Newt’s blackmail account part two

Nobody should be surprised at this point that I’m writing another Minally story

~ (Pre-Thomas I guess? Like before he came up in the Box)

It was bad enough having to run the maze and memorize it every single day, but the Greivers just made it worse.

It started as an average day. Minho waking up and going into the Maze. He ran, he mapped. He was near the very edge of the Maze, about as far as he could be from the Glade, about to head back, and then.

And then Greiver popped out of seemingly no-where. He had never seen one this close before.

And like any sane person would do, he froze. And it almost cost him his life.

Just as the Greiver was rearing up, syringe about to peirce his skin, faces flashed through his mind, compelling him to run.

Newt. Alby. Ben. Nick.

Gally.

He turned and ran, running faster than he thought possible. He could hear the Griever behind him as he stumbled around corners, blinkng the sweat out of his eyes, breaths becoming more and more ragged as he pushed himself harder and harder because he had to get out, he couldn’t die, where are the Doors where are theywherearetheywherewherewhere

There.

But they were closing.

And of course, he had to trip at just that moment. The Doors were too far, the Greiver too close. But,

What was that?

Shouts, yells, and cheers of encouragement.

“Don’t give up!”

“You can do it!”

“C'mon, Minho!”

But he can’t. He spent all his energy running here, and the Greiver is right there.

And then someone has their arms around his shoulders, and they’re dragging him, and he can feel the scrape of the Doors on his body. And he can hear the Greiver slamming against the Door, shrieking.

It is then that he finally passes out.

When he wakes up, it’s light out, his head is pounding, and his entire body, especially his legs, are the sorest he can remember. He groans, laying an arm over his eyes to block the light.

“Uh, Clint? He’s awake.”

He’s still half asleep when Clint comes over, takes a look at him, and deems him well enough to leave, provided he stays with someone and takes it easy for the rest of the day. The ‘someone’ is the person who told Clint he was awake earlier.

Gally. He walks down to the cafteria with him, persuades Frypan to give him some food, and stays with him, not trying to make small talk, which Minho appreceates. His head is still pounding.

They make their way into the Deadheads, sitting down under one of the biggest trees. Well, Gally sits down. Minho more of…collapses. Gally chuckles at this.

Minho tries his best to glare, but just groans and lets his head fall onto Gally’s shoulder. Gally, thankfully, doesn not flinch or back away. And for whatever reason neither does Minho.

Gally finds this rather unusual, and is wracking his mind for an explanation when he notices Minho’s shoulder’s shaking and his shoulder growing wet.

Gally doesn’t know what to do. If it were a Greenie, or a younger, more scared Glader, he might find something to say like “Don’t worry” or “It’ll be okay.” But this is Minho, and Minho knows that’s not true.

What he ends up doing is slowly sliding his hand into Minho’s, running his thumb in circles repeatedly on Minho’s knuckles. He feels like he should say something, but something in the back of his mind tells him no.

When Minho finally speaks, his voice is shaky and his breaths are long and shuddering.

“I thought I was going to die. If that person hadn’t grabbed me-” he lets out a sob. “Who was that, anyways? Nick? Alby?”

Gally finally speaks. “Me.”

“Thank you.” Minho whispers. It’s quiet for a moment, and then Minho continues.

“I just-it’s more than the Greiver. It’s the realization that we’ve been here for almost two years. And we still-we still haven’t found a way out. I haven’t found a way out. I’m the shucking Keeper of the Runners. I was supposed to have found something by now.” he says, voice low and broken.

“But you know what? That’s okay. We’ll survive. We have food, running water, shelter. We’ve got the Doors to protect us. We’ve survived for almost a year now. Do not blame yourself for what you can’t control.”

Minho is silent, and Gally think’s he’s fallen asleep, until he speaks up.

“Gally?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Minho sits up, wipes his eyes, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then he-to Gally’s surprise-turns back and buries his face in Gally’s shoulder again, curling up against him.