Disclaimer:

I do not own The Maze Runner, but HOLY CRAP GUYS THE FEVER CODE!!!

-✼-

"Dylan, Can you do a little countdown for me? Starting from ten."

The anesthesia was taking effect fairly quickly, causing the bright light above my bed to blind me. I blinked woozily and discovered my eyelids wanting to stick together. The world was turning blurry like there were layers of saran wrap over my eyes, senses dulling as sleep became more and more inviting.

"Ten..." The word was struggling to come out already. "Nine... what's going to happen to me?"

Dr. Mason's increasingly distorting figure hovering over me gently placed a hand on my cheek. The plastic glove glided against my skin. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. Just keep counting."

"Eight. Se...ven...." I was suddenly struck with the memory of us counting after going through the Flat Trans, when Theo had said the number in Spanish instead of English. I felt tears pricking at my eyes. "Oh, God."

"Dylan, you need to calm down," Dr. Mason advised, but all I could hear was my brother's voice coming out of her mouth. He had said those exact words to me when we first showed up in the Glade. Why were all of those memories resurfacing now? "It's important you stay relaxed. Go on."

"Six." My mouth turned in a frown as my vision blurred further, but this time because of more tears. A lump was lodged in my throat. To make matters worse, I began to realize how absolutely terrified I was. My heart was racing faster than my lungs could keep up with. "I - I can't. I can't! I--"

"Doc, shut her down," an unfamiliar voice commanded sharply, causing my eyes to snap toward the source. I couldn't see anything except the ceiling extending in that direction.

"But she's not calm," Dr. Mason argued. "It could—"

"I don't care! Shut her down or I'll do it myself."

Dr. Mason swallowed thickly and slowly reached for a switch beside my IV stand. I felt my eyes widen as her finger inched closer and closer to it. What did they mean by "shut her down"?

"I'm sorry." Her words echoed in my head and I was out just like that.

...Only to wake mere seconds later and be met with light. It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but once they did, I realized I was lying on a hard surface and the ceiling was white. My first thought was, The Trials. They put me in the room again, forcing me to—

That suspicion erased itself from my brain as soon as I sat up. I wasn't in the white room again. In fact, it didn't seem like there was an end to it. It seemed to stretch in all directions for miles, and there weren't any lights on the ceiling, yet it was almost too bright for me to bear.

I looked down to see myself clad in my old Glader clothing. The blue quarter-sleeve was even smudged with dirt as it had been before, the gray jeans tucked into my beloved combat boots. My hand trailed down my head to find my hair still cut short. What was going on?

I pushed myself to my feet and did a 360-degree turn, scanning for any sign of where I was, but there was nothing. I seemed to be alone.

Alone.

I closed my eyes and forced my heart to slow its already erratic beating. Once my breathing had leveled out as well, I hesitantly called out, "Hello?"

As I expected, there was no response. There wasn't even an echo to my voice. It was as if there was no space at all instead of an endless stretch of white.

Alone.

"Hey, it's okay."

I whirled around in the direction of the voice to find Thomas standing a few yards behind me. He also wore his Glader clothes - a gray long sleeve with jeans - and seemed totally calm. One arm was slightly outstretched as if I were some sort of rabid animal.

My eyebrows pinched together as questions flooded from my mouth. "Thomas? Where are we? Where did you come from?"

He came closer, still with that eerie sense of complete ease that was the exact opposite of my current emotional state.

"I'm not real, first of all," he informed me. "Your brain conjured me up to cope with your fear."

I blinked. "What?"

"You were scared, and maybe without realizing it, you thought about me as a coping mechanism. Now I'm here."

A dull ache started to blossom in my head. I pressed my fingers to my temples to massage away the pain that had formed, but then I began to notice sweat dotting the back of my neck. The temperature had risen steadily as if the air around us was humid.

"Stop that," Thomas ordered in annoyance.

"Stop what?" I demanded incredulously, feeling the heat increase further still. Thomas' face sheened. "I'm not doing anything!"

"Being confused," he replied in a 'duh' tone. "It's giving you a headache, and headaches are bad for the both of us."

"You mean we're in my brain?" My voice raised to a shout as I turned around slowly, wondering why my mind was so boring.

"Figuratively," Thomas responded matter-of-factly.

I stopped and twisted on my heel to squint my eyes at him. He looked like Thomas, that was for sure. Every detail was exactly how my real brother appeared, but there was still something different about him that it took me a second to place. His brown eyes stared blankly at me as I scrutinized him.

And it clicked. "You're nothing like Thomas."

My brother raised his arms in exasperation. "Look, I'm not even legit. I'm trying, here, okay?"

I was getting irritated with him, which was odd in a way, because it really meant I was annoyed at myself. Why did my brain have to be so sarcastic all the time? How could it perform enough acts to make W.I.C.K.E.D interested but not get Thomas' personality right?

"If I wanted the wryness, I'd have asked for Minho," I shot at him in aggravation. "But I didn't, apparently, so the least you could do is try a little harder to act like Thomas."

Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes. "As you wish, your highness." But there was a teasing smile on his lips as if he actually was becoming more like my actual brother, which did help with my nerves. At least I wasn't technically alone.

Suddenly, he froze and jerked his head to the left as if he had heard something come from that direction. "The testing is starting."

"What?" I asked, bewildered. "Already? Didn't they just knock me out?"

"Time is different here," Thomas responded simply. "It doesn't exist. Come on."

He waved me over, causing me to follow him as he walked briskly toward whatever he had sensed. It was strange to be walking and have no sense of my surroundings. The complete lack of scenery never changed; there was no sign that we were even moving at all.

But then, right before my eyes, a screen materialized. It was so large that it stretched way above our heads and the same way horizontally. Graphics of brains were displayed in transparent fashions. There were eight images in all - two rows of four - with each consisting of various colors inside different areas of them. Charts with text in tiny print filed down the right side.

"What does this mean?" I asked quietly, struggling to comprehend everything at once. My eyes scanned across the graphics of the brains— or, my brain, probably.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Thomas responded with an indifferent shrug.

"Wow, what a help you are," I muttered.

"Look," he said sharply, causing me to turn my head toward him, "I am, essentially, you. But I'm also not because you don't remember everything about your past. I do. I'm that tiny fraction of your brain that has the ability to overpower the Swipe, the Changing, whatever. However, you didn't know anything about the Flare- at least not like Thomas did. And I'm not him."

"Obviously."

He glared at me.

I sighed and faced the board again. "So you don't know what any of this means? There isn't a single memory that can help me understand this?"

"First of all," Thomas began, "you'll need to know for sure: there's no cure. W.I.C.K.E.D was lying to you about that, using it as bait to get you to do what they wanted.

"See this?" He pointed to an angry red patch on one of the bottom images. "That's the Flare. Janson wasn't lying when he said you have it. But that yellow thing is almost forming a ring around it, and I don't know what it is."

I stared at those colors for a second longer. The red blob was almost pulsing slightly like it was trying to grow, but the yellow was firmly encasing it in. What did it mean?

"That neon green color in the third brain is me."

It was no longer Thomas' voice. I turned sharply to see Newt standing in his place, in the exact same position my brother had just been in. He was also adorned in one of his Glader outfits- the blue t-shirt and jeans that made his hair appear even blonder. The strands were tousled and sticking up everywhere. He was quite the opposite of the freshly-groomed Newt I saw in the auditorium.

"Like I said: I'm small, but I'm also very important." He turned and furrowed his brow at me. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"You changed," I noted flatly.

"Oh," he replied, then looked down at his clothes. "Ah, yeah, Newt. Guess you thought about him at some point."

"That is so weird," I whispered. My eyes were studiously trailing over every bit of his face, but I didn't feel awkward about it considering he wasn't real. "You look just like him."

"Your old memory was very good," Newt complimented. "Thanks to me, of course."

Ignoring his second comment, I rolled my eyes and replied, "So I've heard." My lips pressed into a line as I thought hard about my next question. "So...if you still have all of my memories, why can't you give them to me?"

"Janson was also serious about the chance of you dying," he answered truthfully, his tone more somber than it had ever been thus far. "When I said I remember everything, I meant it. There are things W.I.C.K.E.D tried to get you to forget in the past. Somehow, M.A.R.D managed to dig those up, too."

I blanched. W.I.C.K.E.D had taken my memories even before the Swipe? That meant there were so many more things to discover about my memories, and we hadn't even scratched the surface. What could the organization have possibly done that they'd want me to forget?

"Tell me, Dylan." Newt's voice was a distant muffle. "Have you ever wondered why W.I.C.K.E.D let you stay with Group A if you were meant to be with Group B in the end?"

My head jerked toward him, but the quick movement caused me to wobble on my feet. His face was blurring like Dr. Mason's had before the anesthesia put me to sleep. I reached out instinctively to grab him, surprised that he gripped my forearms just as tightly and gently helped me sit.

"This might be a little...difficult to relive," he informed me with a wince. "But remember— W.I.C.K.E.D isn't all they say they are."

My head touched the floor again and I was out like a light.

-/-

The strangers' gloved hands tightened around my forearms even as I kicked and struggled in their iron grips. It had only been a month or two since I'd arrived at the foreign place and they were already aware that I was a fighter.

"Subject B1, calm down," one of them hissed- a male voice and not kind in the least. "You're making this worse."

"Let me go!" I demanded instead. My legs kicked and strained to touch the floor. If only I were a little taller...

"Not a chance," the other sneered. The first one opened the door to a room — one of many in the hallway — and hauled me inside.

My eyes assessed the interior quickly. I saw a chair like one at the dentist, a counter, and a few huge screens that were blank. A woman about the age of my mom was rinsing her hands in a sink on the left side of the room. She turned to me and smiled warmly. I recognized her instantly- Dr. Mason, the nice lady who had given me the candy.

"Hello again, dear," she greeted, drying her hands off with a paper towel.

"What's going on?" I asked instead of saying hello back- my nerves were too jumbled for formalities.

"Everything is going to be okay," she promised sincerely. "Dr. Frederick will be here shortly. You'll be just fine."

Her words soothed me enough to stop struggling. The two men holding me seemed relieved. One of them sighed and nodded at the other to pull me up onto the dentists' chair, but when I noticed them start to strap down one of my arms, my heart jumped in fright.

"It's okay," Dr. Mason comforted when my widened eyes met hers. My body was still rigid, but I trusted her enough to let them strap my other arm down. "It's so you don't get hurt, okay?"

I nodded and gulped down my protest when both of my legs were restrained. The straps were cold and provided little consolation, itching at my skin.

Just as the two men finished and had tightened the straps to fit my tiny limbs, a new doctor entered the room. He had on the same white clothing as everyone else, with skin almost the same color to match. His lips were awkwardly full and the same shade as well, dark hair gelled back. He looked up from his clipboard and addressed Dr. Mason.

"Angela, thank you," he said curtly. She nodded at him and left the room without saying goodbye; the two men almost looked like they were following her out but instead stationed themselves at the door. "Your name?"

It took me a second to realize he was talking to me- he was staring at his clipboard again. "Lu— Dylan." I bit my tongue and tried to cover up the fact I had almost said my old name. The reactions were always negative when I slipped; narrowed eyes, disappointed clicks of tongues. "My name is Dylan."

The doctor smiled, which looked sinister. "Good. Nice to meet you, Dylan. I'm Doctor Frederick. Today we're going to be...helping you with something."

"Helping me with what?" I asked, confusion lacing my tone. So far I didn't seem to need "help" with anything. I did as the strange people asked, usually didn't fight them when they stuck needles in me.

"If you'll let me finish." Dr. Frederick's voice was edged with annoyance now. "All you have to do is answer one simple question: who is Thomas?"

"My brother," I responded in the same perplexed condition as before.

"I was afraid you would say that," he sighed in disappointment and walked toward one of the big screens. When he tapped the largest one, it beeped to life. The graphics on it were too dizzying for me to understand.

And then, without warning, I was plunged into the worst agony I'd ever experienced.

It was like my brain was being torn from my body, then mashed together by a pair of ruthless hands. A cry burst from my lips as a stronger burst of pain originated somewhere inside of my mind. That spot pulled as if the hands were trying to yank it out. My arms tried to come up and grab my head, but the restraints prevented them from budging.

I woke from the trance to discover one of the men's hands hovering above the screen. Dr. Frederick was even closer than he had been before, narrowed, dark brown eyes staring into mine.

"I'm going to ask you again," he muttered lowly. "Who is Thomas?"

"My brother!" I exclaimed, fingers twitching at the memory of the anguish.

"No he isn't," Dr. Frederick spat. I flinched at his harsh tone. "You don't know anyone named Stephen, anyone named Thomas. Do you hear me?"

"No," I responded lowly.

That time, it was worse. I let out a scream as what felt like an electric shock ran down my spine. The tugging was more persistent on my brain, but I clung onto his name like a lifeline. Thomas. Thomas. Thomas.

I could hardly open my eyes. Colors clouded my vision like I had looked directly at a light source, causing me to blink sleepily to chase them away.

"It's going to keep getting worse, Dylan." I shook my head at his words, noticing tears streaming down my face for the first time. "Who...is...Thomas?"

"My...brother!" I forced out, tensing up in preparation for what was to come. Seconds later, I felt my lungs constrict until I thought they'd burst. The pulling was so harsh a head-splitting ache formed in my skull. Another screech fell from my lips, but I refused to give in. Thomas Thomas Thomas Thomas Thomas.

"Th-Thomas is my brother!" I shouted through heavy, pained breaths. "You...can't make me forget."

"You don't—"

"NO!" I shrieked, shaking my head fervently and choking on a sob. "I will never forget him. Never—"

"Sir," one of the guards' voices sounded, appearing nervous, "one notch higher causes a risk of permanent brain damage."

There was a long pause in which there was no sound except for my own unsteady breathing. My muscles were so tense that they felt like metal extensions of my body, blood frozen in my veins.

"Put her under," Dr. Frederick decided shortly. "She can't remember this."

-/-

My eyelids snapped open suddenly as they always did when I woke from a memory. A hand flew to my head, where I swore I could still feel the terrible ache in that exact same spot as before.

"Welcome back," Newt - or at least my brain's version of him - greeted. I blinked several times to see him leaning over me. Then, right before my eyes, he glitched as if it were a bad recording and switched to Thomas again.

"They..." I sat up, feeling anger churn in my stomach. "They did that to me - a six-year-old! He tried to get me to forget Thomas!"

He nodded in confirmation. "In order for the Trials to work, you two had to forget one another. W.I.C.K.E.D figured they'd start with you since Thomas was already 'up there' with Teresa. You were more expendable at the time.

"The way everything worked there was this: no connections to your past life were allowed. You were supposed to abandon your old name and adapt to your new one, accept your fate and do nothing to stop it. That meant cutting you and Thomas apart. But you're twins- you're too entwined for them to force you guys apart."

"But the Swipe--" I started to argue, only to have him cut me off.

"--was specially designed for you and Thomas. W.I.C.K.E.D spent years perfecting your doses to be strong enough in order for you to forget. But they can't mess with instinct."

Instinct. Those protective urges I had for Thomas from the very second we were pulled from the Box...

Thomas' image kept talking. "And Teresa- she knew that. Which is why she hid you in the Box. She gave you the Swipe meant for everybody else in hopes you'd remember him sooner."

That memory came to life in the back of my mind- the night she pulled me out of bed and injected the Swipe in me without telling me why. Perhaps she thought that I'd start regaining my memories fairly quickly with that version and letting me in on her scheme was too much of a risk.

"But other kids..." I mumbled, shaking my head. "There's no way we were the only siblings."

Thomas nodded. "You're right. They did the very same thing to Newt and his sister."

Newt had a sister?

Before I could open my mouth to ask who it was, Thomas' head jerked up just how it had before. "They're ready to wake you up. But..." He paused and furrowed his brows. "Something's wrong."

"What?" I asked, feeling a spark of fear hit me.

Thomas rushed out a reply, but he was already fading, voice growing fainter and fainter with every word. "I don't know! But listen- that wasn't the first time W.I.C.K.E.D took your memory. They did something--"

He zapped out of existence. There was one terrifying second in which all I could see was white again, feeling like I was falling through a bottomless abyss. I blinked to clear my vision; Newt was leaning above me.

"Welcome back."

gif is thomas in dylan's mind palace (haha sherlock)

----

the scene with baby dylan was actually inspired by the fever code! if you've read it, you definitely know the part i referenced in here

also, if you have read it, DO NOT COMMENT ANY SPOILERS AT ALL ESPECIALLY ON THAT ONE PART I FORESHADOWED (YOU KNOW). i will delete them if they do contain spoilers for the sake of those who haven't had the chance to read it yet!

questions:

-what was your favorite part of this chapter?

-how do you feel about dr. mason now?

-can you guess where dylan woke up?

-have you read the fever code yet?

-if you had to ship dylan with another character besides newt, who would it be?

also, comment what kind of memories you'd like me to include in this book! (maybe they'd answer any questions you may have, or just contain cute fluff)

-kristyn