Disclaimer:

Here you will usually find a disclaimer about how I do not own The Maze Runner. Well, I still don't, so the disclaimer is still here!

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I woke with a foggy mind and my eyelids sticking to each other like glue. The only reason for being out of my slumber was because Newt was talking. My head laid against his chest so I could feel it vibrating, but his voice sounded a little strange. Weird.

I stirred, causing him to cut off his sentence and his hand running through my hair to freeze. "There's only thirteen of— oh."

My head rose off of his chest, feeling like a fifty-pound weight. I ached all over and my side still burned heavily. I could feel dried blood on the side of my head from where my left ear had bled.

Newt gave me a soft, tired smile through my bleary vision. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like death," I responded in a grumble. A frown pulled down my lips when it sounded strange to my own ears. I reached up and hit the left side of my head, feeling panic rise in my chest when I realized something. "I - I can't hear out of my left ear."

"What?" Thomas stood up from where he sat on the dusty floor of the dilapidated building we must have gotten to sometime during the storm. I didn't remember it, and I was kind of glad I didn't.

"Tell me about it," Minho groaned, sprawled out on his back in the middle of the floor with his eyes closed. "At least you didn't catch on fire."

I blinked and realized he was right. His clothes were singed and some parts had charred holes burned through the material. Burns covered his arms, much like mine, and his face held a constant grimace. It looked like he had gotten the worse end of the bolt.

"No, I literally can't hear." I lightly touched the part just below my earlobe, recoiling at the sharp stab of pain that followed. No wonder my ear had bled- my eardrum must have burst from the volume of the lightning. What was I going to do if I was deaf in one ear? I plugged my right one and was met with silence except for a strange, slight ringing sound. "It just rings."

Newt frowned and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. I grimaced at the pain that he accidentally caused when his skin touched my burns, but ignored it as best as I could. My head flopped against his chest when he set me on his lap. All I wanted to do was fall back asleep.

Newt chuckled half-heartedly when I fell back into him so easily, but lifted my chin with his fingers and barely gave me time to open my eyes before his chapped lips met mine. The kiss was slow and meant to distract me from the trails of fire raging through my veins, I knew that much. It was also an 'I'm glad you're alive' type of things that could be reciprocated both ways.

"Agh, really?" Thomas pretended to gag. "Right in front of me? My twin sister? Really?"

Newt pulled back and sent my brother a glare. "Shove off."

"God, I'm so glad I don't have the physical strength left to open my eyes," Minho sighed from his beloved spot on the ground. "Nobody wants to see that."

"Once again, nobody bloody asked anybody to look," Newt defended in an exhausted tone. He let me get comfortable against his chest once again and began combing through my incredibly windswept ponytail with his fingertips. I couldn't stop tensing up every time he accidentally brushed his arm against a burn. It did help that he would whisper, "Sorry," in my ear every time he did.

I swallowed, my throat dry as sandpaper and stomach growling. I sure did miss that dried beef jerky. Sure enough, Newt had dropped the pack of food during the storm. I was proud of him for even carrying it for as long as he did.

I could hear the slow thump of his heart every time it beat, filling me with a strange, sudden realization that Newt was a human like me and everyone else in the room. My fingers danced over his ribs until I could squeeze his free hand with mine. I love you.

I was sure of it then. I was sure of it when he had picked me up off of the sand last night, when he had carried me to this building despite the fact that he barely had the strength to do so. My skin crawled with it, the intense feeling for him, and my nerves yearned for his constant touch. I was in love with his heart. The way he laughed and how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he did so. His smile and the look in his eyes when they gazed into mine. His kindness and his limp that he never told me about.

"Who—" I couldn't finish the question. The words caught in my throat like a forbidden sentence and I shuddered at the fact that I even had to ask it. The sound of my voice was fuzzy because my working ear was pressed to Newt's chest.

"Jack, Stan, Tim, and Harvey, to name a few," Thomas replied sadly. My heart gave an unpleasant jolt that nearly detached it from my arteries. Harvey had helped me stand last night when I had fallen. Now he was dead. I'd never get a chance to thank him for thinking of me before himself.

Newt took his hand out of my hair and pointed at the sunlight peeking through one of the broken windows on the wall across from us. "Least it's over. We better start thinking about what we're gonna do next."

"See," Minho said with a slight grin. "You're just as heartless as me. And you're right."

Thomas nodded and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, we better figure things out before we have a bunch of those crazies show up. But I'm telling you, we gotta eat first. We gotta find food."

"Food?"

Even with my bad ear turned toward the source, I still heard it- partially because it echoed through the place. It came from above and was completely foreign to me. When I looked up, a face was staring down from the shredded remains of the third floor. I could hardly see his face, but I did make out wrinkled, dark skin and greying hair that curled around his head.

"Who're you?" Minho shouted up at him. Apparently he did have the remaining strength to open his eyes, because they were widened at the sight of the unexpected visitor.

I let out a small gasp as the man literally jumped over the railing and fell down toward us. Minho let out a shriek and scrambled out of the way toward Thomas. Then, at the last second before his legs would have been crushed, the man tucked into a roll and sprang to his feet.

"My name is Jorge," the man replied with the hint of a Spanish accent, arms outstretched. "And I'm the Crank who rules this place."

I blinked in utter shock and slowly got to my feet, grunting at the pain that followed. Newt followed, as did the other Gladers who had definitely woken up by then. Theo was holding the man under a calculating stare. He had obviously detected the accent Jorge had.

"You people forget how to talk?" Jorge asked with a smile. "Or you just scared of the Cranks? Scared we'll pull you to the ground and eat your eyeballs out? Mmm, tasty. I love a good eyeball when the grub's runnin' short. Tastes like undercooked eggs."

"What the shuck," I mumbled under my breath, wondering if my lack of hearing was playing tricks on me. It was strange that everything was now half the volume it usually was.

Minho had been the only one not to stand, but he now seemed wide awake and the grimace had disappeared. "You admit you're a Crank? That you're freaking crazy?"

"He just said he likes the taste of eyeballs," Frypan deadpanned in a monotonous tone, eyes wide. "I think that qualifies as crazy."

Jorge's laugh was booming and set me slightly on edge. Though he was clearly amused, there was also an undertone of menace that I didn't fail to catch. "Come, come, my new friends. I'd only eat your eyes if you were already dead. Course, I might help you get that way if I needed to. Understand what I'm saying?" All traces of kindness vanished from his dark face, replaced with a stern look.

Nobody replied for a long while. Newt finally asked, "How many of you are there?"

Jorge's gaze snapped in our direction, eyebrows raised in mockery. "How many? How many Cranks? We're all Cranks here, hermano."

Theo's face lit up at the man's usage of Spanish. He stepped closer with a challenging expression on his tanned face, curls unruly as ever from the storm. "Listen, hermano," he mimicked. "Just answer the question. Right now, there are more of us than you."

Jorge's eyes filled with interest as they flickered to my Spanish-speaking friend. He had noticed his accent as well, along with the way the word 'hermano' effortlessly rolled off of his tongue. "Lots of things you people need to understand about how things work in this city. About the Cranks and W.I.C.K.E.D, about the government, about why they left us here to rot in our disease, kill each other, go completely and utterly insane. About how there's different levels of the Flare. About how it's too late for you – the ill is gonna catch ya if you don't already have it."

Jorge began to pace as he talked, taking in all of us and sizing us up with his dark brown eyes. I felt the familiar sensation of fear crawling up my back. He stopped near us, feet almost touching where Minho sat on the ground.

"But that's not the way it's gonna work, comprende? Those who are at a disadvantage are those who speak first. I want to know everything about you. Where you came from, why you're here, what in God's name your purpose could be. Now."

Minho's chuckle was low and threatening. "We're the ones at a disadvantage?" He swiveled his head around to sweep his eyes over all of us. "Unless that lightning storm fried my retinas, I'd say there are thirteen of us and one of you. Maybe you should start talking."

I ground my teeth, glaring at the back of Minho's head so hard I hoped he could feel it. He was going to get us killed with his smart mouth. Jorge obviously wasn't alone; there were probably tons of Cranks hiding in the shadows on the floors above. He was dangerous and we couldn't afford to make an enemy of him.

"You didn't just say that to me, did you?" Despite the venom in his words, Jorge's face was blank. "Please tell me you didn't just speak to me like a dog. You have ten seconds to apologize."

Minho looked over at Thomas and smirked.

"One," Jorge counted. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six."

"Do it," Thomas demanded out loud, voice no more than a hiss.

"Seven. Eight."

Jorge's voice rose with each number he said, and by ten, he might've been able to shatter every piece of glass that remained on the windows. There was a glimpse of movement in the shadows above, making me gulp. Minho noticed it as well; any remaining arrogance drained from his face.

"Nine."

"I'm sorry," Minho forced out the words with little emotion behind them. I winced.

"I don't think you meant that." Jorge reared back his leg and kicked it into Minho's leg. My jaw dropped open in surprise while my friend cried out in pain. "Say it with meaning, hermano."

I glanced over at Theo. He was shaking with anger, fists clenched so tightly that his veins were popping out of his skin. He looked like he was going to burst and scream at Jorge a piece of his mind.

Jorge sent another forceful kick to the same spot, but twice as hard. "Say it with meaning!"

"¡Tú culo, él ya está herido!" Theo shouted out in a sharp cry, red in the face. I had heard enough of his rapid-fire Spanish to know that he said something along the lines of, 'You blank he is blank blank blank,' but I couldn't figure the rest out. It was probably some insult or telling him to stop hurting Minho.

Minho was wailing as he grabbed the injured part of his leg with both hands. "I'm...sorry," he gasped through ragged breaths. As soon as he said this, Jorge relaxed and smiled in such a sick manner that I felt my stomach jolt. Minho swung his arm out and slammed it into the Crank's shin. The man leaped onto his good foot and fell with a shriek.

Suddenly Minho was on top of him, yelling swear words that would have made his mother wash his mouth with soap seven times. He squeezed his thighs to keep Jorge in place and then started to punch in wild swings.

"Minho!" Thomas and Theo both shouted in sync. The curly-haired one now looked more surprised than angry, mouth open in shock as he ran forward with my brother. Thomas slammed his body into Minho's. Theo picked up the Asian boy by his arms and held him in place. Because he had been a Builder, Theo was likely as strong as Minho.

"Believe me, amigo, I want to pound his face in, too, but we can't actually do it," Theo told Minho, who was breathing raggedly still. He struggled to be free, but Theo's grip was firm and it didn't seem like he was letting go anytime soon.

"Why the shuck not?" Minho questioned with his jaw clenched, then lurched forward and rolled his eyes when Theo's hold didn't break. "He beat me!"

"Exactly!" Theo exclaimed. "And he'll do it again, so keep your mouth shut." He realized how harsh his voice sounded as he talked to our leader, so he hastily added, "Please."

By that time, Jorge had staggered to his feet and wiped the trickle of blood that was coming out of his mouth. All of the anger in the world was printed on his face; it created a look more thunderous than the sky last night.

I couldn't help it. Jorge seemed like he was calculating how much force he would need to take on both Theo and Minho, and before I knew it I was running toward him, nearly tripping and falling from how stiff my legs were. Newt's hand just missed my arm when he tried to grab me.

I skidded to a stop in front of the two boys, holding my hand up to Jorge with a fierce look in my eyes that I hoped was present enough to mask the fear.

"Wait!" I shouted, then paused to catch my breath, adding in a quieter voice, "Please, wait."

My heart was pounding again as he made eye contact with me, but before he could make his move, Cranks seemed to drop from the sky. Some slid down on ropes while others copied their leader's jump-and-roll move. All of them gathered in a large pack behind Jorge- men, women, and teenagers alike. All looked like they were ready to kill us at his command even though they were skinny and frail.

The only sound in the room was our breaths. I slowly lowered my hand, which had begun to ache the longer I held it up, and kept Jorge under a stare that I prayed was still as threatening as I wanted it to be.

"Just one minute," I told him in a steady voice. "One. We'll explain everything- why we're here, where we're going, and when. Everything."

It occurred to me that I was going to need a lot more than one minute if I was going to cram in everything that had happened to us into a very short summary. I was just starting to think about how brief the summary would have to be when Jorge spit a wad of red goo from his mouth at the ground.

"Who is your leader?" he asked, teeth stained red.

I paused and swallowed. If he knew Minho was the leader, he'd never agree, and we'd be dead. My eyes closed for a second while I said a silent prayer that Minho wouldn't go off on me for what I was about to say, then met Jorge's gaze again and spoke. "Thomas."

My brother stepped forward as his name was called, clearly trying to mask the fear he was feeling on the inside. He stopped at my side and stood completely still when Jorge's amused gaze met his.

"Me and you," Thomas said. "Ten minutes. Alone. That's all I ask. Bring all the weapons you need."

Jorge laughed at that. "Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but I don't think I'll need any."

He paused, which seemed to last an hour.

"Ten minutes," he finally agreed, making me almost sigh in relief. "Rest of you stay here, Watch these punks. If I give the word, let the death games begin." He held out a hand and motioned to a dark hallway. "Ten minutes."

Thomas nodded, making the first move to go toward the broken doors when Jorge made no sign of moving. I watched him go with blood rushing in my ears — even the one that hardly worked — and felt my knees start to buckle. The Cranks shared alarmed glances with each other at the sight of my shaking legs, like they didn't know what to do.

I fell, landing on my butt on the hard ground and clenching my teeth at the burst of pain. The group of Cranks took a step back from me as if I was the one more infected than them. To show them that it wasn't a planned distraction of some sort, I scooted away from them and bumped into a pair of legs before I could get more than a foot back.

I looked over my shoulder to see Newt. He sat down with his legs crossed and hoisted me back into his lap, careful not to touch the burns on my skin.

"You alright?" he asked lowly in my bad ear, making me have to strain to hear his quiet voice.

"I'm fine," I replied, leaning my head back on his chest. "Just...tired."

It was true. My whole body still felt like it was made out of weights instead of bones, dragging me down until I felt like I could hardly support myself. The few hours of sleep I had managed to get weren't nearly enough. And, so, I wasn't surprised when I closed my eyes and fell right asleep.

gif is dylan's eyes bc as she watched jorge

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if you love theo and you know it clap your hands *clap clap*

if you're happy that dylan loves newt and she knows it clap your hands *clap clap*

if you're minho af and you know it and you really wanna show it, if you're minho af and you know it clap your hands *clap clap*

questions:

-if you had to pick a song(s) to describe what happened in this chapter, what would it/they be?

-should i start putting the translations for theo's spanish at the ends of the chapters? (i probably should)

-when do you think dylan will tell newt the big three words?

-do you think dylan will ever get her hearing in her left ear back?

-do you lowkey ship theo and minho?

i'm actually pretty happy how this chapter turned out, yay! plus i'm feeling much better and i had a snow day today so double yay!

also: if you want to, read my minho fanfic 'aegis' to know a lot of details about these books (garret's secret talent, how theo got his limp, etc)! i hint at a lot of things about different so make sure to check it out ((:

-kristyn