The rain had ended hours ago.
Only one stitchpunk was out at this late hour, having snuck away from the other three survivors while they slept in the remains of their creator's home.
Kneeling in the muddy earth, he worked on attaching the cloth to the cross, making sure it was secure and would hold.
Standing up, he briefly examined it. Finding it acceptable, he picked it up off the ground and carried it over to the others. Finding the spot for it, he lifted the marker up over his head and brought it down with a force, plunging the end of the cross into the earth. Giving the marker a slight push, he deemed it sturdy.
Stepping back from the marker, he sat on the ground, not caring about the dirt and mud that would cover his fabric. He stared up at the marker in front of him and the number on it.
5.
His best friend.
He sighed, and looked past his marker to the four other markers behind it. They were gone, never coming back…and it was all because of him.
With a small cry, he bowed his head, hiding his face in his hands. His friends, the twins…7…they must all hate him. How could anyone forgive him for committing such a heinous act?
"9?" Asked a voice from behind him.
He recognized the voice immediately and turned around to see a worried 7.
"S-7! I-I didn't hear you come out." He stuttered. "W-what are you doing up?"
"I got woken up by the building creaking. I noticed you weren't nearby so I decided to search for you." She responded.
"Ah." He turned back around toward 5's marker.
He heard as 7 sat down next to him and looked up at his work.
"It's nice that you reconstructed their tributes." She said softly.
"It's the least I could do…after causing their deaths." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn toward him.
"9, you didn't cause their deaths. The Machine did."
He groaned and bowed his head, his hands clenching tightly in his lap. "But I awoke the machine. I'm stupid. So…so stupid."
His voice was beginning to crack at the end of his statement.
She reached over and grabbed one of his hands; prying it open and slipping her hand into his. "9, you're not stupid. You just made a mistake, we all do."
He turned toward her and blinked. Her expression was soft…sympathetic. Not what he had expected.
"B-but…I…" He stuttered.
"No!" She jerked his hand toward her, capturing it in her other hand. "9, I don't want to hear you blame yourself. If it wasn't for you, we'd all be dead."
He looked away from her, doubt still evident on his face.
She gently let go of his hand with one of hers and brought it to his chin, gently turning his head so he'd look at her. "You saved us, 9. You can refuse to believe that for as long as you want, but it's the truth."
She paused briefly, and when she spoke again her voice was much softer. "I know for certain that if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now."
As the neophyte looked into her eyes, he saw her sincerity, her belief and trust in him, and something else…desperation.
She needed him…probably just as much as he needed her.
Hesitantly, he reached out and gently stroked her cheek. To his surprise, she sighed softly and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.
His heart swelled and seemed to dwell in this moment….her touch, her presence…for a long time.
Until something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Curious, he turned toward it…and caught sight of something wonderful.
"7…" He whispered.
Drawing her attention, she opened her eyes to find him looking off into the distance. Turning in the direction he was facing, she gasped.
Seen through their friends' markers, over the ruins of the city…the sun was rising, casting beautiful shades of orange and pink across the sky and ruined landscape.
A sight that hasn't been seen since the war ended.
7 sighed blissfully. She leaned against 9, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand having since slipped into his.
As the two watched the sun rise, they realized what such a beautiful sight meant:
Hope.
What disasters may come
Whatever it may be
At the end of the age
It will land you and me
What tragedy may bring
What ever may fall
At the end of the world
You still belong
Just a little one-shot inspired one of my favorite songs: Miserabile Visu (Ex Malo Bonum) by the Christian rock band (also my favorite band) Anberlin. When I first heard the song, all I could think of was 9, and when I learned what the title translated into, the idea for this story sparked.
"Miserabile Visu" translates into 'wonderful by the sight'. "Ex Malo Bonum" translates into 'out of bad comes good'. Or something close to those translations.
Thanks for reading! :)