Mable: Another 6x8 fic. I really like the couple and am trying to get more entries for it posted as fast as I can before my window of inspiration again shuts. Anyway, I don't own the Stitchpunks, because if I did I'd be breeding them so I could get Stitchpunk babies. :D Enjoy!
After the Storm
If Eight could attack himself, bring his knife down upon his own head, throw himself into a wall, he would; because he hated himself right now.
He knew he had been too rough with Six, he knew that the smaller didn't like the yelling, but he couldn't control it. Learning that Six went out, alone, and nearly got hunted by a beast had set him off. A Beast could've killed the Artist quickly as he had no weapon that he brought, or even knew how to defend himself at all. Eight hadn't meant to be so rash though, and he didn't expect that Six would react any worse when he had known what he did was wrong. Still, Eight knew he should've stopped, and now he felt bad, now he felt worse than Six who had left the room looking like he had been bullied. For a long while, Eight hadn't bullied Six, not even the slightest, so the yelling must have taken Six completely aback. Which would be why Eight was now feeling incredibly idiotic, as he realized he should've known better, and he knew that Six was sensitive enough to be upset.
At this time he started to think back to when he used to be so aggressive to the smaller Stitchpunk. It came out of nowhere and the mere thoughts of the torment now made him feel like a monster. A monster that lumbered around, getting high, and yelled at Six whenever he was mad. Though, honestly, Eight never yelled at Six anymore. Since they had gotten closer, Eight had been protective of Six and gentler to the smaller Stitchpunk. Until now, he admitted to himself begrudgingly, and then finally accepted the memories of distant times previous to now.
He was so strange. Eight couldn't believe that One was really trying to still convince him that Six was really a Stitchpunk. As he watched the striped one pattering around, though, he highly doubted that Six was really one of them. This is why he targeted the Artist. It wasn't like he could target Five anyway, what with his missing optic, as it would be an unfair fight. Eight convinced himself that Six was fair; even with him being so much smaller than him. Even now he burst into the crevice room of Six's and at first he found himself stopping. Six had been angled towards him, so Eight saw the small smile stretched across his mouth, and felt a soft pang inside his center. Something about Six looking so pleasant and serene caused Eight to feel a bit bizarre.
However, he quickly pushed them away, and began to approach Six's side. The Artist paused and realized that the guard was there as his smile slowly dropped. He looked up at the larger male with his mismatched optics widened in fear. That fear was frequent, and Eight smirked before reaching down to grab Six's drawing, lifting it quickly and accidently knocking Six's inkwell over. The striped one scrambled to fix the well before leaping up to grab at his picture which was quickly yanked out of his grasp. Eight got a sadistic pleasure as he made the smaller hop about in an attempt to get the picture. Six looked quite distressed and let out a few distressed noises to communicate how upset he was. He wished that Two was here, because Two was the only one who was able to stop Eight.
Finally, Eight decided to change his advantage and took the drawing in both hands. Slowly, torturously, he began to rip the page into two, and Six looked horrified, as though this was a new torment. It certainly wasn't though. Eight frequently ripped Six's pictures and only released the drawing once it was in four parts. The shreds were released and the Artist watched as his hard work went completely to waste. Then the guard reached for the well, and Six jumped to stop him only to have Eight's other hand hold him back.
"Eight!" Suddenly One's voice echoed along with dull footsteps; he had returned from the Watchtower. "I see that Nine and Five are returning. I want you to wait for them downstairs." The leader sounded distressed, perhaps because he didn't say that Two returned as well, and the guard decided to finally let Six be. He smirked at the shorter, "This isn't over." With that warning, he turned and exited the room, leaving Six to pitifully stare at his destroyed drawing.
He really had been a monster; Eight was sure of it. He felt another wave of guilt and now realized that perhaps he deserved what had come to him later. He steps on Six's drawing thus gets drug off by the Seamstress. Perhaps a bit unfair by first sight, but Eight knew he'd bullied Six long enough to make the other's life less fulfilling. He knew that he had managed to alienate Six from the others by making him fear any social interaction even while he was lashing out at him; he deserved what he got. Then Eight finally realized his mistake and had stopped himself from ever doing something like that again. At this time he looked towards the weapons propped on his wall and remembered another memory, a little better of one, the one where he and Six had stopped their relationship and completely changed it. It hadn't been much after the previous memory, but felt like a lifetime of difference.
"Six?" Eight's voice cut through the silent Emptiness as he approached his destination. His mind was still foggy from waking up under all of that suffocating metal that used to be a factory, but he could think clear enough to know that he had to keep moving. The others had been too wrapped in trying to fix Two's legs, what with One screaming at them to 'help' as he tried to do it himself, and so they had decided to go after Six a little later. Eight didn't know why he decided this wasn't good enough, but had asked Three and Four about where Six had last been. They were eager to lead Eight into the Emptiness and the male followed them weaponless with only one thought on his mind; finding Six. He had walked the long way around the trench previously to return to the library, where he found the others, so he hadn't passed the area where Six had fallen in.
"Six!" He called again, following the twins who skittered around in desperation to find the Artist. Then they suddenly stopped and stared at something that Eight couldn't see at first. He knew they found something though and followed after them before suddenly stopping as well. There, by the edge of the trench, was a limp body, Six's limp body. Eight rushed forward and kneeled beside the small frame and reached to shake him. His hand stopped in mid-air and Eight felt almost hesitant to touch Six. He didn't look alive, but from the scratches on the ground and dirt staining his fabric Eight assumed that Six had climbed out of the trench. Perhaps he had collapsed out of exhaustion from the feat that Eight found shocking for Six to do.
He let his hand grasp Six's arm and shake him gently, "Six?" No response and the hand moved to feel the center of Six's chest. There was the dull throb of a soul and as Eight leaned closer he could hear soft breathing so he knew he was definitely alive. Without wasting any more time, Eight lifted the artist easily and turned to the twins who knew to lead the larger back the correct way. They were a little way ahead of Eight who was trying to make sure he held Six and didn't hurt him any more than he was. He was so light that Eight wasn't troubled by carrying him. It was around that time when Six started to move a bit and his optics opened a bit. A soft groan was released and Eight was alerted to the smaller awakening.
After a little longer, Six spoke up, "Eight?" His voice was weak and it disturbed Eight. "It's me. You okay?" Six blinked a bit, trying to remember, and Eight continued, "I found you by the trench and we're heading back to the library." Six's optics closed and he spoke softly, "I was in the…. I feel…" Eight nodded, "Found you outside that trench. You must have climbed out, I'm impressed." The Artist actually smiled a little, "I thought you… I thought you were…" He was having trouble speaking, so the guard spoke, "Yeah, I don't know how I got out of that either, One told me about the factory and everything. They're all back trying to fix Two now so I came with the twins." He knew that Six probably was confused and decided to continue.
"I'm not going to do it anymore. I swear, I'm not going to be rough on you anymore, I'm going to treat you like I treat the others." He paused, took in the comment, and corrected, "I'm going to treat you better than them. Alright?" He didn't know why he gave this promise except for the realization that the thought of losing Six scared him incredibly. The small one looked shocked, and then incredibly happy while starting to relax. "Friends?" Eight paused as he saw Six's optics flicker closed for a second. "Yeah," he started, "Yeah, we'll be friends." Then he watched Six begin to drift off and changed tone to a quieter one, "You get some rest. You need it." Six gave no answer, just collapsed, his slightly raised head dropping against Eight's chest.
The guard somewhat found it amusing how Six dropped into sleep so quickly, and couldn't say he didn't slightly enjoy the way that soft yarn pressed to his fabric, but he decided to instead look ahead for the twins and continue back to the others.
He remembered that day as well as he could with the possible head injury that had affected him. Eight could remember that Six had no nightmares and that he himself held the smaller even after they arrived at the library. Even after he awoke, he still stayed as close as possible, attempting to stroke the other's head every once in a while. The feel of that soft yarn on his hand was surprisingly good, and soon he admitted that the new 'friend' relationship had been better than the bullying one that lasted so long. He actually chuckled a bit as his hands held his head, remembering when it dawned on him that there was definitely something not 'friendly' about their new relationship. It brought the same wave of guilt though; he had broken his promise.
Though Six shouldn't have been out alone, but Eight knew he should've still been kinder about it, more understanding. For he knew that Six was still fragile and needed to be treated we gentleness. Eight laid back on his bed and rubbed his head a bit as he tried to straighten his thoughts together. He eventually suppressed his guilt be taking refuge with yet another memory. Trying to forget about the fight, the yelling, and trying to remember better times.
Eight had admitted it to himself already and so he expected it to be easy. However, as he stood here, hands pressed against the wall and him leaning forward on them, he tried to think of the words and get them out. He knew that Six was waiting for what he was going to say on the bed behind him, having been invited in by Eight himself because he said he had to tell him something. Of course, Eight did, but he found his nerve going. Fearless, strong Eight was afraid to say those simple words. It was complicated though, because he was unsure how the Artist would react. Thankfully, Six had been getting enough sleep that he was able to easily keep his thoughts together, for they were usually mixed whenever he had gone days without sleeping.
Eight looked back to see Six still watching and could notice a bit of concern in his expression. Perhaps Six thought that Eight was about to say he didn't want to be friends anymore. That was sort of the case, in a sense, but Eight couldn't get the words out. Then he finally secured the nerve and spoke, "Six," he hesitated before continuing, "You know, I wasn't good to you, not for the longest time. I did things that I'm not proud of, anymore, and I have been trying to make it up." He stopped and Six spoke up, "You already have. It's okay, it's not like that anymore, it's better." He smiled and the guard stared before speaking, "Yeah, it is." Then he corrected it, "It was, but now there's something that… There's something going on. I can't keep going on like this."
The words seemed to shock Six, and he began to grow a bit concerned, "You don't…. You don't want to be friends?" Eight looked away, "It's not like that, Six. It's…" He looked down and huffed; the words just wouldn't come out. "Six, I'm starting to notice 'things' I didn't notice before. 'Things' I was, I think, pretending wasn't there before. Now they're here and I can't stop noticing them. They're all about you, just little things, and it's becoming more of a big thing." The smaller's mouth opened a bit and his optics widened, thinking that he was hearing what could be Eight's excuse to bully and hate him again, "Eight, I can… I could… If I did something…" Eight stopped him, "I have to get this out." He was practically begging and they stayed in silence for a bit.
"I'm noticing things about you that I noticed before, that I said I hated." Eight lowered his head a bit, like in shame, "Now I'm noticing that I liked them, I liked those things about you, and I still do. The way you act, the way you do things, the way you like; everything." Six was now incredibly perplexed; unable to tell whether he was being denied as a friend or being complimented. That's when Eight finally turned to face Six, looking at the smaller, and then reached forward to touch Six's cheek. He could hear the smaller audibly gasp in surprise and was spurned to speak. "Six," His voice was completely serious, "I love you."
A brief second of silence before suddenly Six touched the hand on his cheek, looking desperate, "You do?" The reaction was undeterminable, and so Eight reassured, "Yeah, I do." The other looked down, his free hand griping at his key, "I…" He looked much more nervous than Eight had as he finished, "I love you too." The rush of elation felt better than any magnet. The second Six decided to lock their optics, Eight decided to attempt something he had only heard of before, and locked their lips. Six didn't pull away, instead he held on.
That wasn't recently. It had been a while since Eight and Six had become mates and until now they had been completely happy. Up until this fight had occurred and ruined everything they had. Eight knew why he had been so upset, because he was terribly afraid of anyone being alone now, especially Six, especially after what happened when he was alone during the Incident. It was his own growing fear that had caused him to cruelly go at the smaller even when he knew that he shouldn't. He now remembered the exact words, the ones he wished he didn't say, not very long ago, just earlier in the evening, and he thought back to his mistake.
Eight looked to be ready to explode by the way his hands clenched and unclenched in anger. Meanwhile, Six knew that he was so, and felt a bit guilty as he entered their bedroom. He knew he shouldn't have been out alone, but he hadn't wanted to bother Eight, and now the guard was ready to explode. As soon as the curtain shut, Eight started, "What were you thinking going out there alone?" He asked, still keeping himself under control, and Six looked down, "I was just getting ink." Eight was even more riled by the way that his mate brushed off the incident like it was nothing. "You could've been killed." He voiced louder and he removed his knife from his back and dropped it against the wall, "There's beast everywhere out there."
"But I didn't see any." Six insisted, "It was empty." Now Eight finally rose his voice, "Just because it looks empty doesn't mean it's empty! They're all over the place out there! I just got another Cat last week!" Six winced a bit and sat down on the bed, staring down at the covers, "I know… But I thought I could be quick. Nothing got me, I was fine." The guard huffed, "But next time you aren't going to be fine. You'll be dead." Still the Artist insisted, sure that he was fine, "I would've saw it last night if something was going to happen, but I didn't, so I was safe." Eight was only more spurned, "And what if you're wrong? What if it still happens? Then you'll be dead and I'll have to know it's my fault because I wasn't watching you!"
"I was fine!" Six practically pleaded, "Nothing happened." A huff of anger, "You don't get it, do you? A beast could've killed you in seconds, Six! You're too small; it could crush you without even trying! You should have known better than doing this, something so insane!" Six didn't retort this time and Eight knew the reaction was only to the word 'insane' and not to the rest. Eight then looked away, still angry, and tried to get his words together when he heard the other stand. He looked back and watched as the striped one exited the room, slumped a bit, and only giving a hurt look at the floor before disappearing from sight. It finally managed to cool his mood, and then he realized what he said, thus bringing the guilt.
With all of his thoughts together, finally managing to sort out his behavior, Eight decided to go attempt to fix everything. He knew Six wouldn't want to see him at the present time, but decided to attempt to apologize. He drug himself down the hall and to Six's room; it was usually only used for drawing as Six now slept in Eight's bed. The bed was being used now though, as Six was sitting on it, staring at the floor before him as Eight had done previously. He looked over upon hearing Eight, though, and Eight could see dark marks on his face like he had his head in his hands. Eight was mentally hoping that Six hadn't been crying about this, and spoke quietly, "Hey." To this, Six responded, "Hello." They lingered in the same spot awkwardly, before the guard finally spoke.
"I'm sorry." He smothered any pride and admitted, "I shouldn't have yelled at you, I wasn't mad at you, I was mad at myself. I should've come with you or something. And I didn't mean to say that word; I know you don't like it, but I wasn't thinking." Six shook his head, "No, it's not your fault. Shouldn't have gone out, I should've just waited and I'm sorry." Eight was adamant though, "Still, I was yelling like some sort of- like One. It wasn't right, especially not to you, and I'm not going to do it again. No matter what…" Then he paused before speaking, "I don't want it to end like this." At this the Artist stood and crossed the room slowly before embracing Eight, more clutching to him, and pressing into his buckles, "I don't either. I just thought you didn't want to see me."
Eight repeatedly denied that this was true and pet the striped one's head softly. They just stood there for a bit, both feeling a bit better, and Eight asked, "Forgive me?" He felt a small nod before Six looked up to him, "Eight," his voice grew softer, "Let's go to bed." Eight wasn't exactly sure if there was hidden meaning of not, but was willing to trust the Artist and figure out later whether or not something else would occur, not that just having Six forgiving him wasn't good enough. Six took Eight's hand in one of his and held it tight as he led him out of the room and back towards the one that they shared; more than certain that, even if they ever fought again, they'd be able to pull through, especially with everything they had struggled through to get where they were now; together.
Mable: Kind of a 'flashback' fic that shows the growth of a relationship and a few choice keywords that Six uses to control Eight; like 'bed'. :) On a side note, I have a new 'rare Stitchpunk couples' poll that you might want to participate in if you have the time, but if you don't then I understand. You came to read, not to vote. Ah, anyway, I hope you enjoyed!