***Warning: this is basically one large spoiler for how Newt got his limp.

Summary: Gen, preseries.

So, I've read a few oneshots about the actual jump but not a lot dealing with the aftermath and there's tons of angst to be had there. I also wanted to just write it out. But this is pretty much just going to be necessary Newt whumpage, H/C and all that fun stuff. Attempted suicide, so read at your own risk.

Alby couldn't breathe. For several seconds he stood, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything except feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. An awful feeling of dread flooded his veins.

His friend was lying at the base of the wall, seemingly unconscious. Alby could see his right leg was bent at awkward angle and he was halfway curled up, an arm tucked over his head as if to protect himself

Newt.

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"Newt, are you even listening to me?"

Newt blinked, realizing that someone was talking to him and he hadn't heard a single word.

"Newt!" Someone whacked his arm to get his attention and he turned to see Minho half-glaring at him.

"Oh, sorry," he said, his voice cracking a little. "What did you say?"

Minho rolled his eyes. "I said to get back early, you dumb shank. Alby said he's giving everyone the night off for once. So be back an hour before dark."
Newt nodded, absentmindedly adjusting the straps on his harness. It was still dark in the Glade, still early. He, Minho and the other runners were gathered outside the doors, waiting for them to open.

He'd barely heard what Minho had said, not over the pounding in his head. His attention was focused on the doors. Newt needed to run. Running made him forget, let him push everything aside and just focus on what he was supposed to do. Never mind he was searching for something that wasn't there, running for a cause that no longer existed. It didn't matter. Running was the only thing he could do anymore.

Finally, the harsh scraping of rock against rock met his ears and he was rewarded with the opening of the Maze. "Alright, guys, let's go," Minho said, just like he did every morning, before he bolted into action. The runners quickly separated, each boy knowing where to go and what to do. Newt was so glad to finally be alone.

He'd been in the maze for over a year now. He'd been a runner almost the whole time. Runners looked for a way out. Except by now he knew that there just wasn't one.

They never talked about it, but he was pretty sure Minho thought the same thing.

The difference was that Minho still believed it was out there somewhere.

Newt didn't.

He picked up his pace, running faster, noting the changes from overnight. There was nothing but the sounds of his feet pounding the pavement and his own heavy breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, pushing his thought away. He needed to forget.

He could run without thinking, without dwelling on the fact that they were stuck in the Maze. That by some cruel twist of fate they had been stuck here, in a hopeless world, with no chance of escape.

Don't think, just run.

He shot forward, sprinting full on, without even realizing he was doing it. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

He kept going for the rest of the morning.

When, once again, he reached the final dead-end, Newt finally stopped. He was here a little earlier than usual, so he could rest for longer before heading back. He pulled out his water and took a long drink. He thought about eating, but the thought of food suddenly made him feel nauseous and he closed his pack up quickly. Instead, he settled down, leaning against the wall.

His elevated heart rate slowed back to normal and Newt let out a long breath.

It would be so much easier to just give up. Let go. Die.

Sure, he'd considered it. It could be easy. Just don't get back, stay in the maze and let the grievers take care of everything.

Or he could head off into the deadheads and slit his wrists or something.

He'd thought about it once or twice, but he'd never done it. Too much of a coward. He was too scared. Fear of pain, and fear of the unknown.

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

The walls.

Of course.

Why had he never thought of that? Climb halfway up the wall and just jump off. Simple, clean, easy. No knives, no grievers, just let go.

Newt's eyes opened slowly. Part of him wanted to do it, so badly. But still part of him was scared.

He got up slowly, suddenly feeling exhausted. He broke into a jog, but his legs didn't obey. He moved at a walk.

The others might miss him, but they'd get over it. He wouldn't be the first glader to die.

They'd still be stuck in here, but he'd be free.

He kept walking. The next hour passed quickly, it felt like only a few minutes.

The walls on either side of him taunted him. Maybe the only way out was death.

He didn't know how long it had been until he stopped, putting one hand on the wall to keep himself from falling. The cold stone felt good. He was so tired.

Newt's hands were grasping the vines, and he was climbing. Slowly, methodically. The muscles in his arms burned, but he kept going. His foot found a tiny ledge, and he suddenly couldn't keep going. He dared a glance downwards.

He was pretty high up, far enough for a jump to be fatal. A bead of sweat ran between his shoulder blades and Newt shivered. He was exhausted, and an eternal sleep was only a few moments away.

He was just ready to give up. He couldn't care anymore. This was the only way out. His eyes smarted with unshed tears as he looked around once more. Funny, the maze looked almost nice from up here.

He squeezed his eyes shut, too cowardly to watch his own death. One tear made its way out of his eye and snaked down his cheek.

He thought briefly of his friends, I'm sorry and goodbye running together in his thoughts.

Newt took a deep breath. His death grip on the vines loosened. He let go, and jumped.

For a split second, he was aware of wind rushing past him.

Then, agony shooting up his right leg when it made contact with the ground.

A cry of pain escaped his lips, and then he toppled backwards. His head hit the hard cement of the maze floor.

He realized that he was still alive just before he blacked out.

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"Alby, hey!"

Alby turned to see Minho jogging towards him. He'd dropped his harness, but from the looks of it he hadn't been back in the glade very long.

"You seen Newt? He's not back yet."

Alby shrugged. "I haven't seen him. Thought he was in the map room with the rest of you all."

Minho's jaw tightened. "He's not."

Newt was never late. He was absolutely astute. He wouldn't be late when they got the night off. "Minho…do you think he's okay?" Alby asked softly, looking towards the doors.

They both knew Newt had been acting weird lately. They didn't have to talk about it.

Minho didn't answer the question. "I think—I'm going to go get him." He looked at Alby as if asking permission.

"I'll come with you. We'll cover more ground that way."
They split up once they got in the maze. Minho would search the inner part closest to the door. He told Alby to go search section five, Newt's section. He didn't think Newt would have gone anywhere else.

Alby knew Newt was still out there once he got to the opening of the section. Newt's chalk marks were still there. He checked his watch. Forty-one minutes until the doors closed. He started running.

He followed the twists and turns of the maze, checking his watch constantly. Within twenty minutes he would have to turn around. There was no sign of Newt. Alby's stomach was tight.

He only had a few more minutes to go when he turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

Alby couldn't breathe. For several seconds he stood, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything except feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. An awful feeling of dread flooded his veins.

His friend was lying at the base of the wall, seemingly unconscious. Alby could see his right leg was bent at awkward angle and he was halfway curled up, an arm tucked over his head as if to protect himself.

Newt.

Alby finally bolted into action, running forward.

He reached Newt, kneeling just short of his friend's prostrate form. Frantically, his hand shaking, Alby felt for a pulse. Had he been stung? Was he even alive?

He went almost limp with relief when he felt one. It also didn't look like he'd been stung. Alby took a shaky breath.

But he felt almost sick when he saw Newt's leg. Not only was it broken, but bleeding where the bone had-

Alby looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. How could this have happened?

For the first time, he registered Newt's harsh breathing, as if he was in pain.

"Newt, can you hear me? Newt?" He was unable to keep his voice from shaking. He gently patted the younger boy's cheek to rouse him. "Newt?"

A moan. Newt's brow furrowed and he cracked open his eyes. "A-Alby?" he sounded like he'd been wandering around in a desert or something. His eyes suddenly opened all the way. "No…supposed to be dead!" It came out half a whimper, half a wail. He grabbed Alby's arm, his fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. "It didn't work, Alby…" He shut his eyes again, tightly. Alby's stomach clenched at his friend's words. "No, no, no, no…." Newt's arm went limp and dropped back to the ground.

Alby pushed Newt's words out of his head. He couldn't deal with it right now. He had to get him back to the Glade. There were nineteen minutes left. He had to hurry.

A/N: So, this is a little shorter than I usually do chapters, but it was a pretty good stopping point and there isn't one for a while. This should be four or five chapters, usually from Newt and Alby's pov, and hopefully Minho will get a few povs too. Next one will be up shortly.

Thanks so much for reading, please tell me what you thought.