[trigger warning: suicide attempt]

LOCATION: THE MAZE

T-MINUS 13 MONTHS SINCE NEWT ARRIVED

Newt has been thinking about this for days. Every second of every minute of every day for the past month, a recurring thought has struck him with enough force to nearly knock him off his feet. His knees had begun to ache from the burden of the plea from somewhere deep within him. The voice has been growing louder and louder each day, now present as a pounding voice screaming in his head, loud enough to rattle his brain.

The Wall the Wall the Wall the Wall the Wall—

When he first came up to the Glade with thirty other boys at once, twenty-nine of them soon realized they had one thing in common: they couldn't remember anything. Everyone they may have met before they woke, blinking into the sunlight, was a mystery. Newt was the one person who could remember something— the face of a girl.

He didn't know who this girl was, at first. He didn't know why he remembered her. The only thing he knew was that he couldn't tell anyone— if nobody else had a single memory, something terrible could have happened to him. He constantly felt out of place. It was like he didn't completely fit in with everyone else. He never felt comfortable in his own skin, a walking anomaly among his seemingly normal peers.

But later on, he began gaining more memories, only surrounding the girl. He didn't know her name or where she was from. The memories came in vivid dreams that caused him to wake breathlessly. He only knew that she once existed, but now she was gone.

Newt realized a while ago that he must have loved the nameless girl. It would explain a lot.
It would explain why he's caving in on himself. It would explain the ache in his heart every time he woke up.

Everything has become so much. He can't take it anymore. The frustration at the Creators for sending them here, the fact that they've been here for a year and haven't discovered any type of solution, every day being the same routine over and over, and the stupidity of his memories. Why him? Why her? Why is he the only one who can remember?

Newt laughs, a half-crazy sound, and tightens the ivy vine around his waist. He must have been imagining her this entire time. His subconscious had developed a coping device for him: a sweet, brave girl whose smile could light up the darkest sky. She can't be real.

It would explain a lot.

A dark shadow has been following him for a long time. He'd find himself crying angry tears when he woke, livid at his brain for torturing him with her face every night. For giving him images of someone he could never have. For making him feel the brush of her skin. For having him feel so much raw adoration for someone. He has felt himself spiraling down, down, down. It's too late to try to pull himself up. His fingers are slipping, barely grasping onto the edge of sanity.

Newt's pale fingers shake as he unties the vine from his midsection and buries his feet securely in the notches he'd made in the plant. He faces the open space behind him, back to the Wall, and exhales slowly. A small gust of wind blows his tousled hair out of his face. The Maze is otherwise silent. The time on his digital watch blinks at 7:05 pm, meaning that, technically, he should be going back to the Glade with the other Runners soon. But not today. He won't be going back.

Then, something clicks in his mind.

Dylan.

Her face, again, pops into his head. The heart-shaped face, her smile, her dark brown eyes that match the color of her hair—

Her name is Dylan.

Newt's mouth twists into a scowl. Deep hatred for himself brews up to the surface, a new, intense wave that crashes into him relentlessly. How dare his brain do such a thing? How dare it continue to do this to him?

He pushes her picture far, far out of his mind. A shaking breath. It's exactly thirty-eight feet to the ground. His arms are beginning to tremble from the strength it takes to hold himself up. The feeble footholds he'd created are nothing compared to the insisting pull of gravity.

The ivy doesn't make it all the way to the top, he notes, but it will be enough. It has to be enough.

Another breath. He closes his eyes.

And leaps.

-/-

As usual, Minho drags Newt along with him to the Box as the Greenie Alarm blares in their ears. He faintly recalls the first time he had heard the piercing sound two years ago, when he had a headache for a week afterward, but now he hardly winces.

"You're usually so excited to see the Newbies," Minho comments as they trek through the long blades of grass. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Newt replies almost absentmindedly. "Just thinking about how the Box is a bit late today."

The ever-present ache in his leg causes him to limp through the grass. The other Gladers are moving much more quickly than he, jogging or even running toward the perfect square dug into the center of their abode. Its doors are closed for now, but they'll soon open, revealing their newest addition.

By the time they reach the Box, the Greenie Alarm has ceased its blaring and the machinery has stopped its one-way trip with a dull thud. Minho pushes his way through the crowd to help pull the doors open as he always has. Gally, Alby, Frypan, and Winston move to assist in the job as well.

Newt scratches his ear almost boredly. The Keeper of the Runners had been right— he's uncharacteristically unenthusiastic about the arrival of a Greenie. He really isn't sure why. Instead of the usual excitement he gets, his gut is full of nothing but dread. Maybe because he knows, deep down, that another Glader means they've gone another month without any means of escape.

The sudden commotion from the boys surrounding the Box causes him to snap out of it. They must have opened the doors.

"There's two!"

"How old?"

"That shank looks like klunk in a t-shirt!"

"You're the klunk, shuck-face."

"Dude, it smells like feet down there!"

"Why the shuck are there two? Am I the only one concerned about this?"

"Hope you enjoyed the one-way ticket, Greenies."

"Ain't no ticket back."

"Why the shuck are there two?!"

Two? Newt's brows furrow, his forehead wrinkling with the motion. Two can't be right. Every consecutive month after he'd arrived, there has only been one Greenie a month, like clockwork.

As if the aspect of there being double the usual amount hadn't been alarming enough, a collective gasp confuses him even more.

"It's a shucking girl!"

"What?!"

"You heard me, klunk-face!"

"A girl?! Like a real, live, one?"

"No Dave, she's dead. What do you think?"

"Oh, so now you slintheads are concerned."

He must be dreaming. There aren't girls in the Glade, and there haven't been for two years. For whatever reason, the place is full of testosterone and masculinity— surely it must be a boy with long hair, or something.

"A girl?" a Glader named Theo whispers to his friend Garret from beside Newt. The blond boy shrugs, confusion swimming in his gray eyes.

"Nice to meet ya, shanks," Alby's familiar greeting rings in his ears. "Welcome to the Glade."

Newt pushes his way to the front of the crowd to see for himself. The Gladers are rigid, barely letting him pass through, some with eyes as wide as saucers and others staring with their mouths hanging open. His eyes eventually land on a scrawny, skinny figure with short raven hair kneeling in the grass. Definitely not a girl. But then his gaze flickers to another human, and he forgets how to breathe.

She's standing there, mere yards away from him. Her dark hair is tied back in a loose braid, her heart-shaped face slightly scratched from what he presumes had been a rough trip up in the Box. She's clearly meant to be here— her clothes say that much. A plan blue quarter-sleeve and gray jeans blend seamlessly with the other Gladers' clothing options. Her fierce, calculating brown eyes sweep over her surroundings in an attempt to gain some knowledge of her location.

He knows her. He's seen her hundreds of times.

Dylan.

Newt trips backward. His sneakers get caught on someone's legs behind him, and he barely manages to steady himself before he's backing out of the suddenly suffocating crowd and into a space where he can clear his head.

She's here. In the Glade. Which means that, all this time, she'd been real, not a figment of his imagination as he'd previously thought. Not a coping device to help him deal with the daily horrors of their prison. She's real, and that means he can look at her, touch her, feel the emotions he'd been having in his dreams.

And if she's real, and if she's here, it means there's a possibility of her not remembering him.

"Shuck it," Alby's voice drifts into his mind. "Ain't no way to start these conversations, you get me? We don't kill shanks like you two here, I promise. Just try and avoid being killed, survive, whatever."

Newt shakes his head. This is Alby's first time introducing the Greenies on his own since Nick's untimely death, and he should have known that there would be trouble. Normally, he'd be beside his friend, ready to lend a helping hand, but he'd been sidetracked.

The crowd has shifted. Gally is sitting dramatically near a wooden post, glowering as usual, so that isn't a surprise. But Newt is intrigued to see that the Greenbean boy and Dylan are sitting near one of the Deadheads. The other Gladers have packed tightly around them, barely giving them room to breathe, and he's been standing alone looking like a shuck idiot.

"Thomas, I'm sure we're fine," her voice meets his ears. It's just like the one he'd been hearing in his memories, reminding him of her tingling, carefree laugh. Shuck it. He can't do this.

"Man," Alby sighs. "I ain't good at this — you're the first Greenbeans since Nick was killed."

He's going to kill them with his words. The two poor Newbies are going to die of shock before they even get a chance to go on the Tour tomorrow morning. That's why Newt tells himself, I have to do this, and limps his way toward them. The crowd parts more easily, now, and he thankfully makes it to the center before anything else can conspire.

Newt playfully slaps Alby on the back of the head. "Wait for the bloody Tour, Alby. Kids are gonna have a bloody heart attack, nothin' even been heard yet." He bends down and extends a hand to the boy first, plastering a friendly smile onto his face. "Name's Newt, and we'd be right cheery if ya'd forgive our klunk-for-brains new leader, here."

Next, his hand starts moving on its own accord, and soon he's holding it out for Dylan to shake. Their first real glimpse at each other has his mouth falling open before he can stop it. A sharp tug pulls from somewhere in his brain. He knows he looks like a fool again, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't shake himself from the dumb stupor he's trapped in. He can't look away from her eyes. They appear just as shocked as he does. Had she felt the jolt, too? Does she remember?

"Pipe it, shuck-face, and stop gawkin' at the girl like a shucking fish," Alby grumbles and grabs Newt by his collar, yanking him onto his backside before they have the chance to shake hands. "At least they can understand half my words."

There are a few scattered laughs from the surrounding Gladers, but Newt can't hear them over the ringing in his ears. Alby speaks. His words are nothing but a faint buzz. His brain can't comprehend the amount of shock he's going through. He can't stop thinking, She's real she's real she's real—

He jumps up just in time to see chaos ensue. Alby has the boy pinned to the trunk of the tree, but then, just as quickly, Dylan yells at the leader to let him go, and hits him in the back of the neck.

For a stunned second, Newt has no clue what to do. The raven-haired Greenie slips out of Alby's grip in the slightest bit. Dylan's arm pulls back to possibly do more damage, and Newt finds himself blindly reaching for her until she's squirming in his arms. Her small body writhes as he holds her above the ground so her combat boots can't scrape the dirt. Something tells him that she's far more helpless than she looks, but she doesn't try to injure him. Instead, after a few moments of struggling, she goes slack.

"Let. Him. Go," she seethes through her teeth. When Alby doesn't relent, she sighs and fills her voice with desperation. "Please."

"Alby, lay off a bit," Newt advises calmly even though his heart is pounding. "You're hurtin' more than helpin', ya know?"

The dark-skinned boy finally releases the Greenie, chest heaving and rubbing his neck where he'd been hit. "Ain't got time to be nice, Greenbeans. Old life's over, new life's begun. Learn the rules quick, listen, don't talk. You got me?"

The nameless boy glances at Newt like some sort of plea. He recognizes that he seems to have already made himself trustworthy, so he nods. "Greenies, you got him, right?"

The boy stays silent, fuming with rage. Dylan replies shortly, "Yeah."

"Good that," Alby replies matter-of-factly. "First Day. That's what today is for you, shanks. Night's comin', Runners'll be back soon. The Box came late today, ain't got time for the Tour. Tomorrow morning, right after the wake-up." He turns expectantly toward Newt. "Get them a bed, get them to sleep."

"Good that," the blond agrees. He lets Dylan slip out of his arms, landing her gently on the ground but still lingering in case she tries to attack again.

Alby's narrowed eyes flicker between the new additions to the Glade. "A few weeks, you'll be happy, shanks. You'll be happy and helpin'. None of us knew jack on First Day, you neither. New life begins tomorrow."

He spins on his heel and storms away. Newt can't agree with him more— a new life is beginning, and he isn't quite sure how he's going to deal with it.

____

this is just a quick disclaimer (ha): i don't claim to know exactly what was going on through newt's head before he jumped, nor do i consider this canon in any way toward the original series (since dylan obviously doesn't actually exist). this was just my take on it for fanfictional purposes

i'm sorry to start the epilogue off on such a rough note, but i thought it was important to reveal how newt felt when he saw dylan again, and also give an inside look to his memories (because they were such an important aspect of the first book)

please let me know what you thought!

-kristyn