A/N: I do not own the maze runner, the story and the characters belong to James -the liferuiner- Dashner

(rated T for the usual Glader slang)

This is my first ever fanfic, so don't go too hard on me! Enjoy.

The group huddles together around the Box. Nervous chatter fills the air. It's noticeably colder than usual and everybody seems to be eager to go back to the Homestead. It's strange, usually the temperature stays exactly the same in the Glade. The Creators must be toying with their minds again.

It all started a month ago, when, together with the usual package of food and supplies, a note was delivered to the Gladers. It was a very short message:

Christmas is coming. Send in one request each.

Don't lose hope.

That was it. No name, no date, no other specifications. Just those three sentences. There had been immediate chaos throughout the Glade. An emergency Gathering was called and they had decided to wait until they got more information. There was a silent agreement to not mention the note again.

Finally the alarm goes off. Suddenly everybody stops talking. Involuntarily the Gladers hold their breath. They had agreed not to get their hopes up, but they all couldn't help but wonder. And hope.

A week later, the usual delivery came in without a note this time. The only odd thing was that their food delivery was more extensive, more meat and some candy. Frypan stored it all in his kitchens, telling everybody he would cook it all up when 'you slintheads manage to clean up a bit' claiming 'a fancy dinner made by yours-truly would not be served up to a bunch of shuck faced hooligans'.
This earned him some heavy eye-rolling from both Minho and Newt, who knew of course he wasn't kidding. So it was decided that they would put a request for some fancy soap in the Box. A week later, their package came with a bow wrapped around it.

Excruciatingly slowly the lift, carrying their package, comes up with a loud screeching sound. No one even bothers to cover their ears. Are eyes are on Alby, who has been given the privilege of taking the first look. This is necessary to prevent the inevitable chaos once the Box will open.

The Homestead had never smelled this good before. Though reluctantly, everybody had eventually decided to use the new soap bars –with the letters WICKED written across them-. Most of the Gladers were grateful for the gift, but some grew very suspicious. 'Let's put these shuck faces to the test', they demanded at the Gathering, 'See what they're made of. Let us send in those requests'. Everybody knew immediately what they were talking about. Of course they did, because truth be told, none of them had stopped thinking about that note. It haunted them in their dreams.

What a laugh they'd had about that one. Minho chuckled to himself. It was stupid really, but somehow it had turned into a competition. Who could come up with the boldest request? That first list now lay in a garbage can somewhere in the Homestead. He feels the tension in the air, as all the bodies around him go rigid. This was it.

'NO!' Alby's voice resounds around the room. He shakes his fists in anger. 'Don't you shanks take anything seriously?' The crumpled paper hit the wall with a soft thump. 'Slim it Alby, we were only having a laugh. God knows we could use it. We'll make your buggin' list!' Minho rubbed his eyes. 'Don't worry, we'll be serious this time. We wouldn't want to ruin your chances to get some more soap, you so desperately need it.' This earned him a shove and a kick but after that nobody dared to make a joke about it anymore.

Minho glances over at his friend Newt. He never said what he wrote down, but Minho guesses it's probably a request for some kind of pain medication for his leg. With the changes in temperature lately, Newt's leg had been acting up. He would never complain to anybody of course, but Minho had noticed.

Suddenly his gaze snaps back to Alby. The boy had reached down into the Box while he was looking around and is now pulling up a large packet. With a groan he manages to pull it all up. He opens it up and… cheers and laughter fill the air as they all get a clear view at their delivery now: around 50 boxes with bows around them. They had really done it! They had answered their requests!

After a little scuffle while everybody tried to get their present as soon as possible, all the Gladers are now sitting in a circle on the ground in the cafeteria as they open their presents one for one. Minho taps his foot, eagerness filling him up. Finally his turn comes and he rips the box open. Frypan pokes him between his ribs: 'So what did you ask for, shank?' A devilish grin spreads across his face as he pulls out his present and says: 'Something to keep my err… Christmas ornaments warm'

I really enjoyed writing this :) some feedback is much appreciated!