It had become something habitual, shedding the worn piece of fabric that curtained the opening of the cubby that made the former human children's room at night to check-up on them—watching the subtle rise and fall of their chests within the makeshift beds as they slept. It was a peaceful scene, and Nine always felt better knowing that they were safely tucked in in a fitful rest.
Of course they didn't really need to sleep, but he assumed it was a habit of its own left over from when they were human. They seemed in better spirits when they rested too, so there was never any issue. The twins—whether for the sake of curiosity or from actually enjoying the foreign action—had even begun to take naps. He and the others would sometimes find the pair curled up together, flopped over their most recently finished text or amid a clutter of trinkets taken from the Emptiness.
The fact alone that all of them could indulge is something so basic thrilled him. It meant that they really did feel safe here, at home here. They would always have to keep a lookout in the event that a machine ever did wander into the library, but they didn't have to run and hide from them anymore. Approaching the rag-laden candy tin that made the bed of the three girls—Peter had the bottom half of a wooden box that might've at some point contained a seafarer's whistle that made his own—Nine gazed down at the trio fondly, a soft grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. They were all bundled together, with Sarah nestled between the youngest pair as they hugged her arm and waist.
There was plenty of room. They had been made aware that they didn't have to keep together in such a small space, but Eleven and Twelve—Rosie and Peggie—were inseparable and the other two hadn't seemed to have wanted to be left alone either. The youngest girls were still the babies of the bunch. Peter was still the troublesome, but caring brother. Sarah was still the protector, only now she mostly warded off bad dreams instead of real enemies. They were steadily becoming a part of a bigger family, but they still relied heavily on one another in the meantime. Not that he minded: He knew they needed time to adjust.
Nine ran his hand over Rosie's head, evoking a soft murmur from her. They were good kids. Even if there hadn't been any way to protect them as their human selves, he was glad that he could watch over them now. He had felt, well, pretty helpless to do anything when Sarah had gone with him and Two to look for the rest of his kind after they had first met. She had ferried them everywhere and had been able to do things he couldn't ever hope to match because of her size alone. There had been a few moments where he had been able to help her, true, but it had never felt like enough. Now it was his and the others' turn to look after her and her siblings—and he wouldn't fail them. He was determined to guard the lives around him at any cost, and despite their pasts they were no exception.
"Counting heads again?" he heard a familiar voice whisper from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he found Seven standing in the entryway with a content grin of her own—illuminated by the glow of the oil lamp set some distance away outside of the cubby. She leaned her weight against the wall as she spoke, her own gaze roaming over the slumbering forms.
He nodded, answering her just as quietly, "I can't help it. It doesn't seem all that long ago when it was just you, me, and the twins." He gave the youngest girl another affectionate pat on the head. "Now we've got everyone—" he paused, then corrected with a twinge of self-accusation in his voice, "almost everyone—back again and four more people to boot. I'm happy, but… it's also a little scary to think about too."
What if there ever came a day when he couldn't protect them? What if he made the same mistakes he had made when he first awoke and it cost even more lives? He already didn't forgive himself for what had happened, and if it happened again…
Seven took Thirteen's pin from where it was propped nearby and examined it in her hands. "It's such a thin blade…" she grumbled to herself, though her tone didn't contain any real essence of scolding. "That's fine for speed, but I keep telling her it won't do much damage against heavy armor. She needs to practice with a larger weapon."
That got a small chuckle out of him. Though she had her reservations at first, one of the ways Seven had been trying to bond with the newest Stitchpunks was through combat training. All of them but Rosie—who preferred reading and playing—had taken a certain knack to it, but there were a few things holding them back as well. In Peter's case, it was his own reservations with most everyone besides Two and Five, which pushed him to avoid the training sessions. Sarah was good at improvising in a pinch, as evidenced even when he had first met her, but her moves were wilder as a result. Not to mention she still favored scavenging so much that she didn't stress on training either. Twelve—Peggie—was the outlier: She hung onto everything Seven tried to teach her, but the issue remained in her size and inexperience.
"With all luck, none of them will have to rely on weapons at all," he retorted, finally stepping away from the bed to approach the warrior.
She gave him a knowing smirk before returning the pin back to its usual place, then took his hand in her own—fingers lacing with his. "I've been thinking… Maybe it's time we all go out to search the Emptiness together for a day or so. You know, bring the kids along?"
He faltered at that. If it was Five, Seven, Peter, Sarah, and himself he was more than willing to go because he knew they could handle themselves fairly well. As for the others… even One lacked the dexterity to be much use in a fight if he was completely honest. Most of them didn't even seem like they wanted to travel far from the library as it was. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Nothing good is going to come out of everyone staying penned in this place all the time," she shrugged, "And it'll be a learning experience for some of them: Six, the twins, Eleven, Twelve…" She had a point there: Those five got out the least of everyone. Six took over a room to himself to draw, Three and Four were busy drowning in every word from every book in the building, and the other two were simply content exploring the nearby surroundings. If it wasn't indoors, none of them made much of a move to go farther than the courtyard out front.
Seven gave him a look that told him she wasn't planning on taking 'no' for an answer, and since he didn't have any solid argument to motion against it, he was only able to give her a sigh of consent, "Where do you think we should go?" No matter where they went, they would have to tread carefully. It wouldn't hurt to divide everyone into groups to be safe either, that way those more experienced with the Emptiness would be able to keep watch over those that weren't.
"The factory," she said readily. Where it once had been a place of dread, all that was left of it now was in scorched ruins and the Scavengers had long since picked over it. Those machines were pretty thorough of collecting anything, but there were pieces that often left behind—somethings too large or too damaged to be salvageable. This also counted for things that were too small, and while such scraps maybe didn't seem like enough to bother with for them, they were usually perfect for the Stitchpunks. It was a long way there, but the way should've been clear.
The only trick with the factory was that it did bring back a lot of bad memories. So much fear and death had occurred there, and it was a literal graveyard for the fallen Eight—his body having been devoured by the flames. Just because Seven was willing to return there didn't mean that the others would be as agreeable no matter what it was that could be found there.
She readjusted her grip on his hand, tugging him out of the cubby as one of the girls began to stir. "I'll talk to them," she offered, as if reading his thoughts. It made him feel a litter better, but only by a slight margin.
They left to plan out everything for what little time there was until dawn. When morning did finally hit, they would need to be ready to approach everyone else with the idea.