trigger warning:
mentions of suicide and self-harm are described in this chapter. please read at your own risk.

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     SAMSON FINALLY SLEPT. When he woke up in the Med-jack hut, which was an accomplishment on its own,  he felt well-rested for the first time in a long time. Samson inhaled deeply, lifting his head off of his pillow slightly so he could check out his wound. Someone had dressed him in a new shirt while he'd been asleep, which he was grateful for. He peeked under his shirt at the bandage, which had been changed since he'd bled out in the field after the Grievers had attacked the Glade. He felt cleaner, healthier. Better. The serum had worked.

     He sat up, holding his torso up with his elbows. Thomas was asleep on the cot beside him, rolled over so that his back faced Samson, and Clark stood at the counter with his back to him too.

     "Clark?" Samson croaked out.

     His friend spun around and smiled. "Hey," he said quietly, coming over to the bed. "How're you feeling?"

     "Better," he sighed. "Much better, actually." Samson's eyes drifted back to Thomas. He could only vaguely remember what had happened to Thomas that night, all he knew for sure was that it hadn't been good.

     "He's okay, too. He got the serum right away and has been sleeping ever since. Been almost two days," he said.

     Samson nodded. "How's everyone else doing?" he asked.

     Alby was dead. Samson remembered that much. And without him, Samson could only imagine how hard things must've been for the Gladers. It had taken so long for the Glade to recover after Nick's death. Now they've lost another leader, in only a matter of months, which meant it was up to Newt to pick up the pieces. Newt. Samson hoped he was okay. But after the way he'd fallen apart in his arms that night, he doubted it.

     "The Glade is falling apart, Sam. Literally," Clark said. "The Homestead and the Kitchen were destroyed, and Gally's missing, so the Builders don't know where to start. Newt's losing his mind, he's been yelling a lot. The Runners quit. All of them except Minho, that is. And--"

     Samson cut Clark off. "Gally's missing? What do you mean?"

     Clark shrugged. "After the attack, no one could find him. He's probably dead, but we haven't found a body."

     Samson's heart sank into his chest. For some reason, he couldn't help but blame himself. If he had tried a little harder that night to get Gally to stay in the Box, he would still be there with them, not missing in action or presumed dead. Gally would've been able to help Newt get the Glade back in order. He was a friend. And now he was gone.

     "We lost Zart and Brandon too," Clark sighed. Samson bit his lip and turned away from Clark. Not Brandon, too. He had grown close to him while working in the Kitchen. Zart, too. Gally, Brandon, and Zart. They'd all been his friends. It wasn't fair. The Creators couldn't keep killing them. Samson wouldn't stand for it.

     "The Grievers came back last night. They destroyed the Cookhouse and took Brandon."

     Samson pulled the sheets off of himself abruptly and stood up slowly. Clark didn't try to stop him, which surprised Samson.

     "I need some fresh air," he said quietly.

     Clark nodded. "I get it. Come back soon so I can check your wound, okay?"

     "Yeah, of course. See you later."

     He stumbled out of the Med-jack hut and out into the chaos of the Glade. Samson stopped in his tracks as soon as he hit the grass, his mouth falling open in utter shock. There was a hole in the roof of the Homestead. The door had been torn off the front. A few of the Builders stood nearby but didn't seem like they were going to do anything to fix the building up. Samson figured that was on account of the fact that their Keeper was nowhere to be found. Somehow, the Kitchen had been completely burned down. All that was left was the remnants of the appliances the Gladers had been gifted from the Creators when they'd first arrived. The oven, fridge and sink. Most of the tables and chairs had been reduced to ashes. Frypan was sitting at the table closest to him with his head hung low. Samson felt awful for him. Losing his kitchen and Brandon was probably killing him inside.

     Samson decided to tuck himself away over in the Deadheads like he always did. He hobbled slowly towards the trees, not wanting to risk hurting himself when he was just beginning to heal. His wound had to be almost healed, but it still hurt to put pressure on his waist. Luckily, only a short walk into the woods brought him back to the tree he'd always sat at. It was one of his favourite spots in the Glade. It was somewhere he knew he could be alone, somewhere no one would ever find or bother him. Well, everyone but Newt.

     It was almost as if Newt had read his mind, because he came through the trees behind Samson, smiling down at him. Samson tried to return the smile, but after what he'd just witnessed in the Glade, he knew there was nothing to smile about.

     "I figured you'd be here," Newt said. "I need a break from the Glade. Leading everyone is...well, it's not for me."

     He hadn't talked to or seen Newt since the night of the attack, mainly because he'd been asleep since then. As he looked at him now, he knew the memory of Newt weeping in his arms was something that would stick with him forever. Samson wished there was more that he could say or do to make Newt feel better. Samson knew that he was grieving the loss of his friends just as much as everyone else. He was just better at hiding it. He had to stay strong for the Gladers, especially since he was forced to lead them.

     "Are you okay?" Samson asked timidly, breaking the silence between them.

     "Are you?"

     Samson sighed loudly. "I was supposed to fix all this. We could've been out of here by now. Safe. But I think Thomas screwed it all up before he came here. He wasn't supposed to come up into the Glade." Samson knew he was probably making no sense, but he knew Newt would listen to him regardless.

     "Yeah, about that, Sammy," Newt said. "You and I have barely had time to properly speak about what happened."

     "Maybe I don't wanna talk about it," he shot back almost reflexively.

     Newt, who looked taken aback, rolled his eyes. "Well, too bloody bad. I need you to explain everything."

     Samson lifted his head, frowning up at Newt. He'd explained his plan to Minho, Leo and Clark so easily it had practically rolled off of his tongue. But for some reason, the thought of explaining it to Newt always scared him.

     "Too much has happened. And it was all for nothing." he swallowed a lump in his throat and continued. "When I first came up into the Glade, I had these dreams. They were of... Thomas. He was with the Creators, but he was trying to help us escape the Maze. But he couldn't just give me the codes, it was too risky with the Creators watching him so closely. So, he told me I had to go into the Maze and go through the Changing to get the codes."

     "You risked your life for some boy in your dreams?" Newt interrupted, raising a brow at him.

     "I knew he was real. I mean, obviously, he is because he's asleep in the Med-jack hut right now. His plan was going to work. But then something happened with the Creators, and he got sent up into the Maze. So Teresa took over. She told me--"

     Newt shook his head, his eyes wide. "You're telling me you knew Thomas and Teresa, and you didn't bother telling anyone?"

     "I told Minho, and Clark and Leo," Samson replied, glaring at Newt for the way he'd interrupted him. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't know what you'd think of me, and I knew you'd act like this!"

     Rage gripped him, but he tried to ignore it. Samson knew how easily something could set him off, and he didn't want that something to be Newt.

     "Act like what?" Newt retorted, tilting his head slightly to the right.

     "You're obviously angry with me," Samson pointed out. "And if I had told you the plan, you would've never agreed to it, and you would've ruined everything Thomas and I planned out."

     Newt seemed hurt by this. "You're right. I wouldn't have agreed to it. But I certainly wouldn't be angry with you. If anything, I'd be angry at Tommy for sending you up here in the first place."

     Samson groaned. "I don't need your protection. Besides, Thomas doesn't remember me anyway."

     "You went into the Maze with no training. You barely made it out alive. You were stuck out there the whole night with Minho and Thomas. And I was here, feelin' completely useless because I couldn't help you."

     Samson wanted to smash his fists into something. He'd come out into the Deadheads to be alone, to try and calm himself down. Newt was only making matters worse, and Samson was afraid that his anger would get the better of him.

     "I knew what I was walking into," Samson growled. "All I cared about was that I was going to get us the codes and get us out of here. Thomas and I worked on that plan even before I was sent up into the Maze. I was sick of watching my friends suffer. I still am. They don't deserve it. We don't deserve it."

     "Samson, you could've died!" Newt shouted, his voice breaking. Samson stared back at him with cold eyes. He registered the fact that Newt was upset with him too. He'd called him Samson. He never called him Samson.

     Newt cleared his throat. "I've lost too many friends to the Maze. I lost myself to that Maze." He took a deep breath. "You wanna know the real reason why my leg's all messed up, Samson?" his voice shook but he spoke quickly.

     Samson turned his eyes away from Newt and balled his hands up into fists. He didn't want to know about Newt's leg. He wanted him to leave.

     "It's because--It's because I tried to kill myself in there," Newt confessed, his voice barely a whisper. He shut his eyes. "I tried to jump off those bloody walls. Alby found me and dragged me back into the Glade. And it was terrifying, every bit of it. The Maze terrifies me. I don't ever wanna go back in there if I don't have to. The whole night you were trapped in there, I was telling myself that even if there had been enough time for me to run after Thomas and save you, I wouldn't have had the guts to do it."

     "Samson, you're important to me. Do you understand that?" Newt continued. "You're important to everyone here. We're family. What would've happened if you had died?"

     "That doesn't matter," Samson replied through gritted teeth, his eyes remaining low.

     "It matters to me!" Newt cried.

     Samson growled in frustration, rolling his eyes at Newt. "You're not listening to me!"

     "I am listening to you!"

     "You are, huh?" Samson scoffed, hot, angry tears forming at the brim of his eyes. "Then listen to this. Leave me alone. Go away, Newt."

     Samson's whole body shook violently. He felt lightheaded, like he was losing control of himself. He finally forced himself to look up at Newt, who stayed where he was.

     "I said go!" Samson roared, so loud his voice echoed through the trees. "I don't need you to babysit me. I can take care of myself!"

     Newt stared back at him in disbelief. But then his eyes turned dark and stormy. He wiped the tears that clouded his eyes away and didn't spare Samson another glance, turning his back on him.

     "Fine. You do whatever the hell you want, Samson. I don't...I..." Newt stiffened up. "If you don't want me around anymore, I'll stay away."

     And then he was gone. The minute he was out of sight, Samson cursed himself. He let out a gut-wrenching scream, slamming himself into the tree behind him. He immediately regretted it when a harrowing pain shot through his side, but he did it again, and again, and again, telling himself he deserved it. He knew he'd messed up by pushing Newt away.

     "I didn't mean to," he whispered, sliding down the bark of the tree and into the grass below him. And he meant it.

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