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SAMSON QUICKLY GOT CHANGED AND HEADED OUT TO THE BOX. The Gladers all took their time getting there. Everyone was still so shaken up by Nick's death and no one had gone near the Box since last month, besides the Sloppers who had to pick up the weekly supplies.

He spotted Alby and Newt at the front of the crowd. Alby was nervous and everyone knew it. It would be Alby who would have to help the Greenie out and get him situated, which used to be Nick's job. Even with Newt as his Second-in-Command to help him, Alby still struggled when it came to things like keeping track of the Gladers and dealing with trouble.

Newt and Samson had barely spoken in the month since Nick had died. Nothing had happened between them, things had just simply become so busy. Samson was constantly distracted with work in the Kitchen, and someone was constantly tugging at Newt's sleeve asking for him, so they didn't talk much. Newt sat with Alby during most meals with the other Keepers, and Samson sat with Leo and Clark. He couldn't help but wonder if Newt missed sitting with him, or if he'd only done it because Samson had been the lonely little Greenie. A sudden resentment for Newt awoke inside Samson. Newt of all people didn't deserve that kind of treatment, however, in the moment, Samson didn't care. But really, could he blame Newt? Sitting at the Keepers table was probably much nicer, anyway.

All of the Gladers eventually made it over to the Box. They all remained quiet and stoic, hovering over the Newbie. Memories from the month before were still fresh in Samson's mind. He'd never be able to forget Nick's cries for help, or the look on Alby's face when he pulled the rope back up with nobody attached to it. Although Samson quickly shook the thoughts away as best as he could, he could feel himself tense up as Newt and Alby both took a side and opened the Box up. The Gladers held their breath and each of them stepped forward to see who the new Greenie was.

The first thing Samson noticed was the smell.

He peered down into the Box and let out a loud gasp at the sight. Samson blinked twice, shaking his head furiously. His eyes were deceiving him, he was sure of it. Nick was haunting him. It couldn't be him. Samson glanced up at the other boys, their expressions all just as horrified as his. It was him.

Nick was laying inside the box, his legs cut clean off from the rest of his body. His head looked like it'd been bashed in, his face brutally mutilated, but it was him. There was so much blood. Most of it had dried up, but it covered every corner and crevice of the Box. And that awful smell of rotting flesh that had been trapped inside the Box for a whole month was now being let out into the Glade, triggering everyone's gag reflexes.

The Greenie was in the corner, shaking, crying and screaming. Gally jumped down into the Box and grabbed him. Samson didn't want to look at him. He couldn't even begin to imagine what he was thinking, being trapped inside that Box for who knows how long with a corpse. Samson tuned the screaming and crying out, his eyes trailing back to Nick. His hands clenched up into fists and he dug his fingernails deep into his skin to keep himself from crying.

He took a deep breath, turning away from the Box. He couldn't stand to look at Nick any longer. Alby had fallen to his knees before the Box, tears streaming down his cheeks. He'd never seen him like that before. When they'd first lost Nick, Samson had known Alby had taken it hard, but he didn't cry then. And now, he was on the ground, bawling. A few other Gladers were crying too, their eyes red and puffy. His eyes finally landed on Leo, who had his arm around Clark. The Gladers had all suffered so much.

Rage flowed through him like never before. Samson pushed past the boys and took off into the field. He couldn't just stand there and watch it unfold. He could feel his heart racing and was afraid that if he'd stayed any longer than he had, he'd do something he'd regret.

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He found himself in the Deadheads, under the tree he'd come to on his first day. He rocked himself back and forth on his feet, clenching his jaw to keep himself from screaming. His chest ached with raw anger, so much so that Samson was afraid of himself, afraid to move, breathe, or think.

His mind wandered back to the dream he'd had the night before, the memory. He'd destroyed the Creators lab, he'd fought them off, screamed in their faces like an animal. He'd threatened their lives. Had all of that really happened? Could he really get so angry, so violent? Samson couldn't tell, but that feeling of breathless fury felt all too familiar to be fake.

Samson lifted his head at the sound of faint rustling in the bushes ahead of him. He shifted in his spot, moving so he'd stay hidden behind the tree. He didn't want to be found, not now.

Newt came through the trees, frowning at him. Samson quickly averted his eyes, afraid if he so much as looked at him something bad would happen. A part of him really wished it hadn't been Newt that had come through the bushes. If it had been Leo or Clark, or maybe even Gally, the pressure to remain calm and collected wouldn't have been so hard. But with Newt, things had always been different. For some reason, Samson had always been compelled to try and stay strong when he was around, in the same way that Newt did. No one could ever really tell what was going on in Newt's head. He hid his true feelings well. Samson admired him for it.

Newt knelt down beside Samson, opening his mouth to say something, but he snapped it shut and sighed instead.

"I'm fine," Samson said tonelessly, his voice breaking.

"You've been out here a long time," Newt whispered. "Almost three bloody hours we've been looking for 'ya."

Samson lowered his head. His whole body shook with fear. He wished Newt would go, and would let him cool off on his own. He was so scared he would do or say the wrong thing, and Newt was the last person he wanted to harm.

"Hey," Newt said, leaning forward. Samson flinched, inhaling deeply.

Newt rested his hand on Samson's shoulder, so gently he barely noticed, but still Samson leaped at the contact, throwing Newt's hand back. Samson swallowed hard, shaking his head furiously. Newt stared back at him, looking hurt and shocked.

"I'm..I'm sorry, just...you should go," Samson gasped. He glanced down at his shaky hands, breathing heavily. He couldn't calm down.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He was so afraid he'd hurt him, he wanted to scream. He was dangerous and unhinged and for some reason, Newt couldn't see that, and Samson didn't know how to warn him.

Newt simply shook his head. He slid closer to Samson. "You shouldn't be alone."

Samson finally let himself lift his head. He tucked his knees up into his chest and took a deep breath. He studied Newt, his puffy eyes and his red nose, his messy hair and his quivering lip. Samson always saw Newt for what he was. From the moment they'd met, for some reason, he could read him like a book. Normally, Newt was good at hiding it from everyone else, which was what made Samson so nervous around him. He was envious of how effortlessly Newt could carry himself. But this was different, and seeing him in this state broke Samson's heart.

A sob tore through his throat. Newt called out his name and then he was holding him. Samson wrapped himself around Newt like it was life or death, weeping into his arms. And Newt only held him tighter. It was something Samson knew he'd immediately regret the moment it was finished, but for the time being, he let it happen, because Newt was different from anyone else in the Glade. Maybe it was because he'd been his first real friend, or maybe it was because of the love-hate relationship the two of them had built up, but since the day they'd met, something had always been there.

Raising his head towards Newt, he inhaled sharply. Newt grabbed his shaking hand and squeezed his hand twice. Samson was taken aback by this, but found himself feeling dejected when he let go. Instead, he rested his hand on Samson's head. Samson watched him closely, but Newt kept himself composed. He stared out into the Deadheads, avoiding Samson's gaze altogether.

Samson wanted Newt to look at him so badly. Tears fell from his eyes again and he choked on his words. And then he did. His big brown eyes collided with his and he smiled, of all things.

"Sammy, it's okay," Newt whispered. "I'm right here."

He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed Newt until then. He'd missed his voice, his eyes, his touch. He never wanted him to get away again.

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