The meeting was brief, strictly limited to figuring out what to do with Dave, who had obviously gone crazy. Some of the Gladers opted to simply throw him out, into the Maze at night when the doors closed. Others felt hesitant with the cruel idea, and wanted instead to lock him in the slammer until he could calm himself down. Hank suggested they tie him to a tree and let him "hang" for a while. The main problem was that the situation was entirely different any of the ones they'd had before then. If he had been bitten by a Griever it would have been easier.

They finally went along with the slammer idea and moved Dave's body and set him up as comfortably as they could in the prison, making sure to lock it whenever they left. Amid the scrabble of transfer, Dave regained semi-consciousness, but was disoriented and his eyes didn't seem to be able to focus. He wasn't dead, but it was most likely suffering from a severe concussion. When Nick cushioned his head on a pillow and rearranged his blanket, Dave started mumbling something under his breath about Minho.

"Shh. Quiet, now. You're gonna be okay, Dave," Nick soothed. Elizabeth was touched by the gentle way he handled the concussed boy. Nick was always so harsh and critical. He didn't like Elizabeth so she never really got the chance to see the softer side of him. He didn't appreciate weakness and hated confrontation and any type of competition that he felt would mess with his leadership position. Yet there he was, tucking in Dave's blanket and patting the boy's sweaty head with a strange, almost motherly touch.

Later, Nick filled Alby, Minho and Newt in on what Dave had been murmering about.

"The shank was going on and on about killing Minho and making him pay," he said. "Does that make sense to either one of you? Did Minho do something I ain't aware of?"

"Nah, I don't know, Nick. I always thought Minho got along with him fine," Alby responded, crossing his arms.

Minho's hand wandered to the bandage on his shoulder. "I don't remember what I could have done to offend him so much."

"Well you did, and when he wakes up, I don't want you anywhere near him. He's kind of loopy now so we won't be able to get anything out of him until he wakes up properly," Nick instructed. Minho nodded in agreement, and after some more small talk, they parted ways and fell gratefully into their cots.

---

Where am I?

Dave blinked his eyes open. The motion was met with a splitting headache and a terrible ringing in his ears. He was staring up at a dark ceiling. He managed to turn his head, his teeth clenching from the pain in his head. He was in the Slammer.

What happened? Why do I feel like throwing up?

A shadow passed over him and someone opened the door. It was Elizabeth. He blinked again, but this time with surprise. As she approached him, he was hit with a wave of dizziness. She was holding a bowl of water and a washcloth in her hand. When she kneeled down in front of him, he managed to focus his eyes on her properly. She jumped at the sight of him.

"Dave!" she exclaimed, "You're awake!"

"Yes," he managed. His voice sounded foreign, as if it didn't belong to him.

Elizabeth pressed a cold cloth to his head and some of the dizziness washed away. Dave closed his eyes and leaned in to her touch. But why was she, of all people, here? He remembered Minho and P.F., but he wasn't sure why they were there in his memory. He'd wanted to kill Minho so badly. He had tried so hard...his arms bristled with the same rage that had consumed him since Billy had been killed.

It should have been him, he thought, gritting his teeth.

"Are you okay?" Elizabeth's soft voice brought him down from that angry place, that cold, empty place of no return. He met her eyes and she looked so worried. Minho's face flashed behind his eyes and he groaned. He hated him. He hated him so much. And all the hatred had risen to the surface until he hadn't been able to control it anymore. It spilled over, and lashed out not only at Minho, but Ric as well.

Ric...

"What have I done?" His voice came out as a whisper, so quiet he thought Elizabeth hadn't heard him. For a few minutes all he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the occasional splash from the washcloth hitting the water.

"Do you remember what happened?" Elizabeth gently pressed. He looked at her again. Her hair had grown during her time in the Glade--it now reached her shoulders and framed her face with sunlight.

"I..." he choked. Suddenly the air was too suffocating. Suddenly it was too cramped and dark. Suddenly all of the hate inside of him melted and was replaced with a burning, hot sensation. He brought his hands to his face and groaned again. His body curled into a ball and he pressed at his temples, trying to make the headach dissapear. Trying to make all the darkness flee.

What is this! Why is this happening! What have I done!

Elizabeth didn't say anything. She placed a cool hand on his arm and her skin on his reminded him that he was still alive. She stayed with him even when his body became wracked with guttural sobs, like some feral creature's wailing of death. She never spoke a word, just sat there beside him with her hand on his arm and a washcloth on her knees, waiting for the storm to pass.