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Clarity and Peace	By : darkclownkinker Category: +1 through F > 9 Views: 1285 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the movie 9, nor any of the characters. This is a work of fiction. I make no money with the writing or distributing of this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Clarity and Peace
- 2-6
- 1
- 2
            1 was a dictator. There was no question about that. However, no matter what anyone thought, they knew he behaved the way he did for his fear. Since they were all made, he had taken it upon himself to protect those around him. So, when he earnestly came to 8 to ask him to help him be their guardian, he could only agree. Since then he had been at 1’s right hand. Things were simple like that. He followed orders, and the 8 of them survived. 1’s command, though frequently at odds with 7, had kept them alive through the great war with the humans and machines. It was after that, that things had become complicated.

            7 and 1’s differences had been brought to a head. The two of them constantly bickered about how best to take care of the remainders of them when the world had gone quiet. 7 wanted to seek out the last of the machines and exterminate them, despite the deformed messengers made from the bones of the old world that still wandered the wastelands. 1 insisted, in contrast to that, that their best hope for survival was to remain hidden. This had left 8 in an awkward position. Both 1 and 7 trusted him. 1 would turn to him, fatigued from the day’s arguments, and thank him for his loyal aid. 7 would, in turn, secretly thank him for protecting the others while she ran out, hunting the beasts and keeping them away from the hideout.

            8 never objected to this. In their own way, they were both helping the group. It was only after 7 realized that her hunts, always in a different direction from the hideout, led the monsters to frequent the area. It was unfortunate that 1 had realized this at the same time, after 8 had killed a beast that lurked on their own doorstep. That led to the final straw. 7 agreed that her actions were leading the beasts to the rest of the group. However, this did not mean she would stop hunting. It only meant that she would hide somewhere else, far away from the others, and continue her hunts in a way that would lead the beasts from the main group. It was in this manner that she left, the twins following her, and 1 wrote her off as dead.

            Yet there was something in this that 8 did not understand. The twins following 7 made sense. They studied, researched, sought out what the world had forgotten with the death of the humans, and 1 objected and hindered them at every opportunity. 7 had promised them the freedom to seek for their answers, and so they had gone. That was not what confused 8. What he did not understand was why 6 had not done the same. 1 was constantly burning his drawings, tearing them up, and tossing them away. No one ever tried to listen to the little man. Even 7 only indulged him, though indulging was better than the oppression he faced, wasn’t it?

            “Because I am needed here.” Was what 6 said when 5 asked him later why he hadn’t gone. It seemed 8 was not the only one who thought his choice to remain had made no sense. 5 had tried to make sense of that statement. Why was it he chose to remain when it was clear that 1 did not appreciate him. 8 had eavesdropped as long as he dared before leaving, which was a strange thing in and of itself. 8 did not fear, yet the idea of being caught there made him uncomfortable.

            Whatever the reason, quiet returned to the remaining stitchpunks and 8 largely forgot about the conflicts that followed the war. He relaxed; following 1’s orders was simple. He began to have fun in a day-to-day manner: something he had never allowed himself before. He enjoyed his power. He intimidated 5, though 2 frequently stood up for him, enforced 1’s orders, and picked on 6. Occasionally it crossed his mind. Why was 6 here? Why had he chosen to remain when no one seemed to care for him, and certainly not 1.

            It wasn’t really surprising then, when things came to a head again. 6 had many drawings now, and apparently he was talking to 2 about them, and 1 had caught them.

            “How many times must I tell you? Digging into these delusions does us no good!” He tore one of the drawings in half. “Do you really want to bring back all that chaos? Why even dwell on it?” He roared at them.

            “Come now, 1, they’re only drawings.” 2 said, forevermore the peacekeeper.

            “No! I have already said, they are not permitted!” He stamped his old foot. “8! Destroy them all!” He commanded. The largest stitchpunk looked between the three and the piles of drawings on the floor. 1 was resolute, and 2 was hugging the terrified 6, who shook his head while looking up at 8 with his large, mismatched, pleading eyes. 8 knew he only had a moment to consider, or 1 would look upon him with suspicion, so he made his decision quickly. He brought his foot down on one of 6’s larger ink wells, letting the blackness explode over the stacks of drawings, soak into the paper, and ruin the whole lot.

            “No!” 6 shrieked, the usually quiet and mild mannered stitchpunk lunging at the papers in an attempt to save what he could, only to find himself restrained by 2. Eventually, after the horror of what had happened wore off, he turned to 2’s shoulder, sobbing into his old fabric. 1 smirked and walked off, gesturing 8 to follow, which he did. It did not, however, stop him from being exceedingly troubled by what had just happened.

            “It’s okay 6. You can always draw more. You still have everything inside you.” 2 tried to console him. As he walked off, 8 could not help but hope that 2 would be successful. There was something very wrong in what had just happened, though he did not know what.

            Later that night, 8 had barely begun to let the events of the day slip away. He sat in his own private space, sharpening his massive blade pensively. This was his private time, always able to relax alone with his weapons.

            “Why?” Came the soft question from behind him. He always heard it when 1 came in, and no one else ever visited him. Yet even as he thought that, he knew the voice was not 1. It was too high and too confused. His body was rigid, he didn’t know what to do. At a lack of response, 6 took the initiative, hurrying towards him and grabbing his shoulder, turning the massive stitchpunk to face him before placing both hands, covered in dry, flaky ink, on his chest.

“You defend us. Why? Why destroy?” He searched 8’s confused face franticly before breaking down in sobs, repeatedly asking why. 8 didn’t know what to say. The more the practicality of the situation made sense to him at the time, it didn’t anymore.

“Why did you stay?” He found himself asking the little striped one covered in ink stains. 6 immediately stopped sobbing and looked up at him with his odd eyes. “When 7 left. Why did you stay?” He clarified, looking down intently at him. 6 looked a bit confused as one of the hands on 8’s chest moved up to his neck and face, examining him with touch more than his eyes.

“Because you need me here.” He said as if it were obvious. 8’s brow furrowed.

“Who?” He asked, not understanding what 6 was talking about.

“Here. Need me here.” He tried to express, seeming to have trouble saying the words. 8 pushed him off.

“They were just paintings.” He huffed. He did not like being made a fool of, and when he didn’t understand something, that was usually the conclusion that he drew. True, he may not be the smartest of them, but that didn’t mean he was an idiot.

“N-n-not paintings.” 6 mumbled, wincing from his hard landing on the unforgiving floor.

“You don’t make sense!” He snapped, struggling with his gibberish talk. 6 heaved himself back to his feet and reached up for 8, turning his face to meet his own.

“Trust.” Was all he said. That, 8 could understand. Trust and loyalty were things he respected. Things he had for 1. Was 6 asking him to trust him?

“I do.” He sighed, which brought a wide happy smile to 6’s face. He reached out and embraced 8 deeply though his arms could not reach around the larger stitchpunk’s body. 8 tentatively returned the hug, which apparently made 6 giggle, and 8 more confused then ever. As soon as he relaxed a bit to let go, the little artist fled the room, suddenly as he had come.

After that event 8 began to watch 6 more. It made things difficult since 6 did not seem to understand the concept of subtlety. Whenever he caught 8 staring, he would smile at him, and sometimes wave, splattering ink in the process. This brought some strange looks from 1, but 8 pretended to see neither. He couldn’t answer any hard questions when he had no answers.

It was not long after that when 8 found himself and 6 alone. 6 was drawing, oblivious to his surroundings as 8 came up behind him.

“What is it?” He rumbled. 6 went rigid before looking over his shoulder at 8, face open and innocent. Seeing 8 there, he smiled a bit and held up his most recent drawing. It was the same damn thing he always drew.

“The source.” He said, trying to make him understand, though 8 just quirked a brow. Source of what? It made no sense. He opened his mouth to say something

“8.” Came the call from behind him. 8 looked over his shoulder at 1, who started at him calculatively. He stepped on the drawing 6 was showing him, ground his foot into it and walked over to 1. 1 jerked his head to follow him, and led 8 to his own private chambers.

When they got there, it was clear that something was agitating the older one. He paced the room, looking at his feet. Occasionally he looked up at 8, only after the 4^th or 5^th glance did he realize 8 was just standing there and motioned for him to sit.

“You’ve been acting strange recently.” He said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. However, as 8 opened his mouth to speak, 1 cut him off with an amendment. “No, that’s wrong.” He said, and continued pacing. “You haven’t behaved suspiciously. You’ve always been perfect.” 8 clammed up his mouth and watched his commander, wondering where he was taking this. “6 is the one behaving strangely.”

A cold lump slipped into his stomach. He didn’t like where this was going.

“But none of that matters.” 1 waved his hand. “You have been loyal to me for many years now.” He approached the sitting 8. “I cannot tell you how much it means to me to have such devotion.” The stitchpunk slipped in between 8’s legs and reached up to stroke his face. 8 went rigid, eyes shifting uncomfortably. His eyes locked forward when 1 pressed his thin lips to 8’s. Before he could even really process what was happening, 8’s hands went to 1’s shoulders and gently but firmly lifted him off.

The look on one’s face was of absolute betrayal as if 8 had just torn run him through. 8 was still too stunned to talk, but fortunately 1 spoke for him.

“You’re confused. Perhaps this is all too much. I will let you think on it.” He said, slipping away, out of 8’s grasp. “That will be all.” He dismissed as if nothing had happened between the two of them. All to eager to play along with that act, 8 stood, bowed, and walked out of the room in a hurry, completely missing 1’s suspicious glare at his back.

8 hated this all. Things made more sense before the world was quiet. It was the stitchpunks vs everything else that moved. Now, these inner politics were making his vision unclear. Over the next few days he became increasingly hostile to those around him. Always obedient to 1, but aggressive to 5 and 2, and specifically cruel to 6. His inner turmoil escaped no one, and they all steered clear of him for it. This suit him just fine.

It was several days later that, while trying to achieve some peace in his private space sharpening his blades, that he was disturbed again. The frantic breathing and sound of copper running over wood brought him to attention. The door to his space swung open before swinging closed again by a terrified 6.

“H-h—help.” He breathed, hearing the sounds of 1 searching for him outside. The terrified stitchpunk twitched a glance over his shoulder at the thin wood of the door before running up to 8, gripping the front of his holey fabric. “Help!” He pleaded again, searching his face.

This did not help 8’s confusion, but that didn’t matter too much as 6 ran from his chest and hid under his bed. It felt completely natural for him to look 1 straight in the eye when he came in looking for 6 and shrug cluelessly. 1’s suspicious glare didn’t even register as he felt the calm of peace and clarity wash over him as he hid the terrified prophet under his bed. He didn’t even know why he did it, or why it made him feel good to have done so, but he knew that it did.

“He’s gone.” He rumbled softly, as mismatched eyes peeked out from under his bed, blinking to adjust to the light. 6 crawled out from under the bed, a breathy smile on his face as he happily loped to 8, wrapping him up in another hug, nuzzling his cheek into the larger doll’s stomach, as it was naturally head height for him.

“I knew you would. I knew.” He repeated happily, holding on.

“Knew what?” 8 scoffed at him.

“It’s you.” He emphasized. “You!”

8 couldn’t help but be taken aback by the complete faith and trust 6 had in his eyes when he looked at him right then. It was very different from the lost sadness 1 had. Despite everything, 6’s eyes were clear. Clearer than any glass or water or sky he had ever seen in all his years on this earth, and in that clarity he found himself drawn. So long as he could keep hold on that clarity and peace he felt right then, he would do it. If 6 was the source of this wonderful feeling, then he wouldn’t let him go.

6 reached up to stroke 8’s face softly before turning to leave, only to find 8’s massive hand wrapped around his upper arm. He looked up at 8 questioningly, who was really confused as well. He could keep him here, but what good would that do? It was true, he did not like it when 7 left with 3 and 4. He had tried his best, in his own way, to keep them all together. He had failed in that respect, and anything he did now could not replace it. Yet something told him he wanted 6 near. 1 would never depart no matter what he did, and 6… 6 needed someone to be vigilant over him. He needed someone to stand guard and watch not only for the beasts that threatened them all, but from internal threats as well, and he would not let him slip through his fingers the way the other three had.

“Not yet.” Was all he said, pulling him back into the room and to his side. 6 looked up at him, still confused, and 8 sensed he should be doing something, but no idea what. 8 looked down at the smaller 6. He wanted those eyes wide and clear, not blinking in confusion. As such, he did the thing he knew would achieve that result and leaned down, pressing his lips to 6’s striped ones.

He got exactly what he wanted and then some. The wide eyes were accompanied by 6’s jaw going slack and some deliriously pleasant pinpricks of electricity traveling along the points of contact. 8 pulled back a bit to look at 6, taking in his expression as 6 slowly smiled. A hand moved up to cup 8’s face as 6 kept his eyes glued on 8’s.

“Okay.” He said with a smile, standing on his toes to kiss him again, making 8 marvel in pleasure as more of that delicious electricity sapped his system.
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Clarity and Peace