Disclaimer: Still own nothing. Might of saved 6 if I did.
AN: I'll also be adding author's notes at the end of the chapter. They're not essential to your reading experience, but they're facts that might clarify things for those of you who are getting confused. For those of you who are uninterested in such things, just stop reading after you see the bolded Fun Fact.
"I'll get over this. I promise."
Funny how easily promises were broken. Granted, he had never mentioned where or when, or how long he would remain over it. He'd worked very hard at keeping his mind off his abandoned project, busying himself with making little conveniences to help the twins and stitching up 7 when she got hurt on her exploratory excursions and reading books that he barely remembered. He managed to keep it up for a good two weeks before he cracked.
And when that happened, he found himself walking the long trek back to the body of the Machine, a few tools and scraps of wire stuffed behind his zipper.
This is just unhealthy, the rational part of him grumbled.
It didn't matter anymore. He had to see it through.
He arrived quickly, stopping only to grab supplies and clean the grave, and set off to work. He decided not to bother with the Machine's body this time around, and instead focused on the circuitry. The delicate arrangement of wires that surrounded the Machine's iris had been burned and torn out of place, but he could see it more clearly than he could before. Each little wire went somewhere, each break was clear and well defined. Deftly his copper fingers unwrapped the damaged pieces and spliced in new wires, wrapping them with electrical tape to protect them from the weather.
It shouldn't be this easy, he thought more than once as he worked. And I shouldn't be going this fast. But he was on a roll and he was enjoying the work, despite himself. There was something behind it—some grand purpose that didn't quite ignite his need to make bucket pulleys. This was where he should be.
It was early in the afternoon when he was finally satisfied with the mended circuits. He stretched and yawned, and had almost returned to the repairs on the Machine's spindly arms when something stopped him.
Turn it on now.
That wasn't according to plan.
Turn it on. Now.
Funny, usually he associated that tone with the rational part of his mind.
If it's still partly broken, it'll be slow. It'll give you a chance to run away and warn the others. Turn it on now, and get ready to run.
Normally he tried not to agree with the rational part of his mind. This time he could find no reason to argue.
He pulled the Talisman out from behind his zipper. He'd taken it from the grave—1 might have called that sacrilege.
Slowly, carefully, he approached the underbelly of the Machine. The circle was exactly where he remembered it, emblazoned with its symbols and the three raised dots.
6 would be having an epiphany right about now, he thought grimly. This would be just the right time for him to tell me to do something. Or not to do something. Or anything.
But 6 wasn't around anymore.
A deep breath.
A step forward.
And he pushed the Talisman into the Machine. It glowed acid green, and he barely remembered to get out of the way before it flared into the empty air. The iris opened, pulsing with its hungry red light, its legs stretching as it realized its shoddy condition.
9 wouldn't have another chance. He leaped forward and tore the talisman from the Machine's hide. The disc came off easily in his hands, but not before the monster noticed. It pounced, its damaged legs pounding the earth around him, its razor claws diving at his face, its demonic eye descending, ready to drag him to Hell. He cowered, hiding behind the Talisman like a shield, waiting for the Machine to tear him to shreds.
Nothing.
He opened his optics and glanced over his makeshift shelter. The Machine glared at him, sparks flying through its mended circuits, its claws still poised to kill, but it didn't advance. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed to withdraw, millimeter at a time, not quite daring to approach the weapon that had killed it before.
This was good. This was progress.
He opened his mouth, but his throat seized. He seemed to have forgotten how to talk.
"You're not going to hurt me," he said, his shaking voice making the command far less impressive. "Or my friends. And I'm not going to hurt you either."
This was the part where he was supposed to lower the Talisman, to show that he meant something peaceful. He couldn't quite manage to do that. Not while that monstrous eye was staring at him.
"I fixed you," he said, grateful he'd already rehearsed these lines. "I brought you back. We don't need to fight each other." And then the last line. It sounded stupid every time he said it—stupid and tacky and sacrilegious and horrible, and he would have skipped it entirely if he had planned for any more conversation: "We can be friends."
The thought turned his stomach.
And now the moment. Two possibilities: either it would agree to be… friends… and help him figure out what came next, or else it would attack, and they would proceed to kill each other. And then, if he lost, it would kill his friends. His family.
He did not expect the Machine to run. It raced away, fleeing quickly despite bent pieces and broken limbs that flailed uselessly behind it. For a moment 9 almost laughed—as grotesque as the Machine was, it was somehow incredibly funny to watch it skitter away. It was afraid of him. Afraid! And all this time he'd been so worried and—
He stopped short. It might be afraid of him. Or cautious. Or just waiting to regroup. But it had no reason to be at all worried about 3 or 4 or 7. They had no way to defend themselves against the monster.
He turned and he ran.
7 must have been lurking on the shoulders of one of the library's statues. 9 couldn't think of any other way she could have landed just behind him, her helmet lowered and her spear ready.
"What's out there?" she asked, her voice muffled and thorny from the mask.
"The twins," he gasped between breaths. "Are they all right? Are you all right? Did anything come this way?"
"No." She didn't turn around, though the bird skull of her helmet twitched as she scanned the horizon. "Did you see one of them?"
"We have to make sure they're okay," he choked. "Come on—we—"
She didn't need to be told twice. In a single motion she seized his arm and began running, her other hand never letting go of the spear, all but dragging him to keep up.
"3!" 9 shouted as they crossed the threshold of the library. "4! Where are you—"
A flash of light sent a chill down his spine. He tensed, forcing himself to watch, remembering all too clearly what flashes of light meant—
The light blinked out. And back on.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Slowly the panic subsided as his optics focused on the twins. They stood over a book, looking more than a little confused, their projector eyes flashing to prove that they were, in fact, all right.
9 felt sick. It was just too much. The running, the panic, the secrets, the fear—
You knew better. You knew you shouldn't wake that monster, but you did it anyway. You deserve what you get.
7 was talking to the twins, warning them of whatever was lurking out there. She probably expected another Beast—something she could fight with a spear, something she could outrun and outwit and outmaneuver. And even when she was proven wrong, she would still try to fight the Machine. Still try to fend it off.
He was going to get them all killed.
"…I want you two to stay around here. Check in with 9 or me every few hours, just so we've got everyone accounted for. Sorry, 9, but I don't want you taking any more of those walks alone. We need to keep track of each other. Understand?"
3 and 4 blinked enthusiastically. 9 could only manage a nod.
"If you see anything unusual, anything at all, I want you to let someone else know. Scream, or make a noise—drop something, shine a light, anything. We don't want another one of those…things sneaking up on us."
9 cringed at the memory, but he saw an odd sharpness in 7's optics. She'd been captured by the Seamstress. She'd almost died. She should be terrified, but fear had already turned into resolve, hardened into steel.
And all too quickly, something clicked inside him. He wasn't going to do this anymore. He wasn't going to distract her by making her worry. He wasn't going to let her face another one of those monsters alone. He was done feeling guilty.
It was time he did something about it.
. . .
Fun fact: This is a matter of character interpretation, but I consider 7 to be the leader of the stitchpunks after the movie. Why? Because 9 is too much like 6 to be a leader. He's a visionary and a prophet (who else has gotten explicit directions from their creator?) and those make rather iffy leaders—most of their advice and actions are rather counter-intuitive, despite the fact that they're often right. It's worse for poor 9—to date, he's gotten five people killed and managed to save exactly one. He's repeatedly made bad decisions. Allow me to give examples:
Let's put the big green button in the big button hole, and do exactly what the cat monster was trying to do. That won't end badly at all.Let's all go on what is essentially a one man rescue mission. It's not like we're gonna endanger the rest of them and get 5, 6 and 1 killed.Let's have a random party after we 'killed' the Big Bad. I mean, it's not like he could have made any other smaller killer machines while we and the audience weren't looking.Let's randomly leave the rest of the group and go do more prophetic stuff on your own time. Yes, it worked out for the best, but just walking away from your friends as they were about to do something dangerous is the definition of a Bad Idea. Oooh. So pushing the Big Green Button killed the Big Bad (for real this time). I know! Let's push it again and see what happens! (This is another one that ended well, but logically speaking it was rather suicidal.)In case this doesn't clarify, 9 is not leader material. 7 has shown to be much more stable and rational in her decisions, but she's also aware that she needs to listen to him.
Does this explain why 9 is doing something so insanely stupid in this story? Not entirely. You'll get the full explanation later. Until then you've gotta bear with me.