The Maze Runner Trilogy © James Dashner

Cover © info_seoyeon

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Warning(s): Headcanons. Lot of errors. Bromance?

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—; tho/min/ewt.

scattered shank

"Have you guys tried to jump and fly?"

A question popped out Thomas's head as if something suddenly struck his brain. Wouldn't it be fun if they just climb then fly? Even if he actually laughed on his own idea. So he uttered thing that had been bothering his mind for minutes. Newt returned his curious look with an irritated one.

"What do you think we are, some kind of pixies?"

The blonde-haired lad swung the axe in his grip, casually logged the woods before him, grinning peevishly. He wondered when will Thomas stop suggesting things they had done? Long before he came here, right after they realized what on earth is happening to their not-so-lucky life? And now he came with an idea with no possibility. Although Newt himself had tried to jump before.

"Err, no, just wondering," Thomas shrugged, letting his gaze down, back into the weeds he had been yanking for a while. "We really need to find out…."

"I know, man, but all you had to right now is focus on those weeds, quit whining," Newt let out a dark laugh. Actually recalling a memory from the past—that involves climb and fly. He made another grim look upon his face.

But something dumb yet brilliant (to himself) crossed Thomas's mind, and he had no time to think but to grab Newt by the arm and pulled him away.

"Whoo—Greenie!"

"I'm growing you some wings, Newt," Thomas ran across the field, now past the Glade, ignoring the looks on the other's face, wondering why the hell is the Greenbean dragging their second-in-charge away, particularly, to the Maze's direction.

"What—what the hell you're going to give me—noo, not that close to the Maze, Greenie!" Newt exclaimed, trying to set his arm free, but Thomas dragged with more power.

"You always had that dark look on your face, Newt," said Thomas without looking back, pacing up to approach the Maze's opening. "We all had. Well, me too. Guess I want to try something."

The new kid is getting real mad, Newt whispered to himself.

"Out of everyone here, you seemed more tired than they all," Thomas continued, now stopped just before the walls full of the Gladers' name, carved with dagger. His face somber. Pitiful. Concerned. "Let's grow some wings, shall we?"

"Don't tell me you're going to get me dressed up like a forest fairy, ya buggin' shank."

Thomas seemed to be thinking for a while. "Nice idea." He wasn't thinking that far anyway. "Now stand there, Newt. Get your back on the wall."

Newt groaned but didn't know why was he following. He thought a little play would be fun? Although it's Thomas. The silly Greenbean with bunch of troubles following. He really is weird, even in this circle, when everything was already weird.

Thomas dragged two of Newt's arms up. Getting them around chest's height. The blonde head got straighten up, just at time when Thomas chuckled to see the frowned look on it.

Then with the silver dagger tighten on his grip, Thomas started his work. Ultimate masterpiece. Something he can do, at least for now. It's something big. Bigger and wider than the whole Newt's head to toe. While the object only rolled his eyes, annoyed but still wait, apparently curious what Thomas might make?

"It's done, Newt, now you can climb and jump then fly." Thomas took a step back after ten whole minutes, faking a grin. He wasn't happy to make these things up, because they're not real. And they only made him feel the misery, more. Because the more he imagined things, the more he realized they aren't going real. They won't.

Thus, Thomas only gave an encouraging smile. Silently watching Newt's lingering ankle injury. It looked pathetic that he quailed in pain just by seeing the way he walks.

"You're not doing this to me, Tommy," Newt glared but still on his position. Completely aware that to Thomas he looked like a strange guy with enormous butterfly wings. "And your drawing sucks."

"It's pretty," Thomas fend himself. A bit startled at the mention of 'Tommy' at first. And he took the hanging ivy around them before his long fingers twisted them on each other, forming a perfect—whatever it is, something round and pretty to put on Newt's head. "You're pretty."

"Bloody—" Newt was starting to curse when Thomas put the round leafy things on the top of his blonde messy hairs. "You're not going to make me look like a forest fairy, shank—"

"Is this what you guys had been doing the whole day?" Some kind of sarcasm flew out someone's lip, he's someone who was coming closer, panting. "Newt the Pixie and our Aesthetic Greenbean."

Two of them turned their head around.

"Greenie did this, Minho," Newt put both of his arms up. Didn't want Minho to think of him the other way. He is not a bloody fairy. "None of my idea. And we only did this for a few minutes. I got no wings, still with only bare backs and spine around here."

"We Runners had been in the Maze for hours, frustrated as ever, tired, thirsty, and you went for some kid drawings? Nice job you did there," but Minho patted Thomas's shoulder. "Ya look beautiful, Newt. Draw me too, Thomas."

Newt grunted.

"You want wings too, Minho?" Thomas said in astonishment. He didn't think it'd fit him at all.

"Well," Minho shrugged, "If this is about Newt's pretty dream to fly, then you can draw me a pair of shoes." Minho walked to stand a meter from Newt, back tapped on the walls. "A running shoes. There got to be buttons on it. They had wings. A pair of cool little wings. Able to jump a hundred meter. And it had lightning every time used to run."

"Your imaginations are wonderful," Thomas grinned without himself realizing it.

Newt rolled his eyes again. But Thomas already held his dagger tight and started carving. Oh, it's going to be another masterpiece, he thought. Just about Minho's feet height, he bent down and stab his daggers in. Drawing. Something that looked like lightning shoes.

"There goes your running shoes," Thomas straighten up his body few minutes later to face Minho, who was looking down to see his new drawing of imaginary shoes.

"Wow, so high-tech, made of stone wall," Minho faked a laugh but nodded rapidly. "You got talent, Thomas. Though apparently it's no use here unless we have some beep-beep magic machine to incarnate your drawings real."

"Just trying to help and find more delight," Thomas shrugged at Newt's dark look.

Newt replied with a glare, again. "What do ya want me draw, Tommy? What do ya bloody want?"

Thomas seemed to be thinking for a second. What did he want? "Maybe we can go with long spear and shield?"

"Good that," Newt sighed before taking away the dagger, pushing Thomas to the other side of his butterfly drawing. It's not that hard to carve a spear. It's only something long and sharp in the end. A shield wasn't hard either. Newt finished them in two minutes—gaining a loud 'Whooaaa' from Minho.

"A kindergartener outside might do better than you, Newt," Minho's lips gaped. "Looked more like a stick. And a shapeless circle. What are they supposed to be?"

Newt frowned. "You heard the Greenie, it's a pair of spear and shield."

Thomas peeked to his side, to find what are they talking about. And soon he found out Minho got point. It looked nothing like a shield after all. Though the spear was better—a mere stick, only more bushy.

Thomas unintentionally roared a laughter followed by Minho's.

For the first time these days, the Greenbean let a burst of deep loud laugh out. As if Newt made such a belly laugh thing no one in history ever made.

"Well ya shanks are lucky!" Newt replied the roar with an annoyed one. "You got nice shoes and spears then there's me, a forest fairy!"

"I got no nice spear," Thomas chuckled before patting Newt's back. "That fits you, Newt. You looked better up there rather than this earth."

More like; you don't belong to this rotten earth.

Newt stood silent and wonder whether Thomas found out his attempt to suicide long time ago? Did he know? Did he know that this Newt before him ever think of giving up?

But Thomas didn't seem to realize. He and Minho just roared another laugh when the latter jumped, performing a splendid personification of his lightning shoes. Newt gulped before faking a smile. Looks like a lot of fun.

"Make a flying move, Fairy Newt," Minho glanced at him.

Newt didn't protest but make a move towards his butterfly drawing, before clapping his enormous wings. "Happy now?"

"I'm doing mine too," Thomas rushed to his drawing side, spear at the ready. Shield on the other hand. Though didn't seem like spear or shield at all.

And few minutes passed with silly laughs. Then there comes a shout from the distant, along with the smell of badly-grilled bacon. Frypan was the one calling out to everyone. Minho looked at the other two, shrugged at the Homestead. Newt and Thomas nodded before leaving their drawings at the scratchy stone wall. The three of them giggled before actually stop and cough, refusing to believe what kind of childish game they had been playing.

Three of them; Keeper of the Runner, second-in-charge, and the bold Greenbean. They actually did something inglorious.

But at the very least, Newt could actually smile.

"Not all angels have wings," Thomas whispered to him on their way to the Homestead. "The reason why am I carving you one."

Then Newt only frowned.