The Source of Love
Fandom: 9
Ship: 5x6
Word Count: 1,760
Warnings: None
6 calmly traced his fingers along the thick paper he had found in a room off in the more deserted part of the cathedral. It wasn't where he normal found his ink and paper, but he was beginning to run out. He would have to ask 2 to go on a search for more someday soon. But, for now, he hummed to himself as he created large, sketchy circles. He liked to be alone with his drawings. His mind became somewhat quieter when he could pour the things he saw in it out on paper, but when 2 stood over him, watching for any signs that would lead him to the truth, it made 6 nervous. This made his hands shake and ruined his art. He was fine when 2 came to collect his drawings without watching, and it didn't take long for the older stitchpunk to realize this. Now, he popped in every once in a while to see if there was anything new, and 6 mostly stayed to himself. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted 2 around, and he was often sorry he'd stopped coming by for visits. It was just that 1 and 8 were so frightening, and 1 didn't want 6 talking to 2 about the source, so he had to pretend he didn't care if the inventor was there or not. It was easier that way.
He stopped humming and smiled at his drawing. It was exactly like every other drawing on his wall, but he always felt a sense of pride when he finished. He tacked it up with the others. 2 wouldn't want any more of these. He had plenty by now. He stood back to stare at his wall. So did he, but the image showed up so frequently in his mind that he had no choice but to put it on paper. Over and over and over and over again; he'd been drawing this symbol for years and, yet, he continued pasting his wall with them, one on top of the other. There really was no more wall to attach them to, actually. By this time, he was most likely just tacking them to large stacks of the drawings beneath.
After he'd had enough of staring at his own handiwork, he turned and placed his pen-knib fingers back into the jar of black ink. He often wondered if he could find another color soon. 2 had found a jar of red for him once, long ago, but 1 found out, and it had never happened again. It was a shame. 6 liked colors. He dropped to his knees to begin another image of the exact same symbol, when he heard someone walking by. Was it 1? 6 stood quickly and peeked around his curtain, mismatched eyes frantically searching for the strict leader, but it was 2 and 5 who were passing the doorway on their way out for supplies. 6 drew jagged lines down the red curtain as he twiddled his fingers nervously. He looked around for a moment longer, almost expecting 1 to pop out of nowhere to scold him, before running after them. 2 and 5 noticed his waddling gait immediately, but 2 just smiled at his attempt at being sneaky. 5 opened his mouth to let him know they were being followed, and 2 shook his head. He knew 6 would speak if he needed something. At the moment, he was clutching the wall and staying a few steps behind them. He didn't want to be noticed, so 2 respected that.
6 watched the backs of the other two as they disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, stopping before he got too far. 1 yelled at him if he went too far away for anything other than ink or paper. He liked to keep him right next to his throne, so he could monitor his drawings for any sign of the future. He had taken one of his drawings of the Beast a week ago and pinned it to the wall near the calendar he used to mark off his victims. 6 stared at the calendar when he returned, sighing sadly. He touched his fingers to the five softly, but did not pet it as he wished he could. He didn't want to leave lines down 1's calendar. He wondered why 5 never sat with him anymore as he stared at the number. He used to stay with 6 all the time, before he was moved to 1's throne room. Maybe he was scared of 1, too. 6 didn't blame him. He returned to his drawings, but the circle became the unshapely head of a one-eyed friend. He put this one carefully away, so that 1 wouldn't find it and scold him. 1 only wanted him drawing things that would be helpful to him, but sometimes 6 needed to use his art as an emotional outlet like any other artist. And he did miss 5.
The next day, when 6 woke up from his inky nest of paper and random bits of cloth, 5 was standing over him. He was holding a piece of paper in his hands. He must have come to get a drawing for 2. 6 sat up, staring up at him with a smile, and 5 smiled back when he noticed he was awake. He turned the picture around to show him, and 6's smile grew shy. It was the picture he'd drawn of 5. He worked his pointy fingers over the edge of his knee, drawing new blotches of ink over his white stripes.
"..S'not good." 6 stated, reaching for it. "Practice."
"I like it." 5 said with a smile. "It's me, right?"
6 nodded as 5 pointed to the one-eyed blotch of ink. It was probably the only way he could tell. Sure, 6 was great with abstract art, but his life paintings could use some work. 5 smiled anyways. It was kind of cute. He used to watch 6 draw all the time. The sound of his humming put him at ease, which was something for 5. His mind wasn't easily put to rest. It was only 2, 6, and 7 who could do that. He knew 7 would always protect him, 2 would always be there to guide him, and 6 would always be his friend, no matter what. But, then again, 7 was no longer here, was she? He sat down next to the other young stitchpunk with a sigh and let him take his drawing back, slipping it beneath his makeshift bed. He was probably hiding it from 1, and 5 didn't blame him. He looked around uneasily at the thought. He wondered when the old man would be back, anyways. He wouldn't want to be here without 2 to stand up for him. He'd better move on to the business at hand.
"2 sent me to see if you drew anything new yesterday."
6 shook his head.
"Oh," 5 said thoughtfully. "He thought you were trying to get his attention."
6 shook his head again.
"Then why were you out in the hall when we walked by?"
6 smiled at 5 and poked him lightly in the chest with his sharp finger. Luckily, the ink was dry now. 5 put a hand to his chest, and he smiled at the artist. He hadn't realized that 6 missed him that much. He was always wrapped up in his own world. He hadn't even thought 6 knew he was there all those times he'd sat next to him in the beginning. He was never very aware of anyone; even the twins and they used to crawl over him to get to his drawings. He looked over at 6's collage of black ink. It was mostly that symbol, but here and there he could pick out happier things. There were some things he didn't recognize, probably from before the war. There were some of the Beast and other such monsters of past and present. And there was a portrait of 7 and the twins. He probably drew them after they were gone, when he missed them, like he had drawn 5 yesterday. He felt guilty at that thought and laid back on 6's bed.
"2?" 6 asked. "Does he…want to see it?"
"What?" 5 returned, turning his head to look at the artist.
"The source."
"Source?" 5 asked, sitting up suddenly.
"It's in here."
6 took a finger and poked 5's chest again, but then he took 5's hand and placed it against his own. What was he trying to say? 5 hated it when he spoke in riddles. 6 stared into 5's eyes with a smile. He felt like he was supposed to realize something, but he wasn't sure what it was. When 6 saw the confusion on his face, his own filled with disappointment. He released 5's hand.
"2 always looks for the source. But it's in here," he said, placing a hand to his chest. "He shouldn't look for it anywhere else."
5 watched 6's face as he said this. His eyes lowered and turned away from 5, and his fingers began their nervous twiddling against his knees. 5 wished he could assure 6 that he knew what he was talking about, but he truly had no idea. What was 2 looking for? The thing in the picture, of course, but how could that thing be inside all of them at once? He looked over the wall of ink again, trying his hardest to figure this out. As he was straining his brain, a sharp touch to his hand made him look down. 6 was inching up beside him, placing his pointy fingers into 5's. He wrapped his other arm around 5's waist and smiled as he leaned against the other stitchpunk. 5 smiled back as 6 placed his head against his shoulder and joined him in staring at his drawings. His hold was gentle, and he rubbed his face against 5's skin softly, humming the way he used to. He had grown placid again, and 5 doubted he'd be able to get anymore out of him. Though he'd already retreated back into his mind, 5 figured he could sit here with him a while, if it made him happy. If 1 showed up, he'd just have to try to grow a spine or run very quickly. He laughed softly at this thought, and 6 laughed as well. He didn't have to know what 5 found so funny to enjoy being in his friend's presence again.