladers let out a cry, pointing at something on the other side of the force field.
“It’s WICKED!” Thomas heard Minho yell as every jumped to their feet. Thomas whirled around to look, and what he saw was not anything to make his day brighter. Men covered head to toe in yellow rubber suits jumped out of the back of 4 white vans, and they outnumbered the gladers 3 to 1. They carried launchers on their backs along with pointy spears with electricity sparking between two prongs.
The Gladers were starting to get into a panic. Most rushed inside, grabbing whatever could be useful in a fight. Some reached for their newfound papers, not taking their eyes off the workers. Thomas was one of these people. He watched as one of the men tapped a few times on the forcefield, pausing every once in a while to turn back to another man and exchange a few words. When he was done another man in a white suite stepped out and took the place of the worker. Suddenly a voice Thomas knew all too well spoke out over the field. The words bounced around, causing the ground to rumble as the man spoke. Thomas could only steady himself and listen to what came next.
“Hello boys, I hope you’re all doing well. Some of you might remember me. My name is Janson, and I have some news for you.” He paused, almost to compose himself before continuing.
“I don’t mean to alarm you, but what I’m about to say won’t be easy. I request that you remain calm until we can take care of the situation.” Another pause. “A select couple of you, the control subjects if you will, have the Flare. It has been decided that you will be evacuated from this site, and placed in a more… suitable environment. This order takes effect immediately. I’m sorry.”