It was like hitting the stone floor all over again.

Newt was falling again. He was falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling. He was weightless for a moment, only before the pain. He wanted to scream, to scream as loud as he had on that wall. He was trapped, oh God he was trapped. That's why he became a runner, to get out of this hell hole. When that didn't work he tried jumping off of a bloody wall and kill himself. Look where it had gotten him. This cruel twist of irony had trapped him, not only to a bed but to the inside of four walls. He wanted to scream and scream and scream and scream. Something, anything, that would let him breathe, he didn't care what. Internally he was nothing but a shrieking, sobbing mess of pain.

Externally, however, he was sitting silently on his bed, his hands twisting the sheets beneath him as he stared ahead with glassy eyes.

There was no way his leg could be….he couldn't be.

He had to know.

Scrambling, he threw the covers off, ignoring Alby's shouts of protest, and looked down at his legs. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts that just reached to above his knees. The legs below were covered in white bandages, his left leg wrapped relatively thin…his right leg…

Newt leaned over the bed and promptly threw up.

"Newt, shuck!" Alby gasped, standing up so quickly to avoid the vomit that he knocked his chair over. Newt ignored him.

The Gladers must have gotten some heavy pain killers from the Creators, or maybe it was the concussion, but he had no idea how he could have missed it. Sitting back up and wiping his mouth uncaringly. Newt returned to staring at his leg. The rest of the world faded away as he looked at it. The bandages were relatively normal until it got to his knee and then down to his ankle. There they were layered thickly, yet dried blood spots were still prominent, and even then fresher blood spots had bled through. What made him really feel nauseous was the angle of his leg. It was bent at a strangle angle, bent too far inward. Not horrible noticeable, but clearly off and wrong. Alby was right, there was no way he would ever walk normal on it again, much less run. Bloody shuck, how the hell had he not noticed this…he couldn't remember anything from that night…what the shuck had happened?

"Newt…" Alby whispered it softly, but Newt didn't move. He didn't look up, just looked at his leg. There was something soft under his hands. The sheets. He just kept twisting the sheets, over and over and over and over and over and over and over. His mouth opened momentarily, then shut. He couldn't speak, again. Couldn't make a single quip, one bloody remark. He couldn't do anything. Why did his chest hurt? Something was wrong...some very simple thing.

"Newt…Newt, breathe!"

That was it. That was the one thing that he wasn't doing. Why wasn't he breathing? He wished he was. Maybe it would make his chest stop hurting, or his head for that matter.

"Newt! Dammit!" Alby was shaking him again. Why did Alby sound so desperate? God he didn't like that sound. He'd heard that sound before….God, where…why couldn't he bloody remember?

"Newt! Newt!" Alby was hovering above him, shaking him. Everything was a swell of pain. Through his blurred vision he could spy the med jacks rushing around. Oh God, what the bloody shuck was happening…

"Breathe!"

Yes, he knew he was supposed to bloody breathe, but he couldn't quite remember how. He could feel himself shaking. His chest was moving up and down. Wasn't that how breathing worked? But it all felt to fast….his heart shouldn't be moving this fast.

"Minho, get in here!"

"Minho, hold him down for me!" That was Jeff, or maybe it was Clint…the shuck if he knew. Another shock of fire ripped down his body. Someone let out a yell.

"Grab him before he falls off the shucking bed!" Is that what was under him? A bed…

"What the – oh shuck." Minho was there. That was Minho's voice. He heard a pattering of feet, someone knelt down on the floor in front of him. "Newt? Newt?! What's going on?!"

All he wanted to do was offer a snarky, "What does it look like?" But he couldn't even move his mouth. God that was wrong. Everyone felt so wrong. His grip on the sheets only tightened, as if he was trying to shatter the fabric in his hands. There was a twitching sensation in his arms. His arms hurt now too.

His arms, his head, his legs. God, why did everything hurt? It was the jostling around, wasn't it? The medjacks were lifting him, pulling him around, grabbing his arms when he just wanted to push them away. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

Suddenly Minho reached under Newt's chin and lifted his head to meet his gaze. "Newt, look me in the eyes." The blonde's eyes stared off into the distance for a moment before coming in to focus on Minho's face. He still struggled to draw breath, hyperventilating as tears sprung to his eyes. Gently, Minho took hold of his wrists. "Newt…you need to breathe." The blonde began to struggle in his grasp, pulling backwards, but Minho only tightened his grip. "Newt…"

Oh God, suddenly he knew what was coming.

"Hold him down!"

"We have to reset it!"

No. no. no no no no. "Minho!" He managed to gasp out.

He tried to pull away, but Minho only tightened his grip. Oh God, no. No. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. Before he could even take a breath…

"Newt! For the love of God breathe!"

There was a snap!

Newt gasped suddenly, his breathing beginning to even out in sharp, shuddering, breaths.

And then there was only pain, followed by soothing darkness.

Sobs. Horrible, heart wrenching sobs shook Newt's body as he sat there, his hands tugging at the sheets. Oh God, he remembered everything. Every horrible detail of the pain from when he was put in the bloody homestead. The thoughts just made him cry harder. He was a bloody mess. His shoulders shook and his heart was racing and his head hurt and he didn't know what to do. He wanted it to stop, all of it. Tears blurred his vision as he coughed and sputtered and tried to get his breathing back in order. Gasp, sob, gasp, sob, cough, gasp, sob, gasp, sob, cough, repeat.

Minho and Alby stared in shock at their friend as he struggled to pull himself together. Frankly, it shattered their heart to see him this way. They stared at each other for only a moment before standing up and sitting beside their friend.

New was aware of someone wrapping their arm around him and pulling him close. Gently, someone else pulled his fingers apart from where there were tightly clenched around the sheets.

His holder began to sway back and forth and run his hands soothingly through his hair. "Calm down Newt." That was Minho. So then Alby was on his other side.

"Newt, you're ok." God, if he wasn't crying so hard maybe he would have laughed. A mirthless hateful laugh. Hate at himself for getting himself, and everyone else, into this giant bleeding mess.

"Don't worry Newt. You're safe from whatever happened to you." This time, Alby spoke, "You're safe from the Grievers."

"It wasn't the bleeding Grievers!"

The rocking stopped.

He didn't know what made him say it. Maybe it was because he was tired. Maybe it was because he was frustrated. God, he didn't know. He didn't even care then.

"It wasn't the bleeding Grievers…" He repeated, his sobs starting to die down. "It was me. I threw myself off of the bloody wall!" as he said it aloud the realization hit. It all hit him again. But he couldn't keep it in, he had to let them know. "I hated being here! I hated myself! I was bloody trapped! I thought, I thought –"

"You thought that killing yourself was the shucking solution?" It was an emotionless whisper, matter-of-fact, borderline conversational for Minho.

Newt wished he would have screamed at him, punched him, hit him. Pushes away from Minho's arms, Newt sat up, wiped his eyes, and nodded.

You could cut through the tension with a knife.

Minho just looked at him blankly while Alby stared at him with the tired eyes of an elderly man who'd seen hell before and had come back from it.

"Minho…" Newt muttered, unsure of what to do.

Suddenly Minho stood up and walked towards the door.

"Minho?!" Newt yelped, panicked. He knew what he had done would upset them, but he needed them. God, he couldn't lose Minho or Alby…not now.

He didn't turn around, but his voice was cold when he answered. "I'm going out to clear my head. If I don't I'm going to lose it. I'll be back." And with that, he quickly flung open the door, stepped out, and shut it behind him. The sharp, resounding bam! as the door closed only emphasized the emptiness without him.

Newt felt his heart begin to pound again. For a moment he contemplated getting out of bed to chase after him, to explain, to do…something. Alby seemed to sense it however, and he scooted closer to Newt, wrapping his arms around Newt and drawing him close.

There were tears running down his face again.

"Oh God, Alby what am I going to do?"

There was only a moment of silence before Alby replied, "Listen, you shank. It'll be alright. Just let him blow off some steam. He'll be back."

Newt nodded, and suddenly he began to feel exhausted again. Having a panic attack can apparently taking a major toll on a person. He could feel his eyes getting heavier and heavier, and the flow of tears and his shivering began to subside.

Alby gently laid him onto the bed, standing up in the process. Carefully he pulled the covers up over his friend's shoulders. After Minho's dramatic exit it had taken Newt about 15 minutes to fully stop shaking and crying. Alby's heart ached for the blonde. Newt and Alby had been in the Maze for the longest time out of all of the Gladers. Minho had been there for a while too, but not nearly as long as the other too. Alby could understand where his pain and frustration was coming from. Nightmares of being stuck in the maze forever plagued him constantly and kept him up at night. To think that this hatred had pushed Newt to such an edge without anyone noticing however, was what really bothered Alby.

With a sigh, Alby walked towards the door, stepping over the vomit in the process. He's have one of the greenies clean it up. As he gently opened the door to exit, however, a soft, barely-awake voice coming from the bed stopped him.

"Alby...Do you hate me?"

It felt like someone had poured ice water on him. He didn't even have to think of his response.

"Never kid." He said fiercely, "Not in a million years."

"Good," Newt whispered, rolling over on the small bed, "At least between you and me, there's one person who doesn't hate me."

"Feel better kid." Alby whispered solemnly. Stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind him, Alby took a deep breath.

"Now, where the fuck are you Minho?!" He muttered angrily to himself, storming off down the hallway.

Boom! Yes, I updated in a timely manner! Thanks for all the reads on my last chapter. I definitely think I made up for it in this chapter! You tell me what you think. And don't worry, Minho won't be a jerk for a very long time. Ok, it's 12:33 a.m., and I'm hella tired from the weekend, so I'm going to end it here. Hope you liked it you shanks! Please review!