Red. Everywhere.
Violent. Bright. Angry. Dangerous.
Have to get away. Have to run. Go somewhere safe. Away from whatever all that red is coming from.
Wait. No. Can't leave yet. They're trapped. Trapped inside. Have to find a way to get them out.
Red is enclosing. Trapped. Have to save them.
Trapped…
Six's optics flashed open, accompanied by a sharp whirring sound. Darkness. Pitch black replaced the violent red color that lurked behind his shut optics, and he sighed in relief for this. Only then did he realize how raggedly and heavily he was taking in the night air, lingering evidence of the sights that had just plagued him.
He sat up. He was startled to realize the surface upon which he sat was not his soft like his bed, but hard and cold. Running his metal hand against the surface, he heard the rustling of papers. His papers. He was on the floor of his room, where he had been drawing earlier. He did not remember falling asleep in the middle of the floor, but he must have, as the last thing he remembered before that horrible red light was the soft afternoon glow of the sun pouring in through a crack in the wooden wall. Now, he could see nothing but the blackness of the night. Not even the moon shone in through that same crack in the wall.
The thick darkness made Six uneasy. He didn't like the dark. It was a fear One had instilled in all of them from the first day they'd arrived there. You couldn't trust darkness, because there was no way of knowing what was waiting there, watching you. It robbed you of your defenses, and that was something they could not afford.
Six sat, ramrod still, on the floor of his room. His optics flicked up, down, side to side, trying to get used to the lack of light, perhaps long enough so he could get to his bed. Go back to sleep. Maybe dream of nicer things. But he could make out nothing. He was trapped by the darkness.
Trapped. Trapped inside. Inside the red.
Trapped. All his friends. Trapped.
The words buzzed around Six's mind, as the bright flashes of red exploded in front of his eyes as they had in his dream.
Curling his legs to his chest, burying his head against his cloth knees, and wrapping his fingers around the key that dangled from his neck, Six let out a helpless whimper and gently rocked himself back and forth.
Suddenly, from the corner of his optic, Six saw a faint light. A gentle voice pierced the quiet. "Six?"
Six lift his head and turned toward the origin of the voice. In the doorway of the small room stood Two, holding something that looked like a candle with a spoon above it. The elder stitchpunk's face was etched with concern as he looked down at the younger.
"Two," Six said quietly, barely raising his voice above a tentative whisper, "you're here."
The stitching above Two's optics furrowed in confusion. "Of course I am, Six," he said. "I heard you talking in your sleep down here. I came to check on you." Two walked slowly toward the younger stitchpunk, eventually kneeling down next to him, placing his candle contraption on the wooden floor. The flame from the candle offered little light, but illuminated enough to show that Six's bed was only inches from where he sat.
"You sounded like you were getting pretty frantic," Two continued. "Were you having a bad dream?"
At this question, Six nodded vigorously. "Yes. Yes. Bad. Very bad." Just the thought of all the red made Six curl into himself even tighter.
The concern in Two's face slowly melted away, replaced now with sympathy. Reaching out his hands, he wrapped his metal fingers around Six's. Only now did Six realize how badly his hands were shaking, clicking softly against Two's. He suddenly felt more powerless than he ever had in his short life. It was as if the vision was a weight, resting on his shoulders, that would not budge until he was broken. Overcome, Six roughly buried himself into Two's chest and began making quiet sobbing sounds.
"You were tapped," Six muttered into the fabric of Two's chest, between the dry sobs. "Trapped inside. Had to save you. The red wouldn't let me. All the red."
Six felt Two release his still shaking hands and move his arms, so that they were wrapped around Six like a protective shield. Slowly, gently, Two began to rock back and forth, quietly shushing the young stitchpunk. "It's alright, Six," he soothed. "It was only a dream. I'm right here. Nothing's happened to me. I'm right here."
They sat this way for some time, Six whimpering, curled up in Two's embrace, while Two gently rocked and whispered, sometimes taking a hand to comfortingly rub Six's back.
Eventually, Six's sobs fell silent. Two moved his hands to Six's shoulders and moved him out to arms length, a warm, caring smile lingering on his face. "Feeling better," he asked.
Six nodded weakly, rising to his feet. He tottered over to his bed, pulling back the piece of fabric that functioned as his blanket. He suddenly felt exhausted, somehow lacking the energy to continue holding himself up, which resulted in him somewhat flopping into his bed. Two chuckled at the sight. Grabbing the fabric, the elder stitchpunk pulled it up so it covered Six's body completely.
Picking up his candle from the floor, Two gently ran his hand over the yarn that sat upon Six's head. "Goodnight, Six," he said. "Sleep well."
Six did not reply. Only his optics opened and closed slowly, indicating he was on the verge of sleep. Two smiled, and turned to leave. He had made it to the threshold of the door when Six's voiced piped up from behind him.
"Two?"
"Yes, Six?"
"Could…could you stay? Just for tonight?"
Two turned back to face Six. The young stitchpunk sat up in his bed, looking at him hopefully. Six's pen nib fingers were clasped around the fabric, nervously clenching and unclenching it, waiting for a reply.
"Of course I will."
Six's face lit up with a half-smile, and he let out a tiny little laugh. Two walked back over to the bed, setting his candle on the floor once more. Six scrambled over towards the edge of his bed that rested against the wall to make room for the other stitchpunk, who slid under the fabric next to him. Six took the opportunity to curl closely to Two's side, nuzzling his head into the worn burlap as his optic shut.
Not a second later, the optic popped back open, and Six lifted his head. "Two?"
Two, suddenly drowsy himself, answered with a halfhearted, "Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Any time, m'boy."
With a quick half-smile, Six buried his head back against Two's side, as Two leaned over and blew out the candle.
A/N: Holy crap! Lavender did something! It's a flipping miracle!
So, yeah, this probably isn't my best work, given that I wrote it during a bout of insomnia, but it is my first 9 fic, so try and be gentle. I got the idea after realizing that I've never seen a Six and Two fic before. I mean, they've been in fics together, but never as the main focus of the story. So, I decided to remedy that, along with satisfying my desire to write some fluffy goop at two in the morning. Enjoy it and tell me what you think!
Cheers,
Lavender Cat