33 Leo

I didn't sleep well last night. My back pressed against the cold stone wall towards the far side of the Glade. I've slept on doors that won't open no matter how hard people press against them.

I can remember Dawn shouting. I can remember her shoving her way through the crowd towards Alby, demanding why we did nothing. Why we all stood like shanks in our boots instead of climbing the Wall, or trying to bend it open. Why people could stand still as a boy was out there with the Grievers.

Alby's words still haunt me. They are like ghosts that re-appeared every time I tried to close my eyes. Words that stung like chemicals in my eyes.

"We've been trying to save them for years. We are powerless to the maze."

I didn't want to think I was at the disposal of my surroundings, but when I couldn't close my eyes I knew he was right. I wanted nothing more than to chase after Dawn. To hold her and tell her everything was alright, like she had done for me the day before. Unfortunately I am a coward. Even more unfortunately, it was Fry-pan that trailed after her as she was crying.

Minho locked himself in the Map room. He still hasn't come out, even though all the other Runners are congregating at the Box. Supplies came up a few days ago, which means they are standing there waiting for further instruction. Waiting for meaning.

The Doors are open, and none of them have moved. I was awake well before they opened, and only managed to peel myself off of the ground as my resting place was disturbed. Now I stand blocking the only way out of the Glade, staring down at the ground.

This is the first time I have seen a dead body.

His skin is pale, and seems to stick to the congealed black blood on the ground. I didn't know blood got as sticky and thick as it did from where it once pooled from beneath his head. The nights in the Glade are cold, and I imagine it is colder beyond the Walls.

In the early morning sun, I can see exactly how he died. Throat ripped out at the side by God knows what. His skin is hacked apart and sprayed about, as if he was put in a blender. I can see pieces of his flesh lumping together on the ground. Puddles of organs, heaps of blood.

When I stare at it, I forget to move. I forget to breathe. It is unusual to see a boy destroyed. Dead I can handle. Mangled bones and muscle is not a nice sight for the early morning. I would throw something up if I had anything in my stomach to release.

A hand is wrapped in mine, and I can't find the ability to move my body. It is like it was two nights ago. When there was me, and Dawn, and Michelle and Ella on Minho's bed. In space that belonged to us.

I feel someone spin around in front of me. It's Newt's face. He is still holding my hand, as he looks me in the face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. I can't tear my eyes away from the boy on the ground in front of me.

"Don't look at Stephen," he ducks in front of the body, so I am forced to stare into Newt's eyes. "Don't look at him, alright?"

He looks over his shoulder, at the boys by the Box, before he drags me into the Deadheads. They lie just to the south of where we stand at the East Door. It's hard to breath, but I let Newt bring me there. His hands still hold mine steady as we are swallowed whole by the trees.

I can hear him shaking. I don't know how else to explain it. Just like I can hear the trees rustling. Newt quakes in a way I didn't think I would see. It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't want to see Stephen's body either. All that could run through my head was my quick pumping blood.

But here in the emptiness of the woods, I can feel him breaking against me. The way he shakes should happen to boys. Not to anyone.

He's crying.

I reach around his head, and stand on my toes to pull his face into my neck. He is taller than me, and it is hard to stand like this, but I don't care. Often I forget that Newt is not just a leader; he is a boy. It escapes me that I am not the only one who has power but feels like they shouldn't. After all, I can't be the only human to ever be insecure.

Insecurity is only human.

"I can't believe he is dead," Newt begins. "I barely knew the kid. Came up two months before Chuck, who came up the month before you. Only became a Runner two weeks ago. Filled the slot I left open a few months ago. This isn't shucking happening."

I want to tell him it's not his fault, but he will never believe me. If I were in his shoes, I would blame myself too. The thing is, we can't be responsible for everything. Besides, I still can't breathe. The words to help him are in my somewhere, but I can't find them.

Instead, I hold him against me, and he holds me back. What else is there for us to do except try and find some solace in the chaos that surrounds us.

"All to find a way out of that shucking Maze." He clings against me, and I feel his weight drop into mine. I can't support him, but I will die trying. "It's never going to shucking matter, you know? We can hope and whatever, but we've been shucking stuck since we came up in that Box."

He's right, and I can feel the fear creeping up at my knees to take me out. I have to hold myself up for him. That's what friends do, right? All I can do is help hold him up until I fall down.

"Newt," I peel my body off of his to look him in the eye. "Calm down."

My words are the water that sobers him up. He looks at me with red eyes, before he begins to nod up and down. He blinks away tears, before he actually looks at me.

"Shuck, I'm so bloody stupid."

I glance at him, trying to decipher exactly what he is trying to explain.

"I dragged you in here because you looked like you were going to klunk your pants, or losing dinner all over his corpse. Never even asked if you were alright."

"I am alright." Lie. I bite my cheek. He can tell I am lying too. Or maybe he can't, but his eyes run up and down my face trying to decipher the truth in my skin.

His eyes hold the truth to his, but I don't know if I can even read. I've never had the opportunity to, and I know I most certainly can't read the expression in his face.

I hear someone groan, and I find my hands falling quickly off of Newt's shoulders. His fingers fall off my face quicker than I let go off him, and his eyes shoot away from me. They glance back before darting off again. Why is my heart racing? If we get caught, we aren't doing anything. It may look like we are, but we aren't.

Michelle wasn't doing anything either, and she nearly got banished.

I tell myself not to think about it. As long as I don't think that way, it won't be true.

The groan was deep, and undeniably male, where the sigh right after is undeniably the opposite. I know who that is. At least, I hope I know who that is. If suddenly I round that corner and it isn't Minho and Dawn I am in trouble. If, for example, it is, I don't know, Michelle and Jeff? That makes no sense. Alby and Ella. That makes less sense.

Shuck. It's not just me, it's Newt. I flick my gaze up to his eyes. Water brims at the edges as he looks up at me. His knees teeter, and I race to catch him as he falls towards the ground. I miss, instead diving down next to him.

He's freaking out. I can tell from the way his hands shake. Suddenly mine feel sturdy. Don't get me wrong, my stomach still churns from the sight of the bloody corpse on the ground in front of me. His blood spilt on the ground like it was nothing. Like he was nothing at the end of the day.

My fingers twitch, and I feel my nails dig into the palms of my hand. That corpse is the least of my worries right now.

Newt knows. Or at least, he is about to know.

There is a giggle, and I hear more shuffling as someone sturdies themselves. I pull Newt off the ground. He leans against my shoulder as I pull him further away from the wreck I know is behind me. Only Dawn would giggle. This is irreparable. Does Newt recognise her voice? Why won't his breath steady? Where is his breath anyway? It seems buried inside his chest and I haven't learned enough from the Med-jacks to properly start his heart again.

I pull Newt out of the Deadheads, but he ducks back in. Pulling me further until the green is grey and we are against one of the monstrous Walls. His back finds the surface, and the breath finds his lungs and suddenly he is panting.

He runs his hands through his hair, collapsing against the dirt floor. One of his legs curls up into his body instinctively, and the other he has to pull up until he is a ball against the Wall. He chokes on the salt of the tears that leak out his eyes, but he isn't crying.

This is panic, and how it wears his skin.

I kneel in front of him, unsure if I can touch him. My hands twitch as they hover over his boot. If my fingers find his body, will that hurt or help?

"Should I get Clint?" My throat croaks out. "Jeff? Who can help?"

He shakes his head, as he presses his hand against his heart. "It's fine. This happens all the time." His chest cages in his voice and his breath. I wonder if he is trying to start his heart or stop it. I hope neither, but if I genuinely believed that I would be an idiot.

Instead, I stand still, like a shucking idiot. Staring because I don't know what else to do.

"You know who that is." At first I thought it was a question. Newt looks up at me, as he wipes his nose. It's a soft hue of red.

I can't lie to him. I don't even know if I'm a good liar. So instead, I nod. Still crouching in front of him, all I can do is affirm his suspicions.

"Don't tell me who it is," he begins. "Either of them. Alby can't know, you understand that?"

His voice is suddenly urgent so I nod.

"Leo," he takes my hand squeezing it firmly. Too firm. I doubt he even knows he is holding me as tightly as he is. He squeezes me like he is trying to remember he can feel. "You need to promise me you won't say anything. Alright? Just tell them to be more careful. Tell them I know."

"Now?" I can feel my eyes brimming with tears. Why am I so emotional? This is embarrassing.

"No, later," Newt corrects. "Separately."

As he takes on the role of leader, he becomes firm. His breath steadies and he figures out exactly what needs to be done. No time to think about himself. Numb to the world around him.

I wonder if that would work.

I sit next to him, waiting for him to breathe. When I signed up to be a Med-jack, I thought I would be fixing people. That isn't what being a healer is though. What I did decide to do, was watch people break, powerless to stop it.

One thing is certain though, I can try to save those who aren't shards of people. Split like glass and lying in the dirt. If I can protect Ella, Michelle, and Dawn, then that is enough.

~~~~~

Pauvre Newt, and also pauvre Henry. Realistically no one has it good here. Poor everyone.