A/N : Ever wonder why 1 sent 2 out to die and not 6? After all to 1's view, 6 is shown as being insane and stupid. And why was 6 the only other punk living in a dark corner of the throne room?
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**************************Throne room of the sanctuary**********************

1 had tried. He really had, but after three long years he was at his wits end with the boy. Frustration mounting 1 growled quietly to himself then frowned. He sighed once more rubbing at his face.
6 had been wailing most of the night from down in the room he shared with 5 and 2. 1 knew they had tried to hush him, console him, comfort him but in the end he had sent 8 down to silence him with pain.

It only worked for a little while...

No matter how many times 1 lectured the boy, took his drawings away or sent 8 beat him, he could never get through to that daft idiot.

"There must be a way, something I can do to get through to 6. Finally make him understand the rules." 1 stood grumbling and began pacing in front of his throne. His mind drifted back to the past. Ever since 7 left a year ago, taking the twins with her, 1 had felt his control of the family slipping. A few months after her departure 2 had stopped sharing a bed with him. And had also stopped all that that implied, saying that 1 was changing, becoming cold, hard. "Of course I have to be hard on them, its for the good of all of us. For survival."

"Hard? 1...you've been cruel ever since 7..." 2 spoke worry and hurt in his voice.

"Never say that name in my presence again! She is dead, gone...probably the twins as well. Sometimes one must be sacrificed for the good of the many." 1 declared as he scratched out the number 7 on the wall. 2 frowned, saying nothing and left 1 at that.

It was her fault. All her fault. The thought of 7 made 1 frown deeper. "Little troublemaker. Long dead by now, I'm sure." he huffed, a touch of uncertain in his voice, remembering how she looked. Her powerful pale form with her spear. Her shield and her stupid bird helmet with feathers...1 stopped mid-step. Feathers?

1 rubbed the bottom of his chin in thought. Feathers? Perhaps he had been punishing 6 in the wrong way. Going quickly down to the bottom floor 1 began to look around. 5 and 2 were no where to be seen. The skate they used for collecting things in the emptiness was also gone. So they had defied him once more and gone out for supplies? Well this time 1 was glad they were gone. The wouldn't come back for hours and with 8 sleeping in his room beside the throne room that meant it was only him and 6. Going into 7's old room, 1 quite easily found what he was looking for. The plume of a long dead animal, still so soft and light but with a slightly firmness to the touch. Yes, this would work nicely.

1 found 6 in another room, happily humming to himself as he continued to draw the same circle shape over and over. 1 felt a slight smirk come to the corners of his mouth as he took in 6's vulnerable form, especially his belly. No, this was punishment. 1 reminded himself.

"6, you've been very naughty little stitchpunk." 1 stated, his voice causing the artist to suddenly look up. "I've tried my hardest with you. To teach you the rules, to be patience with you. But you've block me at every turn. So I must punish you."

At those words, 6 whimpered and put his arms over his head, preparing to shield himself from a blow as best he could. That was what 1 was waiting for. In an instant he had 6 pushed onto his back, his hands caught at the wrists by the vice like grip of 1's steel fingers. "I'm not going to hit you." 1 stated calmly. "That doesn't seem to work, does it?" 1 was practically optic to optic with 6. And he cooed the words right into 6's face. "I thought I might try something else to punish you 6. Coochie coochie coo..." 1 teased, moving the feather with his free hand all over 6's striped belly. The result was immediate.

"Hahaha...N-no...hahahahahah p..pl..please...hahahahahaha hee haha teehee." 6 tried to beg, wiggling and kicking but he was no match for the larger 1 who had him pinned. His tummy was plush and his fabric so smooth, so sensitive.

"Oh yes 6. You've been very bad. And nothing I do seems to help. Perhaps you'll remember the rules now. Does it tickle? Tickle tickle 6." 1 smirked teasingly, as the little artist was quickly losing the energy to wiggle, it still tickled insanely, but the laughter was stealing all of 6's strength.

"Hahahahah no..hahaha I...I'll...hahaha...be..teehee...good...hahaha...p..promise." 6 promised as the feather continued to dance all over his belly. Slowly 1 began to drag it toward his underarms. 6 squealed in anticipation.

"You've been such a bad, bad 6 or should I say poor little 6?" 1 hovered the feather right over 6's arm pit without touching it. "5 and 2 stuck out again and 8's asleep. There is no one to make the tickles stop and I won't stop tickling." I swore. "Not until I am sure you've been punished enough." 6's optics went wide with fear as 1, ever so slowly, brought the feather towards 6's arm pit.

"No!" 6 shrieked but it was immediately replaced with giggles as the feather hit its mark.

"Yes." 1 replied. "Tickle, tickle, coochie coo..." 1 was unaware of the dark smile he had on his face, the longer he tickled the desperate 6, the more manic 1's grin became. Soon 6 was unable to form words to beg 1 to stop, only the sound of tortured laughter, forcefully coaxed from his little fabric body could be heard.

1 continued to tickle the poor artist, dragging and dancing the feather all over 6's belly and alternating arm pits. Every inch of stripped fabric 1 could reach he tickled. After the first few minutes, 1 lost track of time until the hysterical 6 let out a surprised, "Oh!"

1 stopped tickling and looked down at 6, there between his striped legs, was a new oil spot. 6 hiccuped softly and looked away from his leader. His optics clicked closed, he was so...tired.

1 released 6's wrists. The little punk didn't dare move. "I think you've learned your lesson." 1 whispered into 6's audio receptor. 6 let out a whimper and 1 continued. "Don't disobey me again." 6 nodded, not daring to speak.

1 returned to his private chamber in the throne room. His extended rod, under his fabric, made it difficult to walk. As soon as he was alone 1 undid the bottom belt strap and let his steel rod slip out. It had never been his intention to "excite" 6 as he had, but as 1 clasped one hand around his rod the other still held the feather. Alternating between rough metal on metal rubbing and light feather strokes 1 soon made his own, albeit smaller, oil stain.

Once recovered and cleaned up, he returned to his throne. And ordered 8 to move 6 and his belongings to the throne room.