Disclaimer: Nada.
AN: Thanks for all the reviews. I'll try and keep going at a pretty decent rate.
7 must have been lurking on the shoulders of one of the 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.
...
First came the sensors. An elaborate system of pulleys and weights and noisemakers, crisscrossing every possible entrance to the library. They formed nets, the spaces between the rope just big enough for a Stitchpunk, but not for the majority of the machines—and definitely not for the gargantuan Machine that he had revived. If any of them tried to enter their sanctuary, it would trigger a series of loud alarms, and give the four of them enough time to prepare for whatever was coming.
Then the traps. He made dozens of them, simple and elaborate, the duplicates of drawings and descriptions that the twins found for him among their books. He showed off his recreations to 7 and the twins every time he finished one, explaining exactly how to set it off and showing them how to avoid it. He knew that the Machine might be watching and taking notes on his defenses, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to let his friends get hurt. Not this time.
There was only one real problem with all of this. And she wasn't even trying to be problematic.
"9, I need to talk to you."
"Uh-huh," he mumbled, pretending to be engrossed in the knot he was tying. Somehow he'd managed to evade her questions with ambiguities and excuses, but he couldn't do that forever. Especially not now—he'd been planning to think up some new excuses that evening.
"The thing you saw—" she leaped gracefully over a flailing stretch of rope. "A few days ago. I need you to tell me what it looked like."
"I told you, I'm not sure what I saw."
"Please, 9."
"I don't know. A machine. It was… it was huge."
"I need you to be specific, 9. Exactly how big—"
BOOM.
It sounded like thunder. It might even have passed for thunder, if the clouds had been a bit darker, and if the earth itself didn't shake at the sound. The snare 9 had been working on went off underneath him—he would have been flung across the courtyard if 7 hadn't grabbed him out of the way.
"That big," he whispered.
And they ran.
BOOM.
"3! 4! Get under cover!" 7's voice was almost lost in the torrent of books falling from their shelves, thrown by the tremors from their once organized places. "Get down!"
BOOM.
She dove under a fallen shelf of stone, 9's wrist still firmly trapped in her grip. Books fell like hail around them.
BOOM.
And then another sound—the lighter thunder of four massive legs pounding the broken earth, coming closer—closer—
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH. SCREEEE SCREEEE SCREEEEEEEEEEECH.
The sound was deafening, the awful grind of metal against stone. Suddenly they didn't care about hiding or shelter or falling debris. Their arms flew to their heads, flattening against their auditory circuits in a desperate attempt to muffle the noise.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH.
The Machine had already learned to attack them with light—now it had come to kill them with sound.
EEEEEEEEEECH!
And then, just like that, it ended.
For five minutes—five minutes exactly—there was silence, and they didn't dare to breathe. Then the galloping thunder as the monstrous feet carried the attacker away.
"Stay here," 7 whispered after a half hour had passed. 9 was more than happy to obey—he wasn't sure he could get up just then, even if he wanted to. She returned a short while later, 3 and 4 trembling under each arm. The moment she released them they clung to one another and sank to the floor, blinking erratically.
9 didn't know what to do. Falling to his knees he hugged them both, wishing some sort of comfort into them.
"It's all right," he whispered. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise."
He felt a pressure against his arms and shoulders—opening his optics, he saw that 7 had joined them on the floor, wrapping her arms around the three of them and holding them all as hard as she could.
They spent that night under the slab, huddled together against the dark.
...
Fun Fact: Just finished rewatching the movie, and (besides counting the Machine's arms and legs) I noticed something I didn't quite realize before: That thing was HUGE. Not 'stitchpunk' huge. Previously I had assumed that it was four or five feet across, and it just looked big compared to the six-inch stitchpunks. Nope. This thing is at least ten feet tall when in a looming pose, and possibly closer to twenty. This thing towered over a howitzer artillery canon, and those things themselves are gigantic. I included a link to a picture of one in my profile in case you want a reference.
If I saw that thing in a dark alley (or... anywhere, come to think of it) I wouldn't be trying to fight it. I'd be running for my life. Probably while wetting myself profusely and praying to every god that has ever existed. Conclusion: These stitchpunks have guts, and lots of 'em.