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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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025.
TURN THIS SHIT AROUND!
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"Hold on!"

   Her hearing came back, full force.

   She flinched at the loud thrum of propellers, the hum that was far too loud for her growing headache. A door shut with a slam! to their left, and Kennedy shuffled closer to Thomas.

Body shaking, hands trembling, she tried to figure out what was going on. They were in a transport— helicopter? That's what it was called, she remembered. The shrieking in her ears dissipated, then replaced by the sound of men's voices. Not boys, men. Men she did not recognise, that they had never seen before. Kennedy backed up.

Her back collided with Thomas' chest. It was hitching with fast breaths, rising and falling in rapid motions, and Kennedy couldn't decide whether that was because he was worn out, or scared, or if he was still mourning much like she was. It could have been any of the three, or something else completely, but she knew whatever the option, it made him breathe quick, laboured breaths— the pace of which matched that of his heart. She could hear it, in her ears. Or, perhaps that was her heartbeat.

That would explain the warmth rushing to her cheeks.

It was loud thumps, and she wondered whether her heart really was in her ears. Thump! Thump! Thump!

Kennedy felt faint. She felt as if she could lean over and puke, a stream of bile and what she had for dinner, nights prior. When did she last eat? When did any of them last eat? It didn't matter, much. Kennedy wasn't hungry.

She felt sick.

Really sick.

It didn't help when she looked down at her hands. They were a scarlet fever, blood starting to dry in certain patches. Kennedy just realised she was covered in it. Blood saturated her clothing, palms.

All of it was Chuck's blood.

Her pants were stained and the crimson went up to her elbows, and the ends of her hair were stuck together with the stuff. Hands shaky, she rubbed her fingers together, gagging, then tried to wipe it off on her shirt. It didn't work very well, although it made her feel marginally better than before. It would do.

Kennedy couldn't believe it. Chuck's blood was all over her, and likely all over Thomas — Chuck. His blood shouldn't have been an interesting stain on her clothing. Chuck's blood shouldn't be in any place other than his body, pumped around by his beating heart. It should have been beating. He should have been alive. But Gally took that from him; he stole Chuck's life, and Minho stole his. Now, the two boys were both dead, and they weren't coming back. The boys died alongside Jeff, and Alby, and every other boy they lost. Chuck was gone, his body had gone limp in her arms, and he was left in a building belonging to the people that had put him in the maze; she had been forced to leave him behind in that place; the place they'd promised to get him away from. Kennedy had promised herself that Chuck would get out of there, and he almost had. Almost.

They had been so close.

He was so close to getting out.

Kennedy wanted to curse Gally. She wanted to curse him, and wish him a horrible time in hell. But she couldn't. Because Gally's body was in there too, and that may as well have been hell. He was dead, too. Kennedy couldn't curse him because it hurt to leave his body there as much as it hurt to leave Chuck's, because, for a long time, Gally had been Kennedy's friend too.

Maybe he had gotten what was coming to him, but he had been stung. Gally wasn't Gally, at that point. He didn't deserve to die; it wasn't deserving to the boy she knew, the boy that he no longer was when they had left the maze.

The sick feeling in her stomach only got worse when their world lurched, and the helicopter was lifting from the ground. Kennedy whipped around to look out of the window, and she grew dizzy as the sand floor got further and further away. She had never been a natural with heights.

As the building got smaller, Kennedy filled with hurt.

It hurt. Badly.

Leaving Chuck behind was a pain that Ken had never felt. Her eyes filled with hot tears, burning her eyelids, and her chest ached.

It was like her heart was ripped out of her chest. She felt hallow and empty, a sinking abyss. The further they got, the harder it was to breathe. The pain was indescribable; she couldn't describe how badly it hurt to leave Chuck behind. It was a sharp pain, one that was harsh and demanded to be felt, and she felt it everywhere. Yet at the same time, Kennedy felt nothing. The feeling was strange; it was grief, and it was loud, and also quiet.

"Are you guys alright?"

She flinched, turning back to the unknown man. He was waiting for a response that he likely wouldn't get; they didn't know him, and they were too stunned to speak.

Kennedy stared at him with judgmental eyes.

He was older. Definitely an adult. Like the rest of the men, this guy wore a SWAT uniform of sorts, and his hair was long, in need of a chop. He looked tired, with deep bags under his eyes, drained skin, but he still wore a smile. Kennedy didn't trust him.

"Don't worry," he said.

Kennedy looked at her friends, and found his statement odd. It didn't seem that any of them looked particularly worried. Maybe horrified, pained and confused, but not worried. They had crossed the point of worrying, long ago. Still, none of them corrected him and instead stayed silent.

"Not talkers, huh?"

"Maybe not," Thomas said.

Ironic.

Thomas was easily the best talker, of all of 'em.

"We don't know you," he continued. It was a valid point, and the man visibly agreed. "Why would we talk?"

"Fair enough," the man nodded.

"Who are you?"

"The man that's here to save you," he answered Thomas. That made them all share looks, not understanding. Save them? "With us lot, WICKED can't get to you." He explained, "You're safe, now."

Safe?

Were these the people Ava Paige was talking about? The people that didn't agree with WICKED's methods? Kennedy wasn't sure, but it seemed like her best guess. The word safe made her eyebrows cinch at the bridge of her nose, safe? She didn't think safety was an attainable prospect, for them. They had never been safe. Closest to safe they had ever felt was in the glade, and that had never been the safe haven they had constantly tried to make it. In there, they were never safe. Not really. Kennedy didn't know what safe felt like. She had never been safe, before. And, despite not knowing what feeling safe was and not knowing how she expected it to feel, it wasn't this; as convincing as his words were, Kennedy didn't know if she believed him. If this was safe, why did it feel so wrong?

"Safe?" She echoed.

"Damn straight," he confirmed.

"Woah."

Frypan's awe caught her attention, and Kennedy watched him; his eyes were wide as he looked out of the window, a twisted look of horror and amazement. Suddenly, they were all looking. Then, their faces held the same expression.

A maze it was, alright.

Kennedy's stomach twisted as she looked down at the facility, an endlessly large scope of buildings, all in a circular shape that went on forever, it seemed. She had always thought the glade was larger than anything else in the world, but this... this was huge. It made the glade seem small. Kennedy had never realised things in the wider world got bigger than the glade, but they did. This place was larger than Kennedy had ever imagined the world to be and it wasn't even the whole of it. It was just one building, in a desert. The real world was only going to get bigger, and wider, and scarier than this.

But, that wasn't the horrifying part.

What was horrifying, was that they could see everything. From the helicopter, they could see all the buildings in rings, and at the very middle of those rings, was their glade — surrounded by walls, with open doors on the north, south, east and western sides. And behind that set of walls were even more walls.

They curved, and twisted, and formed sets of pathways.

Familiar pathways, pathways that she had run. Paths that she still ran in her dreams, and that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"The maze..." Kennedy whispered.

Minho whistled.

"Holy shuck."

It looked both larger and smaller, from there. At the centre was the glade, their glade, and Kennedy thought it looked so hauntingly beautiful under the rays of the slowly setting sun.

Around now was the time Minho would be returning from daily mapping, and she absently glanced at him. Maybe he realised that too, because his face seemed to be frozen in deep thought. Already everything had changed. That made Kennedy feel uncomfy, and it was an excuse to gaze back at their old home. Home. While it was a prison, it had been their home for year. Perhaps not for Thomas or Teresa, but the rest of them, the glade had been their home for an endless amount of years.

Two years, Kennedy had spent in that glade. Almost three. She had been there for seven-hundred and sixty-six days. That was far too long to not have been classed as her home. They had made the time there, the best they could. They had built a society, a home, a family.

   Family.

   They built a family.

    "Wait!"

    "Ken?" Newt asked.

    "We have to go back!" She said.

    "What?" They all stared at her like she was mad. Thomas was the first to really question it, "Go back? Why?"

    "We still have boys, down there!" Kennedy reminded them, an awful guilt settling in her chest. They were right above them, they could go get them. "We gotta go back— right? We can get them!"

    "Sorry, sweetheart." The man told her, gaining their focus. She gave him a hard look, to which he chuckled, unthreatened. "There ain't no going back for anyone. We just got ya outta there," he said with a careless tone, one that made Kennedy fume.

    "Why not?"

    "Ya wanna die?"

    "They'll die!" Kennedy glared.

    "Ken..."

    "I still have boys, down there!" She argued with the man, over Thomas' voice. "We gotta go back, old man! Hey, turn us around!"

    "Don't turn us!" He called over his shoulder.

    "Turn this shit around!" Kennedy demanded. Her cheek were a blazing red, matching her hair as it glimmered in the light, her eye twitching on the left. Newt and Minho grimaced. They tried to get her to calm down but she couldn't hear them over the pulsating of blood in her ears. Not many people saw Kennedy angry, and there wasn't much time before she exploded. She wanted to go back; they had to go back! "My boys are down there!"

    "Your boys are dea—"

    "Fine!"

    "Hey!"

    "Kennedy!"

    "Ken, what are you doing?"

    "You don't wanna turn around?" She said, standing up. Hands fumbling, she eventually found the handle to the door and gripped it with her fingers.

    "Are you crazy?" The man yelled, "Don't—"

   Kennedy ignored him and yanked the door open, nearly falling out of the helicopter in the process. She held onto the door tightly and tried to stabilise herself, legs shoulder width apart. The group yelled for her to shut the door, to cut it out, to get back in, but they were empty noise in the back of her head. She leaned out.

   Her hair flew around her, whipping her in the face. It was much higher than she had anticipated, but her impulsivity hadn't waited to account for that. All that was on Kennedy's mind was getting to the boys they had left in the glade, because they had chosen to stay with Gally. They had chosen to stay, but that didn't mean they had any less of a right to being safe than the others did. They gotten out of the maze, for heaven's sake! They made it! Those boys were just scared they would die trying. If they went back and got them, then it would all be okay! The more of her boys, the better. Kennedy was already forced to leave Chuck; she couldn't leave anyone else. That didn't feel like an option.

   Kennedy wobbled, head dizzy as she looked down. Okay— that was really high.

    "What the hell's going on, back there?"

    "Stop!"

    "Kennedy!"

    "Ken!" Thomas. "Stop! Just wait!"

    "Why should I?" She yelled. "We have boys, down there!"

    "They made their choice, okay? They didn't wanna come!" He tried to reason with her, "I didn't wanna leave them, but they had a choice, and they wanted to stay!"

    "But— but they're family! You don't leave family behind!" The girl cried out, her grip on the door so tight that her knuckles went white. "I can't leave them! They're my brothers!" Kennedy's bottom lip trembled slightly, "Wh— what about Clint?"

    "He chose to—"

    "Alby wouldn't leave them!"

    "Alby would've done what he had to do, to save everyone else!" Newt interrupted, tone harsh but honest. Newt was always honest with Kennedy. "Just because you left them behind, doesn't make it your fault— okay? They wanted to stay, they chose to stay. And you and I both know that Alby would have let them, if that meant every other one of us would be safe. You know that!" His accent got thick and pronounced, "I know, you know that!" Newt's eyes twinkled, an array of dark emotions. "And I know you want to be a good leader because you don't wanna disappoint him..."

   He was right.

   Kennedy's eyes brimmed with tears, and a sob passed her lips; it got lost within the whips of air, but they saw her shoulders bounce.

   She didn't want to disappoint Alby.

   She didn't want to let him down. Kennedy couldn't.

    "But Alby would be proud of you, Ken. He'd be proud, alright? Of all of us! Because we got out of there, like he always wanted us to! We made it," Newt promised. "You did good. And Alby would be damn proud of you, today."

    "He's right," Minho nodded. She stared at him with wet eyes; it made them glisten in the light, and he shrugged. "What ya gonna do anyway, shank? Gonna jump? Gonna throw yourself, out there? That ain't gonna save anyone, Ken." Minho sent her a look full of knowing — he knew she wouldn't jump. He and Newt both knew it and soon enough, so did she. They knew her better than she knew herself. "Just step back inside, she-bean. Don't be stupid,"

   Ken looked at the man.

   He was klunking his pants, she noted. Was she that much of an overt threat? Maybe she had surprised him. Maybe the man hadn't expected her to nearly throw her body out of a moving helicopter.

   He'd be right.

   Slowly, Kennedy shuffled away from the ledge. She felt a hand come to cover hers and she noted it to be Frypan. He helped her slide the door shut and the world became quieter, a faint ringing returning to her eardrums. The girl heaved a cry, falling down to her knees, and Newt and Minho quickly pulled her close. Both of the boys said it was okay — that she made the right call, that they did their best. There was nothing else they could have done, those boys had made their choice, Clint had made his choice, and all the rest of them could do was their best. She did her best. Kennedy did the best she could, and she had tried. Alby would be proud. It was all gonna be okay, they were gonna be okay. Kennedy had done the best she could do.

   So, why didn't it feel good enough?

————

"That was really dumb."

"You would know."

"Ken."

Thomas gave her a sharp look, and the girl sighed. She wasn't sure when he had become the one reprimanding her for doing the most stupid things, but she supposed she deserved it. Perhaps his actions were rubbing off on her, or maybe she was lashing out in response to the traumas they had just faced. Who knew?

Hanging out of a helicopter hadn't been her smartest of ideas; she'd give him that. Actually, it might have been her worst idea ever.

   Kennedy wasn't stupid. She didn't usually do things like that. It wasn't in her repertoire. Sure, she could be a flare when she got so angry and riled up, but that was passion — not stupidity. Kennedy wasn't reckless, and she wasn't stupid, and she never did things so drastic that they could get people hurt. That stunt? That was what Kennedy tried not to do; what she tried not to be. Kennedy was the voice of reason, the one that made people feel better, the one with the golden smile that made everyone feel better. Hotheaded was in her nature, but it wasn't who she was — that was a side to her, that came out in the heat of the moment.

   Alby had been bad cop.

   He kept everyone in line with the rules, while Kennedy was the boys' comforter. She could be harsh on them, but more often that was Alby's role as their leader. 

She was the sweet one. With the sugar grin, the golden heart, an innate ability to make them feel at home, and loved, and cared for because they were. Kennedy loved them, and the boys didn't screw with her — they respected her. Being a girl had made her different but it hadn't excluded her. Kennedy was still one of them. And the boys had loved her, and cared for her, just as much.

There were time's she lost her cool.

Everyone in the glade lost their minds, sometimes. It was what happened when you stared at the same walls, day after day. When she first came up in the box, she was a handful. A scared greenie, with no way of expressing her fear that was orderly and calm. She had been very different, back then; it was why they called her their flare. Kennedy would shout, and cry, and scream — Thomas ran? Well, Kennedy fought.

Emotional.

Kennedy was emotional.

Perhaps that was her flaw. Alby had always told her to suck up her emotions and get on with it. It was one of the last things that he had said to her. Emotions were her downfall, maybe her demise.

But, Kennedy couldn't stop. She loved ferociously, and she felt in high degrees. Emotion bubbled up in Kennedy. Sometimes it took even her by surprise. What even was her stunt? What had Kennedy planned on doing? Minho was right— was she gonna jump out of the helicopter? Then, what? Kennedy had gotten too emotional, a common occurrence, but she had never been so stupid. Throwing a load of apples at Newt when he came to get her from box was one thing, but throwing herself out of a helicopter? That was insane. It was stupid, and dumb, and they were right. Maybe Alby wouldn't have left them behind but he wouldn't have killed himself trying to get back to a group of boys who had made their choice. He would have told her to suck it up, no time for emotions. And Ken would fight, anyway. Because that was how they worked.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"You don't have to apologise to me," Thomas said.

"Oh."

"It was dumb..."

"I said—"

"...but I've probably done worse."

"Should we count?" She teased, tiredly. He smiled. It felt nice to see him smile. "Running into the maze? Check!"

"See? Already topped ya," Thomas winked, grin widening when she let out a small laugh. It was half-hearted and hardly a laugh in her usual capacity, but it was still as pleasant to his ears. "Just... just don't do it again— alright?"

"Wow, shank!" Kennedy toyed, "Anyone would think ya cared!"

"I do care," he rolled his eyes. Thomas wanted to tell her that it was true, and that he cared more than he could express, and when she was basically hanging out of the doors and in the open air, the shank had never been so scared in his life. Thinking about Kennedy jumping, or even falling down there... it was worse than the idea of never getting her out, in the first place. He couldn't lose Ken. And he wanted to tell her that, but he didn't. "When you hang outta an already moving helicopter, I kinda tend to worry about you. Fry just about klunked himself."

"I did not!"

"You kinda did, mate."

"Whose side are you on, Newt?"

    "Yeah, Newt—" Minho butted in, "Whose side?"

"No side!"

Thomas snickered at the pair, watching Minho then get himself involved in a situation that didn't concern him— classic, Minho. He was too nosey for his own good, the shank. Like Kennedy.

He turned back around, looking over at Teresa with a twitch of his lips, she was talking hushed with Winston, and then back down at Kennedy. The girl was already looking up at him, eyes wide and sparkly like they often were, biting down on her lip as though she'd burst if she didn't. Thomas stared for a second, then took her face in and analysed her. She looked like... wait— was she gonna burst?

"What?"

She smiled, widely.

"What?"

Thomas went pink, embarrassed.

"Nothin'..." Ken giggled. "You said klunk, s'all."

   He blinked, he did?

   He hadn't really been around for long enough, to pick up their slang, so he was pretty surprised by it. "Shut up," Thomas blushed.

    "You're one of us now, shank." Minho clapped him on the back with a subtle wink in his direction. "We'll have you talkin' like the gladers, in no time." He assured, as if Thomas was worried. "Wait, did ya know I invented slinthead?" They all have him eye rolls while Thomas' eyed widened. "Nah, didn't really. Sounded good though, didn't it?"

   Newt snorted.

    "What?" Minho defended.

    "You're so full of klunk!" Newt shoved him.

    "Am not!"

    "Yes, you are!"

    "Dude!"

    "You so are, man!"

    "But it sounded good!" Minho waved his arms, "Right? Like, I sounded impressive! It sounded good!"

   Kennedy laughed, brighter this time, leaning into Thomas with every snicker. Minho was good at lifting the mood, even when the boy could be so bitter. As the laughter died down and Minho kept on bickering with Newt, she looked down to Thomas' large hands.

   He had been toying with something since they had been thrown onto the helicopter. It was small and wooden, and if Ken squinted at it close enough, it looked like a little figurine. Her smile dropped slightly and her breath hitched in her throat. Kennedy's eye drifted to her wrist and her lips pursed.

    "Did..." she cleared her throat, "Did Chuck make that?"

    "Huh?" Thomas frowned, then looked to his hands. "Oh..." It went tense between them, a brief sadness lingering, and Thomas thought he might break down again. "Yeah, he did."

   Kennedy nodded.

   Thomas gripped it a little tighter, squeezing it protectively, then asked if she wanted to have a look. She immediately agreed, with great eagerness in her tone, and carefully took the figurine when it was passed to her. Kennedy pulled it up closely to her face and she inspected it, taking in every little detail. It was good— great, even. It was definitely made by Chuck, too. Kid had a knack for things like that. She would always badger the builders for claiming they didn't have a space for another carpenter. Chuck's talents were wasted. It wasn't like they cared, but she did. He had so much talent. So much talent oozing out of him, and so much life left to live. The thought made Kennedy teary, and she sniffled in effort and clear her snotty nose. She wanted to hold it, forever. It was another piece of Chuck that he had left behind, and it was beautiful.

    "I miss him," she murmured.

    "Yeah," Thomas sighed. "Me too."

    "It's good."

    "He was good."

    "He was," Kennedy stared at it, longingly.

    "You should..." Thomas hesitated, his lips threaded together. He looked at the figurine, then at Kennedy, and observed the way she looked at it like it was the only thing in the world. He tried his best not to cry, "You should keep it."

    "What?"

    "He— he would want you to have it," Thomas nodded.

    "No," Kennedy said.

    "Yes."

    "No, Tom."

   He looked surprised. Kennedy was surprised too. Truth be told, she did want it. She wanted it more than anything. But, that wasn't fair. Kennedy wasn't the only one grieving over Chuck. She hadn't been the only to care about him, either. Chuck had formed a bond with Thomas — quickly, sweetly, naturally. From day one, Chuck'd grown to love Thomas with his whole heart. And Thomas loved him, just as much. Thomas missed Chuck, too. Chuck had been excited to bully the greenie, but he ended up with a friend. They had been best friends. It would be wrong for Kennedy to the one thing he had of Chuck away from him. Selfish. She couldn't do that to him.

    "He gave it to you," she gently took his hand, turning the palm, and placed the figurine down. Kennedy slowly wrapped his fingers around it. "He wanted you to have it, not me."

   Thomas' eyes glistened.

    "Thanks, Ken."

    "S'okay," her voice was small.

   Kennedy's wrist came up, and she carefully shifted her sleeve so the wooden bracelet was visible. Thomas leaned in, eyes wide, and gently took her wrist into his hands, brushing it with the pad of his thumb. He looked mystified, and he automatically knew who she'd gotten it from.

    "I've got my own piece of Chuck," Kennedy hummed. "And he will always stay to my heart."

    "Mine, too."

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

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