Aaaaaaand- it's chapter 9! My favourite chapter, simply because I thought of this one before I wrote the story at all. Ah, memories of mental images... Try to spot the Princess Bride reference, too!
It is a common occurrence to have strange dreams, dreams in which the person dreaming them lives through a situation that they wouldn't imagine themselves doing. For instance, humans would have dreams of flying, dreams of lovers admitting their feelings at long last, dreams of friends and acquaintances all going on a trip together to places that don't seem real at all, but they are to the dreamer. Sometimes, the dream seems so real, and so right, that they react consciously- laughing, or crying, or talking. It is the same with stitch punks, particularly with 6, who would wake himself up in the night with his reactions. 7 had had this sort of dream once or twice before, and here it was again. It was dark, and the rain pattered outside, and she was in her bed. Somebody else was in the dream- moonlight dappling over their face like droplets of spilt milk on beige carpet. Primarily, 7 felt confused and a little hurt by the vision- like human females, 7 didn't like to be toyed with. Unfortunately, she was too tired to do much about it- though it seemed her imagination was playing a horrible prank on her. She shifted a little, so half her face was lifted from obscurity.
"Eh?"
"7..."
"Oh..."
The figure blinked, a little confused. Strangely enough, 7's state of mind hadn't allowed her to 'place the face'. The figure was male, and held the sights and scents and sounds that were more familiar to her than breathing, but the name would not come to her. This reasoning led her to believe it was a dream, even though the figure's next question debated that a little.
"Are you awake?"
"No." she mumbled in reply. It was a truthful answer- it wasn't like the figure existed in reality, in her walk of life. Dreams did that to her- created characters that never existed, at least not to her. The figure smiled at her answer, though for some reason they didn't look convinced. A very strange dream this was turning out to be...
"Do you want me to go away?" the figure asked, placing his head on crossed arms. Their eyes were now level- though 7 let hers close again. The figure disappeared from her vision.
"No." 7 repeated, opening her eye again. So familiar... who was it? She had known him once...
"Well... in that case... may I, uh, come in?" he asked. His voice was the epitome of awkward, as if he was wondering why he was here in the first place. 7 suddenly understood- the figure wasn't supposed to be here. She couldn't let him in when she was trying so hard to gather the strength to let him go... She let out a little moan- a negative sound. The figure's hopeful smile disappeared in a flash, very confused and truly let down.
"I can't. I'm trying to let you go."
"Let me go?"
"Yeah." she confirmed, wondering if she sounded defiant or just plain tired.
"Are you... with someone else now?" the figure asked. 7 said nothing at first, as her thoughts were too scattered to comprehend. As her sense of self gathered once more, she tried to order her thoughts to answer the strange question. What had that have to do with anything? Her arm reached around her head, embracing her pillow.
"No... You're dead, is all." 7 explained, nuzzling the pillow. The figure straightened, his head lifting off his arms. 7 noticed a dangling ornament hanging off seemingly nowhere on his chest, glinting in the faint moonlight. She blinked her optic, a thought clicking in her head.
"Um, 7? I'm here. I'm very much alive." he said. She almost identified him when-
"Nah... You're a dream."
"If I'm a dream, then why won't you let me in?" the figure asked. 7 sighed, yanking the blankets back on 9's side of the bed. She felt very disloyal by doing that, but still she said nothing as the figure lowered himself onto the bed gratefully. She sighed as he pulled the blanket back toward him, carefully making sure that they had an equal amount of blanket. Again, 7 wondered who it was. There was a zipper on his chest, but it wasn't- There were tiny little stitches all around his chest. He was different from the stitch punk she was thinking of, wasn't he?
"Promise me one thing though." 7 said, closing her eyes again. Maybe the dream figure and the real thing were one and the same after all. Dreams distorted image, changed the past and future. What did it matter if the one she loved was gone? She had him now, though it was for a very short time...
"What would that be?"
"Don't come back tomorrow night." 7 told him rather sternly, bringing herself right up close to the figure. There was nothing wrong with one dream, though several would probably be unhealthy. She had made her condition clear- he was bound to listen, no matter how much her body; mind and soul yearned for the form which lay in her bed at the very moment. They were wrapped in a tight embrace- a sensation that was better than orgasmic. The dream version of 9 let out a dry laugh.
"As you wish."
He was very warm, and very soft.
***
Of course, the best moments in life are exactly what they have been described to be- a moment. The dream had really been a fleeting rift in her dark imagination, leaving her feeling empty and drained, as if she had spent the night doing chin-ups instead of cuddling with what was probably 9's old pillow. She sat up, feeling rather disoriented. The was a great commotion occurring downstairs, though 7 wasn't quite sure whether 1 was yelling at the twins and 2 was defending them, or maybe 6 had gotten himself caught in a crack in the floor, or 8 hadn't really felt the grief until just then. All she could hear was a strange buzzing downstairs, like a celebration and a brawl and a strange- what was the word? Oh, yeah- family reunion of anti-social weirdos all rolled into one. She could hear her name being called from a distance- what was everyone doing awake, so early in the day? It was barely reaching dawn! She flopped back down onto the bed in exasperation, and for once slumber found her easily, and she dreamt of a great big nothing. A void which was actually rather pleasant.
