The machines, they clawed their way into the tiny bucket in which they hid. 5 couldn't help but let out a yelp of surprise, but though he covered his mouth with a dawning horror on his face, he could not take back what had already been done. A silvery shine of metal, just fading into dullness, poked in through the hole it had created, reaching for their burlap bodies that it could not yet see. 1 pushed himself as far back against the edge of the downturned bucket as he could go, gesturing to the others to back away from the claw. But there wasn't much room, and it was getting dangerously close to snagging on 4's cloak, even as he curled himself up as close to 7 as he could. She held him close, glaring at the approaching claw with her characteristic determination. 1 only hoped she wasn't about to do something reckless.

Then the claw pulled back out, and everyone let out a silent sigh of relief as the threat seemed to fade away. 8 pulled out his knife, holding it out protectively in front of him, seconds before an inhuman screech wailed from outside their protective shield and a metal arm ripped through the wall behind him, impaling 8 from behind. 1 shivered as the screech sounded off again, along with the screams of his fellow stitchpunks as they tried to crawl away from 8's trembling body. His optics had shrunk, and his grip on the knife loosened until it clattered on the ground.

1 tried to crawl away from the creature, toward the other stitchpunks, but no matter how many times he pressed his palms against the dirt, his position never changed. He looked back to find the bright red light of the machine trained on him. He couldn't look away.

Then the red light suddenly vanished as the metal covering closed over it, and 1 felt the hypnosis wear off. Unable to move a single limb as the metal arms of the machine squeezed him tight, restricting his movements, he felt himself lifted off the ground and dragged closer to the eye.

He screamed, hearing nothing but the whirring of the machine and his pathetic wails. He turned helplessly to look at the remaining stitchpunks, hoping that 7 had a plan - because she always had a plan, didn't she? But when he turned around, he was not met with hope, but rather the cruel icy frost of despair.

All of the others stood close to the opening of the bucket, watching him with expressions ranging from satisfied smirks to expectant stares. Even 8, from where he sat with his back turned to the commotion, had his head tilted toward him with an unfazed look on his face, as if his role as the guardian didn't matter anymore, didn't apply, not to 1. 1 couldn't bear to look at 9's or 7's excited sneers, nor the twins and their interested eyes, nor 5 or 6's impassive frowns. His eyes fell instead upon 2, 2 who should have been the most compassionate, who should have fought the hardest to keep them all together.

2 seemed to be waiting for 1 to meet his eyes, because all at once, his face seemed to crinkle in joy. "It should have been you," he said simply. Even above the screeching of the winged beast nearby, still making its ruckus and planning on murdering all of them as soon as 1 had faded from existence, he could still hear the genuine relief in 2's voice as their leader was about to suffer the same fate he had.

"It should have been you," 8 echoed, his face twisted in a grimace.

"It should have been you," 5 and 6 chorused.

"It always should have been you," 7 sneered.

1 suddenly heard a change behind him, and twisted back to see the green light of the talisman directed toward him. Fear penetrated his heart as he struggled desperately against the beast, slamming his fists against the metal hand until he felt the pain of his metal fingers becoming busted.

"I know it should've been me," he cried out, spinning away from the green light as much as he could, trying to evoke some sort of sympathy in the others. "I know it should've been! Why do you think I did what I did?!"

"Because you're a pathetic old man and you knew it," she snapped.

"Because you deserved it," 8 told him.

"Because you couldn't live with yourself anymore," 6 explained.

9's face darkened. "Because we'd all be better without you."

2's smile widened. "So die."

"I already did!" 1 cried. "Why must I go through this again?!" His voice was bordering hysteria.

"1?"

"You will always go through it, over and over and over again, until you've gotten your deserved punishment," 6 said seriously. "Every day. Every night. Until you've suffered ten times as much as anyone else."

"Or until you die for real," 7 laughed. "But we both know you're too cowardly to go through with that."

"No… I don't want to die, I don't want to die," he muttered, pleadingly. He felt the ghost of a tear trickling down his cheek - something stitchpunks couldn't do, a feeling that was only familiar due to the human's soul sleeping inside of him.

"1!"

"Well, what you want doesn't matter," 7 retorted.

"Do you think we wanted to die?" 5 asked accusingly. 1's heart sunk. Out of everyone there, 5 had been the one least deserving of such an end. 2 and 6 had been rather accepting of their ends. 8 and 1 had been the cause of enough suffering to deserve a tragic end, but 5…

"No… no, but I-!"

"Die, 1. Like you always should have."

The green light felt brighter, warmer, against his fabric. He heard the air around him still. He couldn't make a single sound - he felt himself screaming, but no sound came out. The world fell silent, and then, a booming sound shot through his audial receptors, and the world turned fluorescent green-

"1!"

He shot awake, trembling and curling in on himself, the effort to scream straining his voice box. His body was pulsing and he didn't know why - all he knew was, he wasn't in control, and if he wasn't in control, anything could get him, anything could get anyone , and he was a failure, and he couldn't protect, he couldn't, he couldn't-

"1, please, it's me, 2!"

He felt something scrape against his fabric - something metallic, and he lurched backwards as far as he could, until his head collided with a firm wall. He squeezed himself into a ball, trying to ignore everything physical, trying to dig himself deeper into his mind so it wouldn't hurt, as he repeatedly mumbled to himself, "One must be sacrificed, one must be sacrificed, one must be sacrificed…" The words were reassuring on a logical level, but the fear remained - the fear of death was so tightly ingrained into him, he couldn't help it. It was something the Scientist had decided would help him become a better leader, and something he couldn't disagree more with.

"What's wrong with him?!"

"Everyone, stand back! Give him space!"

"1?" The metal hand wrapped around his wrist, and 1 couldn't help but whimper, weakly trying to pull away. Another hand came up to cup his face, trying to raise his eyes, trying to make him see the green light- "1, please, it's me. Please, look at me."

1 briefly wondered why this voice was speaking to him, and why it sounded like 2. Then he realized 2 was trying to trick him into looking at the light, into being swallowed up by the machine again, feeling every bit of him that existed float away against his will, feeling all his soul-crushing fears coming to fruition-

"I don't want to die," he pleaded once more.

"1, you're not going to die," 2 said, his voice rising with anxiety.

"I know what you're doing!" 1 shouted, realizing only too late how weak and desperate he sounded. "I know, when I look, it'll be there. I know you want me gone, I know, but I - I don't want to-"

"Well, what you want doesn't matter."

1 shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as much as possible. The hands on him were gentle as they began to stroke him cautiously, caressing him in a way that almost seemed to kind for the machine. They reminded him of 2, except 2 hated him, except 2 had every right to hate him, and he'd never feel 2's kind touch again, never-

"1, I'm promising you right now, the machine is gone. I'm here, and so is everyone else. And we don't want you gone - we want to help you. So please, look at me and come back to us."

"Lies," he hissed. "You all know it should've been me. You only want me to suffer, to die, but I won't do it, I won't-"

"We don't want any of that!"

"Why wouldn't you?!" The room fell silent. 1 tried to tug himself away from the hands holding him but they wouldn't loosen. 1 exhaled shakily. "I'm a failed experiment, I know that, but I wasn't made to confront death - I won't do it!" He twitched. "No matter how much I deserve it, I can't-"

"1, you need to calm down."

"I can't -"

A gruff voice spoke up. "Boss, remember the Sanctuary?"

1's mind buzzed with memory snapshots of the cathedral, and all the feelings it stirred within him. Safety. Home. "How could I not?" he lamented.

"Don't you want to see it again?"

If 1 had a heart, it would be burning at the thought of returning to the one place he could feel relaxed. "It's gone," he replied.

"How do you know if you don't open your eyes?" 2 asked softly. 1 felt a wistful smile creep upon his face. At least if he died, dying with the thought of home in his heart wouldn't be so bad.

"... Fine," he responded, sighing deeply, taking his last full breath before his world slipped away once more. He allowed his optics to turn back on, and was almost surprised to find he was staring at his own burlap legs. His back was to the wall on his bed, and his legs were pulled into his chest, his head hiding as best he could behind them.

Suddenly, the blur between his nightmare and reality began to clear, and he remembered exactly where and when he was.

Weeks had passed since the days of the machine. The other stitchpunks, now happily assembled together, had been determined to put the past behind them. 7 and the twins had reluctantly agreed to live together with the others in the library, as long as 1 promised not to feign control over them. Had times been different, 1 would have taken grave insult to such a proposition. Nonetheless, he complied, and that was that.

They were all still recuperating from the stress and damage they'd taken. 2's removed legs had been sutured back together, and he'd gotten used to walking on them again — but running was too much exertion. There were days when he'd be moving just like anyone else, laughing and maintaining a casual conversation, before suddenly stumbling over his own two feet. He'd look as startled as anyone else, fumbling for a wall or object to grab onto. His legs would wobble beneath him like disrupted jello, unable to stabilize themselves. If 5 were there, he would put 2's arm over his shoulder and drag him back to the lab, ignoring 2's half-hearted complaints. 2 wouldn't be allowed to leave that room until 5 figured out what went wrong and did something to repair it. It was nonsense, really; 1 and 2 both knew the problem lay in 2's mind, not his body. But 5 was convinced there was something he could do to help, that it even could be helped. Merely seeing 2 struggle to stand switched him into a fierce protective mode no one had seen before.

3 and 4, surprisingly, seemed quite touch-starved. Perhaps it wasn't an effect of the machine's trauma, but rather from being separated from the others for quite some time. 1 knew they had always been curiously touchy, but now they clung to whichever stitchpunk was willing to give them a pat on the head. They always took the opportunity to touch someone on the arm, or give each other hugs. 1 suspected 7's distancing of them was to blame, but if so, the female stitchpunk didn't seem to think the same.

5 also seemed to develop a fear of abandonment and of being alone, after being separated from the group and helpless in the face of the machine. However, he was more resolute when it came to helping the others in need - something that showed whenever 2 had trouble walking, or the twins sought out attention. He became the go-to whenever someone needed help, be it advice or a favor. 5 didn't seem to mind, as long as he wasn't left alone. 1 thought his neediness would begin to bother those he spent the most time with, but they hadn't proved him right yet.

6's body was in rough shape at first, but it was mostly bruises and the occasional tear, nothing 2 or 5 couldn't handle. 6 still had his nightmares, unfortunately; but, for what it was worth, he seemed to be much happier than usual when he was awake, now that the world was at peace once more. 9 and 7 had assisted him in taking down all his pictures of "the source," and now his drawings were done less feverishly and turned out much more pleasant. He drew portraits of each stitchpunk in various poses and lines the walls with them. Most of the pictures contained 2, 5, 7, and 9, often huddled together as a group. The twins were often far too energetic to sit still, but 6 noticed them sleeping in the corner, their tiny bodies sprawled out over one another, and captured that moment in time. He even had a picture of an awkward-looking 8 sitting against the wall, trying his best not to move a muscle on his face and ruin the artist's picture; he ended up looking dead-eyed, but 6 seemed to think it charming. He didn't have a picture of 1, though - he'd tried drawing the stitchpunk from memory, but it didn't quite match up to reality. Looking at it only reminded 1 of how the others saw him, so he stayed away.

7 was more social and talkative than she'd been before. She'd always known how to speak her mind when there was something she disagreed with, but she'd rarely had the time to have pleasant discussions with her peers. 1 suspected there was something more than friendship blossoming between her and 9, based solely on their closeness and body language, but that was none of his business. She seemed happier than she'd been in… well, happier than she'd ever been, and now that they were safe and all alone in the world, 1 couldn't find any reason to get in her way.

8 probably had the toughest transition, as there was no stress to relieve anymore by bullying 6, so he was left both purposeless and without a hobby. Everything he was used to was now flipped on its head, and he had to adjust to a life in which his skills weren't required. He wasn't needed anymore — that was what he'd come to believe, and it filled him with resentment, both toward the others and toward himself. To most of the stitchpunks' surprise, 6 was the one who approached him, searching for answers to his moodiness. Until then, everyone had been avoiding him, even 1, fearful that he might turn to physical abuse to ease his boredom. But 6 wasn't afraid, and he'd managed to squash the other's temper. Now whenever 8 wasn't awkwardly stalking the halls or out scrounging on some sort of time-wasting mission, he could most often be found sitting near 6, watching the artist draw with a quiet curiosity.

Everyone seemed to be growing closer. 9 was no longer an outsider, but rather at the center of the group. 6 and 8 had made up, the twins were now bonding with everyone, and 2, 5, and 7 were as tight-knit as friends could be. Everyone was closer - happier.

Everyone but him.

While everyone else came together after the age of the machine, 1 became more and more distant. He avoided most conversations, except for when his opinion was requested — which was quite rare, of course, as 9's opinion became worth far more than his. His presence always seemed to bring discomfort, causing excited cries to devolve into hushed whispers, and smiles to be replaced with frowns. So he did his best to spend his time wherever no one else would be. This typically ended up being the attic, up near the roof, where he could gaze longingly out into the quiet world, trapped in the storm of his own unsettling thoughts.

9 was the first to both notice this change and express concern. He didn't go directly to 1, but rather to 2, the one who'd known him longest. But although 2 was also worried for the eldest stitchpunk, he wasn't sure how to approach him.

7, however, brushed it off without a care in the world. "He's just sulking like he always is. Leave him alone and maybe he'll learn moping around won't do him any good."

5 also seemed to be against the idea of a confrontation. "You know 1… That's just how he is."

"That's the problem," 2 replied, looking out toward the hall where 1 had walked down just a few moments ago. "That's not how he is."

Some days, 1 simply holed himself up in his room, from the moment he woke to the moment his eyes shut for the night. Sleep rarely came to him in long strides anymore. He could close his eyes and fall into an uncomfortable dreamlike state, but it would only be for short bursts, and it would be equally discomforting for him to fall asleep as it would be for him to stay awake.

He would rarely get interrupted, and if it was, it was usually by 2, who'd lean in the doorway hesitantly and remind him of whatever event was occurring at the time. (9 and 7 seemed to enjoy planning these things; 1 didn't see the point.) 1 would merely state that he was aware, and 2 would meekly back out of the room, shutting the door slowly and silently.

8 hardly even watched over him anymore. He was too busy rediscovering himself, trying to find new hobbies, trying to find some sort of purpose. He still spent a great deal of his time sharpening his blade, or training, but there were times when he wouldn't know what to do, so he'd stroll the hall looking confused, or stand observing 6 for some time as the little artist drew.

8 didn't seem to care about 1 anymore. They did their own thing, and 8 was branching out and starting anew, whereas 1 was burrowing himself into the depths of despair.

Sometimes 1 would pace back and forth in his room, his disturbing thoughts keeping his chest tight with never-ending anxiety. He was so very weary, but his overactive mind wouldn't heed the crying pains of his fragile body.

'You're the reason 2 was taken first. You sent him out to die.'

'You prevented 9 from rescuing 5. They have every reason to despise your existence.'

'7 hates you for good reason — you're nothing but a nagging old jerk they'd be better off without.'

'No one wants a sulking waste like you. No one needs you anymore.'

'No one needed you to begin with. They were just fine with 9 — if you had been taken first, they all might have survived.'

'They want you dead.'

'Just look at their faces. They don't want you around. You're nothing.'

'The beasts should've ruined you.'

'You scare the twins, and 5 and 6. 7 hates you, 2 is forced to deal with you, 8 abandoned you, 9 replaced you… The world is better off without 1. You should just vanish.'

'The world would be a better place if you just vanished.'

'Just… vanish.'

He raised his head a little, almost flinching away when he realized how close 2 was, kneeling on the bed beside him with one hand still cupping his right cheek and the other holding him by the left wrist. 2's face was pinched in worry and confusion.

That alone would've been enough to send 1 into a world of humiliation, but that was all topped off with the shame that came to him when he realized all the other stitchpunks were staring at him from further away in the room. 1 couldn't meet their eyes.

He scoffed and pushed 2 away, before changing his position to sit with his arms and legs crossed. As much as he wanted to hide his face, he refused to show any more unnecessary weakness, until he was all alone. He had no recollection of what he'd said or done, but he refused to acknowledge any of it - not in front of them.

Not that they hadn't seen the worst of him already.

"All of you, out of here!" he snapped, forcing his voice to be stern. 5 flinched and made a step toward the exit, and the twins hid behind 7, but no one else moved.

"1…" 2's voice was too sympathetic; it made 1 uncomfortable.

"No," 7 said, shooting him her typical glare. He wasn't surprised in the slightest that she was the first one to speak against him. "You think we can just waltz out of here after… after… whatever the hell that was?"

"Yes, and you will," 1 responded, casually waving an arm. "8, get them out of here."

What he hadn't been expecting, though, was for 8 to refuse his orders. The bulky stitchpunk crossed his arms. "No," he retorted. The other stitchpunks looked just as shocked by his response as 1 felt. "I'm not leaving."

"You don't have to, but make sure they do."

8 glanced over the others' heads, watching some of them squirm or gulp upon his gaze, before shaking his head. "No. I think they're fine."

"What?!" 1 growled, stubbornly clenching his fists. "How dare you-"

"How dare you wake us up in the middle of the night with your screaming, only to tell us to just leave!" 7 shouted. 1 shuffled, suddenly uncomfortable. He'd been shouting? In his sleep? 1 prided himself in his ability to maintain control. This… was there even anything he was good at anymore?

"... Well, I apologize for that," he forced himself to say. 7 looked startled by the idea of an apology. "But you've overstayed your welcome."

" Excuse me?!"

"1, that's not the issue," 9 stated, his voice firm. 1 always hated that about him - despite him being the youngest, despite him knowing nothing of the world, 9 always acted like he knew everything. "The issue is what you're saying, what you're dealing with - why haven't you talked to us? Why do you act like… like you're not one of us?"

"I know it's hard for you," 2 said softly, before 1 could fire back a suitable response. "I know you don't like to let people in. But… you have to." 2 frowned a frown that could even draw guilt from one of the machines. "Some of the things you said… that we'd want you gone, that you're a 'failed experiment?' Not only is none of it true, but it's harmful. Those sorts of thoughts have been known to drive humans to suicide."

"I've already told you, we all know I'd never be capable of such a thing."

"But… you've already done it," 9 spoke up. Everyone froze.

"What?" 2 asked incredulously. 9 shuffled nervously in his spot.

"When the… when it still was here… it was going to take me, too. The red light vanished, the talisman began glowing green… And it should have been me, but 1 pushed me aside." 9 looked up at 1, his eyes wide and sad, and only then did 1 realize that 9 was feeling guilt over his death. That didn't make any sense to him. Why would 9 feel guilty? Of all the deaths, 1's was the one he should have celebrated. "1 chose to die… He was the only one out of all of us who actively threw himself into danger."

"Preposterous. You went around like an utter buffoon all the time, carelessly attracting danger wherever you went."

"Hey!" 7 placed a hand on 9's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly as 9's guilty face fell to the ground. "It's not his fault."

"But I didn't do it knowing I would die," 9 replied. "Neither did the others. 2 saved me, but he didn't know what was going to happen to him. 6 was trying to get us to stop from destroying the machine, and was only grabbed by chance. 5 and 8 were captured - they had no way out." 9 pointed a finger at 1. "But you… you knew you would die. You were safe; you would have survived. And you hated me. But you did it anyway. Why?"

1 frowned. "You were… the best chance we had." But even as he spoke, his reasoning was flawed, and he knew it.

"But I told you how to stop the machine!" 9 argued. "Any of you could have done it, right then and there!"

"He's right," 7 spoke up, looking conflicted. "I won't deny that I've always seen you as a coward. But… no one who fears for their life the way you do could have done that without courage. … A lot of it," she admitted.

"Courage…?" 1 huffed. "I may be proud but I'm not stupid; courage had nothing to do with it. It was my time to go, and so I went!"

"And that's the problem!" 2 shouted, grabbing 1 by the wrists again.

"Don't touch me!" he yelled, but 2 didn't let go.

"You need to remove the thought from your head that isolation and self-sacrifice are the only ways to atone for your mistakes," 2's voice softened. "It's not a healthy life principle, and all you're doing is hurting yourself and others. Maybe your sacrifice helped us all before when the machines were still around, but you can't let that be the standard you set for your life. You don't deserve to die, 1. And none of us want you to."

1 just looked away, as if avoiding their eyes would allow him to deny everything they said and did. He tried to pretend that he was still in control of the situation, but even he knew, deep down, that it was spiraling beyond what anyone could fix.

"I deal with the nightmares, too," 6 said, speaking up for the first time. He smiled. "If you ever need to talk about them."

"I don't," 1 grumbled.

"What is your problem?" 9 demanded forcefully. "All of us have been struggling to move on from our problems and make this world a better place, and all you've been doing is sulking around alone!"

"9," 5 said warningly.

"You're not the only one who struggles!" 9 snapped. "I feel guilty every time I look at one of you, knowing it's my fault that I sent you all to your deaths!"

"9, you saved us," 7 argued, trying to squeeze his shoulder again, but he brushed her off.

"At first, I thought it was laziness!" 9 laughed. "Laziness or fear. I thought, you'd think after what that led us to, all our sacrifices you said were justified, you'd know better!" 1 flinched involuntarily. He immediately straightened and kept a cool gaze on 9, but it was too late - everyone had noticed.

"Hey!" 8 snapped, stepping forward like he might try and throw 9 out of the room.

"You're blaming yourself. Great job," 9 sneered. "We've all got guilt. But you don't get to wallow away all by yourself. You don't get to suffer alone. And you definitely don't get to think about dying! It's not an option." He looked around at his fellow stitchpunks, his face softening. "We have to all work together to make the world a better place than we left it." The world was what they made it. And he didn't want his world to be incomplete. Without all of them united, it would be like the world whose destruction they witnessed - and 9 was there to prevent that.

"A better place would be one without the tension and mistakes that my presence here brings," 1 said calmly, as if speaking to a bunch of children.

"No! That's not it at all!" 7 cried.

"You've screwed up," 8 said simply, his face creased in his angry version of concern. "So what? You think I haven't felt the same way?"

1 grimaced. "8, you are an important and valuable member of the group. I've told you countless times-"

"And when has anyone else ever said that, huh?!" The stitchpunks all watched as 8 twitched angrily, surprised by his outburst.

"If you were gone, we would all be impacted," 1 said firmly. "If I was gone… there would be peace."

"What? No!" 7 looked appalled. "Wh-What's gotten into you?!"

"1, no one wants you gone," 2 repeated. "No one has ever said that."

"I never said I wanted you gone," 8 argued.

"You didn't have to," 1 replied. "I could see it."

"You didn't see sh*t," 7 snapped, crossing her arms. Her eyes flickered between anger and guilt. "Look, 1, don't go making decisions without the rest of us here. You don't know what would have happened if you were taken away by those things."

"Yes, I do," he protested. "No one would come after me. You would just watch, the way I did-"

"Never," 7 retorted, clenching her fists. "I would never leave you, 1. No matter how much you aggravate me - I would never let them take you." 1 felt something stir in his chest at those words. He almost believed them.

"The same goes for me," 2 promised.

"But you should want that most of all," 1 replied, giving him a quizzical stare.

"And I don't." 2 tilted his head with a small smile. "Doesn't that mean something to you?"

"I…" 1 found himself unable to respond. 2 drew him into a hug. "Ah-! Let go of me, you-!"

"Group hug," 2 announced, and within seconds 9, 6, and the twins had joined him in wrapping their arms around a flustered 1, forcing him to accept their hug.

"How dare you!" 1 squealed, making 7 laugh. She, 8, and 5 stood awkwardly at the end of the bed, smiling at the scene. 3 and 4 began to play with the poof on his head. Now he felt even more humiliated.

"We don't want you gone, 1," 2 repeated quietly, in a voice that promised endless future reassurances, endless repetitions, if that was what he needed.

And 1 almost believed him.

Almost.