{familiaritas - a cosy and private or relaxed atmosphere.}
y/n's pov:
Her fingers grasped tighter around my neck, closing in on the darkness around me, as the pain was swallowing me whole.
I hadn't thought about death that much in my life, even while it lingers around corners, and captures your loved ones when you aren't looking.
It takes people from you, mercilessly and continuously, with zero regret or empathy, and expects you to keep on living.
I remembered the reason I tried so hard to remain alive - the reason I knew I had to be merciless myself. I thought about him, and the others I care about, and then my arms were reaching up into the air, struggling against the pains in my limbs to reach her face.
I fought against her resistance, and pressed my palms deeply into her skull until her head turned to the right, and her hands relaxed from around my throat.
I could breathe, finally, and with my first breath, I woke up.
My eyes opened, getting a view of the ceiling I knew too well.
I sat up in my bed, noticing my clothes from the fight had been stripped from my person, and I was in that hideous garment Lincoln insisted his patience wear.
Looking to my left, my heart almost collapsed inward.
There laid Fry, heavily bandaged around the waist and sleeping in his bed, peacefully.
I thought back to what happened, and remembered the final push that made me teeter over the edge, and slaughter the remaining survivors.
I watched his chest move up and down, recalling the man who sliced his knife through Fry's gut, before swiftly yanking it back out again.
I could feel the anger build.
"Y/n? You're awake."
I turned to see Lincoln, carrying jugs of water in his two hands.
"Fry's alive. Is he going to be okay?" I asked, peering over the man to see the boy's body laying down.
Lincoln carefully set down the two jugs. "He's going to be fine. He was stabbed in the stomach, and I was able to tend to the wound almost immediately thanks to Newt and the others."
Newt, and the others.
"Is Newt okay? Is everyone else okay?"
Lincoln was wiping the sweat from Fry's head with a rag. "Newt is fine; I sent him back to his room early this morning. He needed the sleep after he stayed here with you two last night. He was really worried."
I could picture Newt sitting on a stool between our two beds, watching as we slept through the night.
Lincoln went on, "We've had a few fatalities - the watchers on the wall, a few of the new trainees and Bill the gardener."
"How many in total?"
Lincoln sighed, sorrowfully. "Nine."
They warned us - you are next.
This was all my fault.
I slumped back down onto my bed, burying my face into my hands. Lincoln was beside me instantly.
"This was not you, y/n. You are the reason the rest of us are alive."
I didn't want to hear it from him. "We knew they were coming, and I did nothing."
Lincoln moved to my side, and sat down on the bed. "You did do something. You were tracking them down, and keeping people from the outside. You've saved more lives than have been lost, y/n."
