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THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE SAFE. The feeling of being somewhat okay, safe, and happy, for once, since he'd begun this shell of a new life, had only lasted about twelve hours.

Samson turned the shower handle and stepped inside. He sighed and shut his eyes out of satisfaction at the wonderful feeling of the hot water slicing through his skin like a warm hug. It was comforting. Samson dropped his head forward, letting the water pour over his dirt-covered head of hair.

He had told Newt just before that he'd needed a little while to process everything that had happened. One minute, Samson had been safe and sound in his new bed, and the next, he was shaken awake and snapped out of that fantasy. At the first sign of a mattress to sleep on, a hot meal, and four walls, the Gladers believed they were finally safe. They believed they were free from the Maze Trials, and all of the pain and hurt it had caused them. They were so naive to think that things would be okay. They weren't okay. They weren't safe. Would they ever be?

+++

Samson stirred slightly when the door to his room clanged loudly, metal hitting metal. The banging noise was repetitive as if someone was slamming on the door over and over again, trying to break in. Samson lay frozen in his bed, unable to move out of pure terror. He wasn't sure if the door was locked or not, but whatever or whoever was behind that door was determined to get inside. Samson swallowed hard. Was he still dreaming?

"What's going on?" someone muttered from the bunk below him. It was Thomas, who got up from his bed abruptly. "Teresa?" The others could hear it too. This wasn't a dream. Someone was trying to get to them.

"What do we do?" Winston followed Thomas quickly, throwing his sheets onto the floor.

Suddenly, the door flew open, hitting the wall hard and fast. Samson braced himself, backing up into the wall behind him. The Gladers emerged from the hallway, filing into the room one by one, and Samson sighed out of relief.

"Hey, Sammy. You alright?" Newt climbed up the ladder of Samson's bunk and tapped his hand lightly. Samson sat up on the bed, eyes wide open. Newt stepped down, muttering an apology for waking him.

"What's wrong?" Samson asked him, his voice harsh with sleep. He began to climb down the ladder as well, joining the Gladers down on the floor of their room.

"Something bad is going on," Newt replied, looking around the room wearily. Thomas stood in the corner of the room, peeking out the window. Samson could make out Minho's silhouette in the hallway, speaking to Winston using exaggerated hand motions. "There are crazies surrounding us outside our windows, and those people...those people who saved us..." Newt trailed off, resting his hands on his hips.

"Newt?" Samson pressed.

"We need to find Teresa," Thomas interjected, stepping forward to join the others.

The door that led out of the dorm room was pushed open. Minho and a few other Gladers were all standing in the doorway, looking rather annoyed. "What's going on? I don't wanna be out here with these dead shanks any longer."

Samson cocked her head at the door and frowned at the awful smell the Gladers had brought into the dorm. He took a slow step towards the door. "Dead shanks..?" he whispered.

Minho sighed. "Yeah. All those people who helped us are dead. See for yourself," he stepped back to let Samson through the door.

The Gladers poured out of the dorm and back into the hallway, with Samson and Thomas trailing behind them. He walked cautiously, that strong, rotting, putrid smell filling his nose as he stepped out of his room. As he lifted his head Samson was met with the bodies of his saviours, hanging dead from the ceiling of the common room.

Samson nearly fell backward in shock, mouth agape in horror. Dozens of people were strung up by their necks on the ceiling, their tongues dangling out of their mouths. Their eyes were all open and swollen with fear, staring down at Samson. He tried to break himself away from their unblinking eyes, but he felt hypnotized with terror.

He recognized one of the women. It was the lady who had brought him and his friends to their dorm just the night before. As Samson weaved his way through the bodies, he found himself able to place all of these people from the night before. The man who had driven the bus, another man who had brought them their pizza. The woman who had guarded the door upon their arrival. All of these people had helped them escape the Maze, they had led them to safety, and they had paid with their lives.

Samson's mind raced. Who were these people anyway? Why had they saved the Gladers? Who had killed them? And why had their killers spared the Gladers? His head snapped back around to face the Gladers.

"This is our fault," he said quietly, to no one in particular. "This had to be WICKED."

The boys all frowned back at him. Samson couldn't stop the tears that welled up in his eyes. If WICKED had found them again, they were screwed. If WICKED had them, there was no doubt that they'd be thrown back into the Maze, memories wiped again, forced to work as their lab rats. Samson's whole body shook and he finally made himself shut his eyes, tearing himself away from the bodies.

A loud clanging sound broke through the hallway again. Thomas was slamming a fire extinguisher down hard on Teresa's door handle. The Gladers gathered around her room, watching as the knob finally snapped off and fell to the floor.

Samson stepped toward Teresa's room. On the front of the yellow metal was a small, clear-plastic sign, holding a sheet of paper in between its slot, with words typed on its surface;

Teresa Agnes. Group A, Subject A1. The Betrayer.

Thomas had already barged into the room and was looking around frantically. He began to climb the ladder towards the top bunk. "Where is she?" he said, glancing back at the Gladers.

Samson pointed to her bathroom door. The light shone from underneath the crack in the door. He figured she must be in there. Thomas flew down from the bunk and made for the bathroom door.

"Thomas!" Newt yelled, making Samson jump. He hadn't realized that Newt had joined him at the doorway. "Give her some bloody privacy. There's a reason they separated her."

Thomas sighed but nodded. He leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes, and Samson turned his attention back to Newt.

"What the hell is going on?" he muttered. Newt shrugged, and the two of them looked each other up and down.

The door to the bathroom clicked open and Thomas jumped forward towards the door. But Teresa didn't come out of the bathroom. It was a boy.

He looked to be the same age as the other Gladers. He was short and stocky, with light brown hair and big brown eyes. He was wearing the same pajama bottoms as the rest of the boys. He was taken aback by the sight of the Gladers in front of him and cowered back toward the door to the bathroom.

Thomas took a step backward. He shook his head in disbelief. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" the boy repeated harshly. "Who are you? Where'd you come from?"

Newt stepped forward so he was beside Thomas then. "Don't bloody mess around. There are a lot more of us than there are of you. Tell us who you are."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Fine. My name's Aris."

Samson decided to speak up as well. "Where's Teresa? This is her room. Where is she?"

Aris blinked twice. "There was never a girl in here. I mean, there were the girls from the Spring, but they're in their room. It's just me in here."

Thomas turned back and pointed towards the door. "There's a sign right out there that says this is their room. Teresa Agnes. No mention of a shank named Aris."

Samson and Newt exchanged glances again. What other girls? From the Spring?

Aris held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Look man, I don't know what you're talking about. I was sleeping in that bunk," he motioned to the bottom bed. "They put me in here last night to keep me separated from the girls. I woke up about five minutes ago and took a pee. Never heard of a Teresa Agnes in my life. Sorry,"

Thomas sighed and lowered his head. An awkward tension built up in the room.

"Your turn to talk. Who are you, and how did you get here? And where are my friends?" Aris asked.

Samson suddenly understood. Aris had said that they had put him in this room the night before to keep him separated from the girls. His story was awfully similar to that of the Gladers and Teresa. Ignoring his question about his friends, Samson continued to interrogate the boy in an attempt to get some answers. "Who put you in here?"

Aris threw his arms up in the air and then let them come back down and slap against his sides. "I don't even know. A bunch of people with guns who rescued us and told us everything would be okay."

"Rescued you from what?" Newt asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Samson had a feeling he was beginning to catch on.

"From the Maze," Samson and Aris both said in unison. Thomas, Aris, and Newt all turned to face him. Samson nodded to himself. "He said he was separated from the girls, and that he was rescued from the Maze last night, just like us," he pointed to Aris. "You said you and these girls were from where?"

"The Spring. It was what we called our community. Our home, within the Maze."

Samson turned to his friends. "Like the Glade. He got sent up to this Spring place as the only boy, just like how Teresa turned up to us. They've replaced each other. If Aris is here, I'll bet Teresa is with the girls from his Maze."

"Blimey," Newt muttered under his breath. "You're right."

Minho groaned. "This is so ridiculous. We need to figure all this out," he sighed deeply. "I say we hold a Gathering. Find out what this shank knows," Minho eyed Aris up and down, "And what we're gonna do about food and water."

Samson hadn't even thought that far ahead. With all of their benefactors dead, no signs of sustenance anywhere, and no exit out of the building, they would all starve.

The Gladers all started back towards the other room. Samson stood stiffly in his dorm, his eyes training on a pair of legs dangling from the ceiling in the hallway. He tried to make sense of it all in his head. It had to be WICKED. But what was the purpose of this trial? To starve them out? To drive them insane? They were just kids. Kids who couldn't take much more of this.

Newt motioned for Samson to follow him, but he shook his head. "This isn't fair. Haven't we suffered enough?"

Newt frowned. "I know. I'm sorry. We're gonna figure all this out. C'mon,"

"You guys go. I need some time to think. I--" Samson turned back toward the bathroom. "I'm gonna take a shower."

He hadn't had a shower for at least three days. Showering in the Glade during his last few days had been the least of his priorities.

Newt nodded. "I'll wait for you out in your room. I don't want you to stray too far away from me, with everything that's happened."

Samson brushed him off with a smile. He appreciated the gesture. After the hell they'd been through back in the Glade, the time they spent apart, it was a relief to have Newt by his side once more. He'd missed him so much. "I don't want you to miss the Gathering. You're their leader now."

Newt shook his head. "Being the leader isn't my thing, you know that."

Samson nodded. "I won't be long. I just--I feel like I'm still dreaming."

"None of this feels real. Since the moment we woke up, it's been a bloody nightmare," Newt sighed. He caught sight of Samson's gloomy face and stepped closer to him. "But I'm right here. I'll wait right in here for you."

Samson smiled down at the floor, pressing his forehead against Newt's. "You better,"

+++

After what felt like hours but was merely minutes of being under the warmth of the shower, Samson eventually opened his eyes. However, the comforting feeling the water had brought him before quickly faded. He suddenly felt very small, and very stuck.

At first, he couldn't move. He felt paralyzed with fear, trapped in his own body. It was as if he could feel the walls around him slowly closing in, squeezing him tighter and tighter, and there was nothing he could do about it. Samson snapped out of his horrified state for just a moment and managed to ball his right hand up into a fist, in an attempt to shake his mind out of paralysis.

Samson sunk into the corner of the shower, making himself feel even smaller. To him, it felt like it was shrinking around him. The warm water suddenly felt as if it was burning his back and eyes, and although he'd never experienced anything like it, he felt that he might drown.

The confinement of the shower pulled him back to the Box back in the Glade, reminding him of its darkness and all of the horrible things it brought. Samson was reminded of his first day in the Glade. How afraid and alone he had felt. He was reminded of Thomas and the sick feeling he'd gotten in his stomach when he realized it was him lying helplessly down in the cold, dank Box. He was reminded of Nick, his old friend whose body had been sliced in half and presented to the Gladers at the bottom of the Box next to Clark. Clark, his closest friend and confidant, who had sacrificed himself in the Glade for his friends. His loyalty and bravery cost him his life, but he had given the Gladers the chance to escape, to survive. And this only reminded him again of the bodies that were strung up out in the common room. The people who had helped him, who had given him hope, were all dead.

The familiar sound of the Greenie alarm rang in his ears, and Samson shrieked. He knew he was just hearing things, that his mind was playing tricks on him, but the alarm was so deafening that he brought his hands up to cover his ears to drown it out. To his surprise, this seemed to suppress the noise even though it was all in his head. Samson heaved in a breath.

He hated that Box, and he couldn't snap himself out of his anxious state. He was trapped in the corner, having fully convinced himself body and soul that he had been dropped back in the Box, and would be sent back up into the Maze Trials. Samson screamed again over the ringing alarm, shutting his eyes tighter.

Finally, the alarm stopped. Samson relaxed his shoulders slightly, but he couldn't quite bring himself to open his eyes.

A swift knock on the bathroom door startled Samson further. "Sammy? You alright?"

It was Newt. He was still there, waiting for him just as he'd promised. Just on the other side of the door. The door to the bathroom, not the Box in the Glade. He was okay.

Samson inhaled deeply and tried to ground himself. Slowly, he allowed himself to stand up from the corner of the shower. He pulled the curtain back and stepped out onto the floor. The room was surrounded by hot steam, his reflection in the mirror too blurry to make out. The sensations made Samson's skin squirm. He needed to get out of there.

Newt continued to bang on the door, calling his name. Samson panted frantically, swiping a towel down from its hook and quickly fashioning it around his waist. He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and made for the door. Throwing it open by the handle, Samson bulldozed back into the dorm and crashed into Newt's arms, sending them both flying to the floor.

"Shit!" Samson gasped, his cheeks flushing red at the commotion he'd made. He peeled himself off of Newt and sat up. "I'm sorry, Newt, I just--I had to get out, the Box was--" Samson reached down to help Newt up from off the floor, but he couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.

Samson couldn't seem to catch his breath. Tears began to run down his cheeks and he tried to wipe them away. He turned away from Newt and sat down on the bottom bunk, holding his damp chest.

He could feel Newt's eyes on him as he neared again. Newt sat down next to him on the bed and took Samson's hand in his, holding it gently. Samson finally exhaled deeply, glancing upwards. He squeezed Newt's hand and looked back at him.

"Aw geez, look what I did," Samson let out a breathy laugh and the tears continued to pour from his eyes. "You're drenched."

Newt's pajama shirt was soaked from Samson landing on him. Droplets of water ran down his face and neck. Newt grinned back at him, shrugging. "Not the end of the world. I need a shower myself."

Samson leaned forward and hid his face in his hands, chuckling to himself. Newt wrapped his arms around his back, squeezing him tightly. Samson felt his heartbeat finally begin to return to its normal pace, felt his body relax at Newt's touch.

"Sammy," Newt muttered. "Are you--"

Samson sat up quickly. "I'm okay," he tried to smile. "We should go to the Gathering."

Newt nodded slowly. "Whatever you wanna do," he replied before sucking in a deep breath. "I'll let you get dressed. If you need anything, you just holler." he started to stand, returning the smile. They kept their hands intertwined for a moment. Newt glanced down at him again. "I'll be there." 

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starting off book two with an extremely traumatized sam! my poor boy suffers from PTSD bad

i hope you guys are excited as i am to be back with these two! i'm so looking forward to finally writing some really adorable beautiful sam and newt scenes :)

i hope you enjoyed this chapter! sorry it's quite long lmao!

love always,
chloe