Chapter Text
“So Thomas’ neurological test is in order? It needs to be ready for when he enters the maze. We need to perform the memory swipe procedure after, so the disease needs to be administered, now .”
“We are having some issues with the transport. The Plasmodium ovule malaria, vile is still being transmitted from Africa.”
Ava shakes her head in disappointment, her knuckles white on the desk in front of her. “We don’t have that kind of time”
Dr Ray bites her lip, unsure to where this is going. “Well, what do you suppose we do?”
She looks away from Dr Ray and her too straight posture. She seems lost in thought, however it is only momentarily, “Inject him with the Plasmodium falciparum variant of the Malaria.” It’s said so simply, “we already have it.”
Ray wasn’t expecting that. That can quite easily kill Thomas, without any specifically designed medication. “What? But Dr Paige if he doesn’t inform any of the other subjects…he will die.”
“Well best hope he passes the dependency test.”
“But the reason we ordered the less severe life threatening Malaria was because if he fails to seek help, he won’t die. That way he still suffers from the effects without disrupting the experiment or Phase 1 as a whole. You know what he’s like; he’s selfless, irrationally so. If Thomas dies then the rest of our work…”
“Then he better not die. We are out of time. Besides, they are all smart and if he does indeed die imagine the neurological patterns and spikes we will see in the other Subjects for our research. He would die for a greater cause. He used to care about that; I believe he still does.” She says, looking Ray dead in the eyes. It’s that same confidence and determination that makes her a great leader; someone to look up to. That look that shows nothing will get in her way.
“Should we make the antidote clearer, then? Put his name on the packet so there is more of a chance the other subjects will work it out and administer it before it’s too late?”
“This is Thomas’ test; not theirs. We will send it up there with the normal supply run in an almost blank bag. The only labeling it will have is ‘Medical supplies’ and the instructions. Therefore, if Thomas seeks help the so called ‘Med-Jacks’” she mocks the name, “will rattle their supplies and give it to him, not knowing what else to do.”
Dr Kay, hesitantly nods. “Okay.”
“It’s a flawless plan. You’ll see. Now, quick. Soon the sedative will wear off and things will become difficult. Administer the dosage and proceed through the swiping procedure.”
“Yes, Dr Paige.”
She turns heading for her lab to maintain the disease and syringe.
“Oh, and Ray?”
She turns back to Ava. “Yes?”
“Remember, WICKED is good.” She smiles, firmly.
“Of course.” She heads back in the same direction, she originally had turned to.
Dr Ray speed walks, knowing if Thomas saw her now he would never have forgiven her.
Memories of Thomas being a child, nervous for his testing comes to her mind.
“What is this?”
“It’s a CT scanning machine”
“Why do I have to go in it?”
“Because we have to figure out what makes your brain so special.” She smiles brightly. Trying to encourage.
“So you can find a cure for Mama?”
“Yes, exactly Thomas. It’s all for a greater cause.”
Thomas’ trembling hands pull himself up onto the bed, unsure and scared.
“Great job! Won’t be long now. Just relax.”
He takes deep breaths feeling his pulse race. Slightly embarrassed of the fact the monitors on him must be picking it up.
“I really hope you find a cure.” He whispers with such desire, Megan Ray finds herself a touch emotional.
“We will if people like you keep on helping us.”
Thomas nods. Anything to save his Ma.
__________________
After killing the Griever when Minho and him spent the night in the Maze, Thomas feels… off.
He is still new to this whole, ‘welcome to the glade’ thing. So he just assumes he is still settling in. For example he feels hot but a little chilly at the same time.
He wonders whether the creators purposely made the weather so unpleasant; cruel beings they are.
He doesn’t just wake up with a cough, but also with a disgusting taste in his mouth. Ugh.
A high pitched, overly enthusiastic voice wakens him further.
“Thomas! Wake up, you’re a runner now! No lousing around. Minho will be furious.”
“I’m up. I’m up! Jeez Chuck.” He opens his eyes and prepares to succumb back to sleep, but he feels that signature ‘Thomas Restlessness’, Newt calls it. Then he is finding himself jumping up next to a mop of brown curls. Thomas sits up. He rolls his shoulders back with a wince–why is he so achy?--then reaches for the sky, stretching his spine. Why does Chuck have to act so high and mighty?
“Why are you up so early? I thought only Runners have to wake up early.”
“Umm, it’s not early anymore because you’re running late—again Minho and his anger will be on you . But also, I’m your guide ! It’s my job to keep you out of trouble.”
“ You keep me out of trouble?” Thomas shakes his head incredulous.
“Yes me , because I don’t get urges to jump at the first griever I see, like a self sacrificing stupid shank.” Chuck folds his arms, looking down at him.
Oh, god. Thomas really wishes Newt hadn’t called him that in front of Chuck because now he swears it’s all he’s going to hear. He’s also clearly mastered Newt’s stance.
“I’m not self-sacrificing. I didn’t die, remember? And I don’t plan to.”
Chuck looks contemplative, like he’s weighing who he should believe more; Newt or Thomas?
“Whatever you say TomTom.” A name he had—unfortunately for Thomas—picked up off Minho, “I’ve got to go work. And you have to go suffer Minho’s wrath.”
Chuck strolls off, almost skipping with the young energy, radiating off him.
Thomas slowly stands up, feeling drawn out.
He heads to Frypan’s kitchen to steal a cup and water. At least he assumes that’s where everyone gets water. Trying to solve the itch in his throat, problem.
He quickly praises Frypan as he is directed to the glasses. Trying to be quick, because he doesn’t actually want Minho to kill him.
“Hey Thomas, breakfast is ready.” His stomach churns at the words. But not in a ‘yum I’m starving’ kind of way, in a ‘if you dare put so much as a drop of food into me it is coming right back up’ kind of way. In fact, this brings Thomas back to questioning his abdominal pain, that had started up a little yesterday.
“I’m not hungry. But thanks Fry, I’ll see you later.”
“A Runner skipping breakfast. That’s a first.” Frypan mutters, before continuing to toss around the vegetables.
Minho is standing at the entrance of the maze when Thomas finally gets close enough to have a good look. His arms are folded and what Thomas assumes is a Runner’s pack lay at his feet.
“What were you doing ? Too special to wake up early?” He says, as he lifts up the other back, throwing it at Thomas. He claps him on the back with an excitement he has never seen in him.
“No. Just don’t know the schedule. Now, what are we doing today?”
“You never give me time to explain.” He rolls his eyes. “Well, we are running the maze,” Minho says, simply.
“So…finding another Griever? Scouting out their home? Working out the distance between-“
“Woah, woah, woah. Hold your horses, Greenie. Do you take anything slow? This is your first day as an official runner. We’re just going to take a looksy, gather some data, and make it home before Newtie gets worried. That’s all.”
“What! But-“
“You look a little tired, anyway.” Minho gives him a suspicious once over.
“I’m not!”
“Look, either way, this is how we do things. Now we can keep on chatting or we can go and run that maze.”
“Right, okay. Let’s go then.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Thomas rolls his eyes as Minho gives him a gentle shove. The keeper of the runners leads the way with a slow jog, not bothering to even glance back at Thomas. He calls out lefts and rights through the grey, gloomy maze as they continue to run.
Thomas would be lying if he said this was as easy as it felt last time. He feels like something is dragging him down. Like his bones are lead and his muscles are weak. The tinkling in his throat is no longer a tingle but a raw, dry pain, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. When they take a break he skulls his water to relieve the roughness of his throat. However, the liquid was lava on his throat and in hindsight he can see how it wasn’t smart to drink every last drop of the precious liquid. Minho eyes him from behind, confused at how puffed out and thirsty Thomas is, but he ignores it, letting the Greenie be a weird Greenie. They all are a little out of sorts when they first come out of the box. Especially with how their body still contains whatever sedative the creators gave them before chucking their limp bodies in that bastard of a box.
But Thomas is different, he didn’t even cry when he first some up he has always just been this pount up ball of energy. The only time Minho saw him cry was when they had survived the night in the Maze and they both collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, shock and relief. It was a feeling no one could ever explain, no one has survived a night in the Maze before, but they did more than just survive. Seeing the boy cry was only a relief, a reminder that he is still human. Because if Minho were honest, he had genuine doubts. So, when Minho saw Thomas sobbing on the floor in a little ball after just dodging shank knows how many grievers, he did not judge one bit. He hopes Thomas knows that.
But right now, this, this is not normal. There is no bundle of energy seeping out of Thomas’s veils, just…well, Minho isn’t sure–but something is off.
“First mistake of a Runner is drinkin’ all of your shuckin’ water when you’re only two thirds of the way through your daily run.”
Thomas had no idea what to say to that, because he just isn't thinking as clear as normal. Instead he just stares at the bottle that once held the lava with a blank expression.
“Hey Shank? You good?” Minho suddenly appears closer to Thomas with a studying look on his face, as if Thomas is some off card game that no one understands.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”
“You zoned out.”
“Oh, well y’know, all this running is quite tiring for a beginner”
“Yeah, you might be right bout’ that you klunckhead,” he stands up dusting himself off. “Anyway, come on. We gotta get going, again.”
Thomas nods, he knew that was coming; it doesn’t make it any easier. He forces his aching body to function as he grips onto the wall—pulling himself up. His impulse decides that just going will make it easier. So without Minho’s confirmation, he takes off.
Minho—shocked—pulls himself up as well struggling to catch up with him. Shuck, this Greenie is fast.
Minho looks at the body in front of him, when he realises Thomas doesn’t know where to even go. Rolling his eyes, he yells a ‘right’.
Thomas is all for this flash of adrenaline. It’s almost like his aching limbs are giving him a second chance. So, naturally, he takes it.
However, he is going fast and this sharp turn is not his friend as he slams into the side wall. It’s not that hard of an impact but still a setback. Pain jolts through his shoulder and rib cage, but he pushes on. It feels like it sparks the adrenaline decline. Like that bump told him ‘no more!’.
Minho continues watching Thomas with slight concern, but also annoyance with how the Greenie feels the need to run ahead. He’s the keeper of the runners, not this reckless amateur.
But then Minho starts to catch up, or rather Thomas slows down. The mop of sweaty brown curls jingles with what looks to be extra effort as Thomas struggles. Why is he slowing down so rapidly?
Minho continues to see the uneven footing as Thomas stumbles once again for what feels like the 6th time. At this point Minho is almost next to him. He can hear Thomas’s rapid, uneven breathing from the short distance. The younger’s face is bright red and sweat trickles down his face and neck. That’s what happens when you show off, Minho thinks. Once they are both in line, Minho contemplates yelling at him. In fact, he decides he may as well do it right now. But in a moment's time Thomas starts falling behind Minho, which is strange because they were only at a quick jog.
Then Thomas falls behind, further . Which is confusing the Keeper of the Runners even more.
So, Minho stops and fully turns around. His own breaths are panicked at the excess energy being put into competing with the newly instated Runner—even if only for a moment.
Thomas on the other hand is now realising that while adrenaline may be sweet, it is only temporary. Which he knew, but it still isn’t fun to be the subject of the change to being achy again.
He’s behind Minho now, which he really wasn’t planning on being. He’s getting slower and slower and now he’s just at a slow jog.
Then Minho is moving back towards him, looking angry. “You piece of klunk. You just have to act on impulse, don’t you? Now you have just spent up most of your energy on that little race.”
Thomas continues to huff, struggling to get a word out. “I didn’t-“
“ I’m the Keeper of the Runners, alright? You stay behind me, ” he lets out a breath. “That could have been dangerous. What if a griever jumped out at you?”
“Sorry.” Because what else can he say to that? It was stupid.
“Alright, Greenie. Just, don’t do it again.”
Thomas doesn’t think he has ‘name correcting rights’ right now, so he just leaves it. They head off again at a moderate jog.
_________________
Usually for Minho this would be about the two third mark. Funny, he doesn’t remember learning fractions. Obviously he did.
But with Thomas looking rather bright red and extra sweaty–probably because of his stunt earlier–he decides they should turn back, soon. Thomas’s relief is rather palpable as he nods with an exhale.
Before they head back they stop for a quick snack break, Thomas chomps on an apple, grimacing.
Minho’s brow furrows as he munches his own sandwich, this kid was a lot more energetic before. But he guesses that’s because they aren’t at the risk of dying just this instant.
They both continue on for a bit longer before eventually turning back.
__________________
He wakes up the next day before the sun comes up, with a splitting headache and a thick sweat coating him. Today it isn’t just a little hot and chilly. No. He feels like he is burning alive.
His stomach hurts and then he realises he is going to vomit. Thomas takes off away from the groups of people, stumbling as his vision swims. Once far enough he finally trips with a thud and that’s when the one apple he had eaten yesterday tumbles out of his before he can even prop himself back up. With shaking limbs he manages to get his knees underneath his again as he gags three more times, just for nothing to come up.
Eventually–by this point the sun has come up–Thomas stands a little shaky, not bothering to go to Frypan this morning. He winces at the pain and aches through all of his muscles as he finds his way back up on his fett, leaning heavily on a nearby tree. Blinking a few times he walks up to the maze entrance.
The day passes like a blur. He remembers running in the maze, and following Minho’s orders. All his replies were just set on default thought. Through a thick haze. He vaguely remembers Minho being strangely quiet and instead of yapping he would just eye Thomas carefully.
Once they finally get back from the maze Thomas heads straight for his hammock, not even bothering to say goodbye to Minho.
Minho, leaving to go debrief with Newt, turns back to watch Thomas’s slumped shoulders as he walks the opposite direction.
________
Thomas has been in bed not even thirty minutes when a strong British accent wakes him up.
“Tommy.”
Thomas, jolts awake flinching from the hand that was about to shake his shoulder. Newt steps back. “It’s just me, Tommy.”
“Oh,” he tries to compose himself, but the drilling in his skull and roar in his throat really isn’t helping. “Yeah, er, hey Newt.”
The blond crouches, studying his friend's features and appearance.
Everyone looks like this when they first wake up, Thomas mentally defends.
“Are you alright, mate?” he says with a softness that warms the brunette’s heart.
Suddenly the burning temperature turns molten, “Yeah, I’m fine. You just woke me up.”
“Alright…” Newt squeezes his hands together in his low crouch position, watching Thomas. “Listen, I was talking to Minho yesterday and we both thought it would be a good idea for you to work with me today, okay? So you will be helping around the gardens and running errands. That sort of thing.”
Thomas doesn’t realise Newt is waiting on a response. “Okay.”
“You just…get up whenever.”
Thomas suppresses a groan, because it is highly likely to become a retch, and now is not the time. “Alright.”
With one last look, Newt turns away to organise something else for the day as a start.
When Thomas does finally force his body to move, he thankfully only gags once, compared to the multiple times last night. He knows if he doesn’t get up now everyone will work it out. But he doesn’t even know what there is to work out. How could he even be sick?
However, stars take up the majority of his vision as he tries his best not to plummet head first by leaning back on his big ‘vomiting tree’ which has been used far more times than he wanted. As he walks over to Newt he feels the sweat sliding down his legs through each stride. He soon realises Newt is sending Minho off at the entrance with his daily, “if you die I’ll kill you,” warning.
He prepares to wait beside Newt as he talks to Minho, but in a flash, the stars take over completely and his knees collapse.
Thomas doesn’t even have time to fully comprehend what’s happening when a mop of blond hair whooshes through his blurry vision and he feels his wobbly legs struggle less when someone forcibly wraps Tommy’s arm around his shoulder and heaves him so he barely has to put any effort in to keep his own body up. It’s a bridal carry.
“Tommy, you bloody idiot!”