Finally! Chapter five! *counts on fingers* Yeah, it's chapter five. :D I am on a roll today. :) I'm really liking the chemistry between 9 and Hogarth. They're like two halves of each quarter.

But really, I'm liking how this story is panning out, and can't wait to see how it ends. I'm also excited to see how the stitchpunks get back home. Well, we have plenty of time to figure that out. Let's just enjoy these bonding moments.

Don't forget to stick around for chapter six.

Four days passed after Hogarth introduced the stitchpunks to Dean and his mother. They were taken aback by the small ragdolls, watching them walk and talk. It was hard to explain how they were actually talking. Hogarth had to use all his wits to prove that they were in fact talking and not parroting. With permission from the stitchpunks, Hogarth allowed Dean to observe them internally. The man was intrigued by their machinations. All four of them had metal skeletons, ribs made from hooks. 5 explained to Dean that the Scientist sewed a lighter fabric and then the thicker fabric on their bodies. 9 and 5 were both made from burlap. The twins were made from garden gloves.

What surprised him were the twins' lack of voice boxes. 5 and 9 had theirs, but the twins didn't. The optic flickers were their main way of communicating. 9 and 5 understood what they said, but it took Hogarth a fraction to understand them and even more time for Dean to understand them.

Another thing about 3 and 4 was their ability to project recordings onto a surface. They were like living cameras. The first time they showed Hogarth's parents a recording was the very night they were introduced to them. They showed Annie and Dean the reel the twins showed 9 when he came to their aid. It helped the two understand a little more about their world. Their world was different from theirs in more ways than none. Hogarth deduced the stitchpunks' world was an alternate of his, only the wars in his world were less severe than in the stitchpunks' world.

Even though the B.R.A.I.N. was dead, and the dictator who wanted to control it was also dead, the four stitchpunks explained that it would take a lot of work to help life return.

Hogarth showed Dean where he left the Lizard's carcass. It was still on the side of the road where he threw it. The two took it back to the junkyard where Dean began studying it. From what he could concur, the Lizard did not have a soul, but it functioned like any other machine ranging from vehicle to wind-up toy. With careful explaining, Hogarth came to understand that it functioned from a sort of battery. They found the source that made the machine tick: a small spark plug. Despite that, it acted like the animal it was based off.

It didn't surprise the stitchpunks in the slightest, having dealt with these before in their world. Having confronted the Cat Beast, the Winged Beast, the Seamstress, the Spider-Bots, and the B.R.A.I.N.. The twins showed Dean sketches of those machines drawn completely from memory. They may not be good at it like 6, but they were discernible and well-detailed. Dean and Hogarth observed the sketches, impressed with their design and construction. But they also remembered these machines were made for destruction. Just like the Giant was. Hogarth felt a surge of guilt for thinking it, but no matter how much he tried to put the Giant in a different light, he had to remember what happened all because he existed.

Balancing his schoolwork with his home life distracted Hogarth from thinking about showing the stitchpunks to his friends. Because Dean knew of their existence, he let the stitchpunks join him at the junkyard. It's not that he didn't want to bring them to school; he enjoyed sneaking them in and taking a different stitchpunk to classes. What bothered him was that they might not understand. He could practically see everything falling into disaster.

No he couldn't do that. Not now. At least not yet.

The school bell rang and Hogarth gathered his books and left the classroom. Today was Wednesday. Photography club wasn't until tomorrow. It would give him all the time he needed to think of a plan. Passing through the corridors, Hogarth reached his locker, opened it and gathered his jacket, his backpack, his books for tomorrow, and, after locking his locker, left.

Getting on the bus, he gazed out the window as his friends' conversation resonated all around him. He didn't listen to all of it. Nothing made his way into his head, except the plan he was keen on working on. By the time the bus reached Hogarth's stop, he, and his friends, disembarked, saying their goodbyes and headed off.

Hogarth made the walk home.

The wind stirred the branches of the trees, creating this whisper that sounded pleasing to the ear. He knew Dean wouldn't be home, so he didn't expect to see him home. Perhaps he'll pay him a visit. That's what he was going to do. Once he reached his house, Hogarth quickly put away his books and backpack and headed back outside to get on his bike, helmet already placed. He got on and rode off.

His mother was still at the diner. Hogarth often wondered why she still worked at the diner. He always wondered that she should find a better job. Maybe work as a secretary. But then, his mother never went to college, she got married almost immediately after high school. There weren't a lot of opportunities back then like there were now. He was glad that they were doing fine. Putting that aside, he turned to the road and let the wind blow through his face.

He reached the junkyard and sped inside. He came to a stop, parked his bike and drifted off into the workshop. Removing his helmet, he placed it on a nearby table and found Dean toiling away at his project. He found the stitchpunks watching from another table across the room.

"Hey, Dean!," shouted Hogarth.

Dean turned around, the welding hose in hand.

"Hey, Hogarth," he said. "How was school?"

"Great," replied Hogarth, walking over to the table where the stitchpunks were. "You guys have a lot of fun?," he asked the four ragdolls.

"Sure did," said 9. The twins nodded.

"It was fun helping out with that sculpture," said 5.

Dean took a good look at the stitchpunks, needing to get a question out in the open.

"So, you guys don't eat at all?," asked Dean.

"No," replied 5.

"Aw, too bad, I had this scrap metal I thought you could eat."

Hogarth laughed. "I thought the same thing."

Dean put his welding helmet on and fired up the hose, a blue flame sparked and he turned to the sculpture.

"I like it here," said 5, head swiveling around the room. "It reminds me of the new workshop 2 and I made in the library."

"A workshop, huh?," muttered Dean, focused on the sculpture.

The sculpture Dean had been working on was nearing completion. It began with the trunk, which consisted of wires intwined together to form a trunk. Then there were the branches, welded on majestically. All he needed were a few more to add and he would be done.

Hogarth held out his hand; the stitchpunks jumped on and climbed up his arm like a bridge. They settled on his shoulders.

"We're gonna head outside," he said to Dean.

"That's fine," said Dean over his shoulder. "Just be careful."

With the sticthpunks perched on his shoulders, Hogarth traipsed outside, heading off toward the left. He figured there'd be a used toy car or a boat lying around here. Even though he had a few of his own at home, he liked the idea of finding a used one and fixing them. Hogarth remembered that idea he had and decided to search for some fake flowers. He jogged over to a rusted car, jumped onto the hood and looked in. It was a convertible, like the one he and the Giant played in that one time. The rush, the speed; the Giant must've been spinning at a hundred miles per hour. He still couldn't believe it was only his torso that spun, and his legs stayed in place.

"You guys think you can find some plastic flowers?," he asked the stitchpunks.

"Sure," said 5. He leaped off the boy's shoulder, slid off the car hood and landed on the dusty ground. The twins flickered their optics at Hogarth, and then joined 5 with his search. Hogarth looked at 9.

"You wanna join them?," he queried.

"No," replied 9, "I'm going to stay here." He changed position, gripping his lightstaff just so, and sat more comfortably.

"Want me to hold that for you?," offered Hogarth, holding out his hand. 9 dropped the lightstaff on his palm, and Hogarth hid it in his jacket pocket. The boy glanced around the mountains of junk when his eyes rested on a certain old bus.

"See that?," he said, pointing to the bus. 9 craned his neck and spotted the bus Hogarth was pointing out. It was a white bus covered in rust, but that wasn't what grabbed his attention. It was the great gaping hole on its side that looked like it might've been burned on with that welder's hose Dean was using.

9 glanced up at Hogarth, wordlessly asking what he was trying to show him.

"The Giant...did that." Hogarth's stomach leaped as the memory came crawling back in his brain. "He didn't mean to," he clarified. "We were playing a game where he was Superman and I was the villain. I tried shooting at him with my toy gun—only it wasn't shooting and I bent down to fix it. When I looked back again, the Giant looked like he was waking up from a trance.

"We continued with the game, only this time...the Giant's eyes glowed red, and I knew he was going to blast me. Or he would've if Dean hadn't shoved me out of the way. He burned that hole onto the bus. After he calmed down the Giant asked what was wrong, and Dean reprimanded him, called him a...'big gun that walks.'" He could still see the heartbroken look on the Giant's face. "The Giant tried to apologize, but Dean didn't want to hear it, and so the Giant left."

9 looked like he wanted to say something, but held back for fear of upsetting Hogarth. Being mechanical himself, he understood the pain the Giant felt at being called a monster. Compared to the B.R.A.I.N., the Giant was as innocent as a convict arrested for trespassing.

"Hogarth," spoke 9.

"Yes?," said Hogarth.

"You said...that the Giant had feelings." 9 tried to come up with a cleverer way to word this. "How did you come to that assumption?"

Hogarth bit his lip. "It happened after a hunter shot a deer. I told him not to touch it because it was dead. He didn't understand, so I explained death to him. I told him that things die. He asked me if I would die, and I told him I would someday. And he asked me if he would die. I didn't know how to answer that.

"I told him that he was made of metal, but he had feelings. I told him that the soul is inside all of us. And that souls don't die."

9 gave a rueful smile. "How right you are about that."

Hogarth, glanced down at the litter-ridden ground. The guilt ate away at him, and yet his heart twisted inside with ambivalence. The Giant was his friend, the savior of the town, but he was also a trophy sought out by the government to make into a weapon. The mystery to the Giant's origins still remained unknown to Hogarth, but he knew that he wasn't built for this. He's been over this a thousand times, and he always saw the Giant as a friend.

"The Giant," spoke Hogarth, "had feelings and thoughts of his own. That meant he had the ability to choose. And he did choose. Just like you, 5 and the twins have the ability to choose."

"You're right about that, Hogarth," answered 9, "but there are some who aren't lucky enough to choose."

Hogarth quirked a brow.

"The B.R.A.I.N.," began 9, "didn't have a soul, so of course, he didn't understand the value of a soul because he didn't have one and never been taught. The B.R.A.I.N. didn't get to choose when it was hooked into the factory and forced to build machine after machine. Machines that turned against humanity and were under the B.R.A.I.N.'s control."

"Wow," uttered Hogarth, "for a good guy, you sure defend that machine."

"It's not that," said 9, "it's just that humans are flawed. Not just humans, but stitchpunks as well." He didn't even try to deny it in himself. "The humans in our world destroyed their world, and I'm afraid of that happening here. Humans are flawed, of course. They're also destructive, confused, and vicious." He looked away, head hanging in shame. Hogarth rested his chin on his knees, eyes downcast. "But," spoke 9, prompting Hogarth to perk up, "humans are also able to learn when they've made a mistake and work to fix them." He looked up at the boy, a smile spreading across his face. "I was able to realize my own mistakes and remedied them."

"Why did the Scientist create the B.R.A.I.N. in the first place?," questioned Hogarth. The answer took longer than 9 expected.

"That's kind of hard to answer," said 9 with a humorless chuckle. "I think, the Scientist wanted to know if he could create life on a whim. And when the Chancellor took notice, he hired him to create all these other machines." He became pensive, mulling over the next thought he could muster. "But ambition can be a vice. You can have ambition to be a good person, or you can have ambition to lead a dishonest path."

Hogarth breathed in a breath and held it in until he was ready to speak.

"And the Chancellor from your world chose the former," he said. 9 gazed up at him, face exuding muted pain.

"Even if humans from my world return they'll continue to make mistakes," drawled 9. "They'll always choose the wrong the path, befriend the wrong people, and plunge themselves in their own self-indulgence." His face became filled with a new light. He looked like himself again: hopeful, brave and ready to discover the unknown. "Altruism and humility can be learned. Dedication and skill can be mastered. And with hard work, time and patience you can create a better world."

Hogarth smiled, impressed by words spoken so boldly by a sentient ragdoll.

"What was it you said to the Giant?," asked 9, standing up, grabbing on to a strand of Hogarth's brown hair.

"That he is who he chooses to be," responded Hogarth. "'You are who you choose to be.'" He felt he needed to phrase it the way Dean said to him, and it sounded better like that.

9 smiled. "I know that deep down you might want us to stay here forever, Hogarth," he said, which brought up a look of bewilderment on the boy. "It's okay," he reassured, "I like it here, so do 5 and the twins." His smile faded like water off a stone. "As much as we like it here, we have a world to watch over. It's what the Scientist wished for. It's both our fate and choice to do so... Just like it was the Giant's choice to save your town."

Hogarth couldn't argue against that. He was right about what 9 said. Everyone has a choice. Him, 9, 5, 3 & 4, and the Giant. So did his mother and Dean. And his father. His father may not have had a say in getting drafted, but deep down, it was his choice to serve his country, protect his people and family. And that was what hurt even more.

"The hurt never goes away, does it?," uttered 9. Hogarth was so caught up in his thoughts, he was surprised by 9's voice pulling him out of his funk. "I never met the Scientist, and I was upset that I didn't. When I learned what he did, I blamed him for playing part in causing the war. But after I learned the truth, I forgave him. And I could go on knowing that his legacy would not be lost."

Hogarth sat silent, listening carefully to every word 9 wove. He was right about what that. The Scientist was basically the "father" of these stitchpunks, and he bet he was proud of them. The same reason his own father will be proud of him. No, he was already proud; Hogarth could feel it.

A voice grabbed Hogarth's attention. 5, 3 and 4 were racing up to the busted up car Hogarth was seated on. They carried a cluster of fake flowers.

"We found some," said 5. The twins nodded, holding up the flowers they found.

Hogarth jumped off the ruined car. "Great," he said, crouching down. He picked a fake flower. It was rough and papery. It didn't feel like silk like everyone talked about.

"What are you going to do with them?," asked 5 as he stepped onto Hogarth's palm. The twins jumped on. The boy stood up, raising his hand up to his shoulder, allowing them to perch.

"I'm going to use them for my project idea," replied Hogarth. He shoved the fake flowers into his pocket.

Turning around he jogged up to the workshop, where he peered in through the door and shouted, "Hey, Dean, I'm heading home!

"I'll see you at dinnertime!," hollered Dean.

Hogarth picked up his helmet and trotted on over to his bike. Placing the helmet on, he got on his bike and pedaled away.

"Don't do any of your tricks," muttered 5 nervously.

"Aw c'mon, 5," chimed Hogarth, "you're no fun."

"Loosen up, 5," chirped 9, elbowing him playfully. The one-eyed stitchpunk winced, hiding his face behind his hands.

"Woohoo!," cheered Hogarth, holding his arms up like airplane wings. 9 let out a laugh. The twins waved their arms in the air.

Hogarth rode into the sunset, all his cares being blown away by the strong wind.

Hogarth traipsed through the park, camera in hand. Today was photography club. With him, the stitchpunks hid in the pockets of his jacket, peeking every few seconds to catch a glimpse of the bustling town.

Even though he had his own camera, it was wise to use the school cameras for the club and use his own for his own personal use. With permission from Dean, he used a room in his workshop he didn't use to make his own dark room. There was a dark room at his school, but he found it more convenient to have his own for his own photography. And it came in to good use when he started using his dark room to develop photos he started taking of the stitchpunks.

It amazed the stitchpunks to see themselves on photo. The cameras the stitchpunks would've found in their own world would either be broken or not have any film. Naturally, it became fun when Hogarth took their pictures and developed them. He showed the photos to Dean and Annie, who were blown away by Hogarth's skills with the camera. Annie proclaimed she put them in a scrapbook, one that only they would see and not share with anyone else. These photos would confuse anyone else who saw them, and would only cause trouble at first glance. Annie bought the scrapbook two days ago and placed them in.

"What do you have to take pictures of?," asked 5, peering out of the jacket pocket.

"My teacher said the assignment was abstract photography," said Hogarth, eyes gazing from the bench to the tree on the other side of the park. "What do you think looks abstract?"

5 surveyed the park, catching a glimpse of the playground.

"How about over there?," he suggested, pointing.

Hogarth looked at the playground, head tilting. He considered it for a minute.

"I don't know," he said uncertainly. "Looks too...ordinary."

9's head poked out of the pocket on the left side of Hogarth's jacket. Craning his neck, he looked in the direction of the playground.

"I have an idea," he said. "Go over to the playground."

Hogarth didn't know what he was in for, but he took his advice, and walked over. Children ran past him, looking at them run, listening to their shouts. He watched children climb on the jungle gym.

"Look at the tree," said 9, pointing to a tree on their left. It was an oak. Tall, branches stretching to the sky with the sun peeking through the leaves.

"What about it?," he asked, glancing down at 9.

"Look at its bark," he said.

Hogarth arched a brow. He stepped closer and ran a hand against the trunk. It was rough and bumpy, and he liked how it felt against his palm. Gazing up, he saw a few knotholes higher up from his reach.

3, who was on the left pocket with 9, and 4, who was with 5 on the right pocket, peeked out, glimpsing at the tree. Hogarth walked around the tree, keeping his gaze on the trunk. The bark had a pattern, like all trees had.

"Do you see it?," said 9.

Hogarth closed one eye, stepped away and looked. He tilted his head to the left, keeping his camera in place. He didn't see the need to take a snapshot yet, so he continued observing it. He crouched down, looking at the roots.

"I still don't understand...,"

"Just try," encouraged 9.

Hogarth squinted his eyes and glanced up. He tilted his head, closing one eye, holding up his camera for when he was ready to take a snapshot. He stood on tiptoe, and that's when he saw it. He raised the camera and clicked the button, a bright flash catching the spot.

Hogarth chuckled. "I can't wait to get these developed." He looked down at the camera with a bright smile.

"Did you see it?," asked 9.

"I did," replied Hogarth.

"See what?," queried 5.

"The bark," said 9. "I saw two knotholes on the trunk and they looked like a face."

5 glanced at the tree's trunk, tilting his head to the right.

"I guess it only works when you have two eyes," he said. 3 and 4 looked up and took a snapshot of the trunk right exactly the spot where 9 pointed out.

"What else do you got in mind?," asked Hogarth.

The hooded twins waved their arms, pointing at the playground, prompting Hogarth to look.

"They want you to go to the playground," said 5, "at those things." He pointed at the the jungle gym.

"What about it?," he asked the twins.

"Try looking for something," suggested 9. 3 smiled, and looked at the great display.

The jungle gym was red, and squarish and box-shaped. There were only three children, climbing on it, whose playtime would be over soon.

Hogarth waited.

To pass the time, he turned over to the horizon. The sun was a ball of melting butter against a blue sky. Hogarth stepped back a few feet, trying to catch the perfect angle. He liked how the sun's rays cast onto the town, bathing it in its glory. Then he turned over to the jungle gym, eyes widening. Hogarth took a shot of it. It wasn't a picture of the jungle gym, but the shadow cast onto the sand. 9 smiled and gazed at Hogarth.

"Did you find what you were looking for?," he asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "See how the sun casts that shadow?" He pointed at the shadow. "It's hard to describe, and it just leaves you wondering. I guess that's the whole point of abstract."

"Kind of like a puzzle," said 9.

The three children ran back to their parents, leaving the jungle gym free for others. Hogarth hung the camera's strap around his neck and climbed. He reached the top and sat on the bar, watching the park from the jungle gym's height. Over to his right, several yards off, Hogarth saw about five boys, no younger than ten, throwing a frisbee at each other.

"So," spoke 5, "anything else you need to take pictures of?"

"Mrs. Donovan said to take about five pictures," said Hogarth. "There's still time." He swiveled around, looking for anything and everything that could be part of his assignment. "I just don't know what else to take a picture of."

"There's got to be something," spoke 5.

"Everything around you is your inspiration," said 9.

Hogarth listened to the wind whistling through the trees. He even heard rustling, which could either be birds branching or squirrels scurrying about. There was still enough time to browse about. Anything could be in his photo club.

"Let's walk around and head back," said Hogarth as he started making the climb down. "See what else is there to look to capture on film."

"I like that kind of enthusiasm," said 9.

Hogarth grinned.

A light in the attic window shone as its inhabitant rifled through a box of old keepsakes. Hogarth hefted one box and laid it on the floor, dust flying in a cloud as he dropped it. He coughed, waving the dust as he continued to spit motes out of his mouth. Once the dust was cleared away, he smiled after he found what he was looking for.

"Look at this," he said, crouching down. It was a photo album, an old one judging from the amount of dust gathered on it.

"What's that?," asked 5.

"My Mom's old photo album," replied Hogarth, he held it up to see it better in the lamplight. Hogarth sat crisscrossed and put the album in his lap. He opened it to the first page.

"It's my Mom as a kid," said Hogarth. 3 and 4 slid down Hogarth's arms and stood on his hands, optics flickering.

The photo showed Annie, who looked about six in the photo. The photo being in black-and-white, Hogarth could tell the dress she was wearing was yellow, only because she told him in the first place. He gazed over at the one on the next page. His mother and her mother.

"That's my grandmother," said Hogarth, pointing to the woman in the photo. The woman was tall, billowy, sharp cheekbones, hair done in a bun, gloved hands, and her eyes unreadable. Looking at his mother as a child, who was all smiling and cheerful; compared to her mother, who exuded strict authority, she was everything Annie was not.

"She died before I was born," clarified Hogarth, catching 5's curious look. "She caught pneumonia one winter," his smile soon faded, replaced with a rueful scowl. "I wish I could've met her."

"It's okay," crooned 9, patting the boy's head. Hogarth turned the page to forget his brief grief. His smile returned soon as he saw the next photo.

"That's Mom on her seventh birthday," he said, finger pointing at the photo. Annie surrounded by balloons, guests, and in the center of the table, a birthday cake with seven candles thrusted on, flames alit.

"She looks so happy there," commented 9, a smile spreading across his lips.

"She sure was," agreed Hogarth.

The five of them spent an hour and a half looking through the photo album, watching before their eyes one generation end to the next. A few laughs were shared. Some comments were spoken. All in all, they enjoyed this endeavor.

"You guys must miss your friends, huh?," said Hogarth, looking at each stitchpunk. Each one exchanged soulful looks; they didn't say it, but their faces told it.

"Every day," said 5, wringing his hands. He didn't turn to face Hogarth. There were too many emotions whirling inside of him.

"I know you miss your family, guys," he uttered. "We'll find a way to get you back home. It's just harder than it looks." He cast his eyes down at the floor, anywhere to not have to look the stitchpunks in the eye.

"And we're grateful for that, Hogarth," said 9, nodding. "It'll take some time to figure out a way."

You're right about that, thought Hogarth. He closed the album and placed it back in the box. He raised his hands to his shoulders, letting the twins hop back and join 9 and 5. Standing up, he turned the lightbulb off, then made his way back to the entrance and down the ladder.

Ooh man, was that a tear-inducing moment, or what? But man, I am blown away by own story. I never thought I'd be able to create something out of two movies that are so similar in more ways than one.

I'll admit typing this was hard to type considering we're getting to the part where technology and engineering are creeping their way into this fanfic. I have trouble writing that kind of stuff. I don't know the first thing to describing how a machine works, or what makes it tick. I'll find a way.

Also, the things 9 said to Hogarth are so true. It made me shudder in shock.