Summertime

6 had never had a good night's sleep in his whole, short life.

His waking days were plagued by images only he could understand, and his nights were filled with visions of the deaths of his friends. He had seen 2 die, mouth agape and his pale green soul flying out at an alarming rate; he had witnessed 5 struggle, his patch ripped open and his fingers biting into the wires of some beast he couldn't see. He watched himself die countless times.

But his warnings always fell on deaf ears.

2 tried, really, he did. He collected 6's drawings and studied them, pouring over them for hours, some nights until he couldn't hold his head up any more. But there were only so many times he could look over the variations on a theme until he had to concede that, no, maybe there was no sense to them. But then why draw the same thing?

"Because he's a lunatic!" 1 had yelled earlier that day. "Because his mind does not function! Can you understand that?!"

"I can," 2 had said absentmindedly, "but I cannot just accept it."

6 had heard that and smiled, a rare thing.

However, by the time night came, the smile had vanished, replaced with moans and struggling beneath the scrap of fabric that was his blanket. He'd tangled himself up in it, one of the corners caught around the ever-present key around his neck, pulling him what felt like down, down, down.

His thrashing and whimpering caught the attention of 5, who was coming out of the watchtower after a late night of mapmaking. The one-eyed inventor was trying to be as quiet as possible; so as not to wake and anger the leader or his guard, but 6's soft cries drew him into the young artist's alcove.

"Six?" he asked gently, trying to wake 6 with as little noise as possible. 6, still caught in the throes of his nightmare, only curled up tighter, beginning to shake violently.

"Six, wake up." 5 carefully walked over to 6 and stood over him, his hands stretched out but not touching 6. He wasn't entirely sure what to do.

5 watched him struggle a moment longer, his eye darting fretfully from side to side, just waiting for 8 to come in and smack them both around for waking him up, before deciding that he really had to wake 6. He sank to his knees and reached out to touch the little striped doll's shoulder. "Si—"

His words were cut off by 6's optics snapping open and his hand lashing out, pushing 5 away and painting three long tracks of ink down 5's patch. 5 sat back, shocked, his hands flying to his patch to feel for any tears. What was that? Why had 6 hit him?

He looked up at the seer, questions dying on his lips before he could speak them based only on the look on 6's face. His optics were wide, his mouth slightly open, his brows drawn together; one hand was clutching his key, the blanket still wrapped around it, the other, the one that had struck 5, was still reaching out, frozen in midair.

"I…I-I." He tried to get the words out. He'd begun shaking again.

5 scooted over to 6, leaning over to help him untangle the blanket (perhaps help was the wrong word; 6 just sat there, still as stone, while 5 untangled the key). "Did I scare you?" he asked with a small, comforting smile.

"I—I hurt you." 6 reached up as if to touch the lines, but hesitated, his hand hovering.

"No, I'm fine. I'll wash it tomorrow. I shouldn't have tried to wake you."

"No!" 6 yelped, the word ripped from his throat. "No, the—the source."

"Shh, Six," 5 murmured, taking 6's still hovering hand in his own and squeezing it gently. "Don't want to wake One and Eight, do we?"

6 looked down at 5's hands, the rough metal and wood encircling his own dainty gold pen-nibs, and was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. He didn't know, none of them knew! "Five," he said, his words growing thicker as the tragedy of it all began to engulf him. He quickly wrapped his arms around 5's midsection, pulling him close, reassuring himself that, yes, 5 was still here.

5 was caught by surprise with the hug, but sensed that 6 needed it. His visions that night must have been particularly terrifying. Secretly, that terrified 5, too. "What is it, Six?" he asked, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. "What did you see?"

"Everyone's dead," 6 sobbed, his grip on 5 tightening.

"Dead?" 5 repeated, taking 6's head in his hands and lifting it so he could look him in the eyes. 6 only nodded, his lip trembling, before going back to hiding his face in 5's stomach. 5 didn't know what to do. What do you say when someone predicts your death? Even if it may not be accurate…hell, it might have just been an ordinary nightmare.

But what if it wasn't?

"What do you mean, everyone's dead?" 5 asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"I—I can't."

"You can. Just tell me, Six."

"The source. Go back."

5 sighed, frustrated. It was pointless trying to get anything out of 6 when he was in this state. His words about everyone's death were the first things he'd said that weren't source-related in months. Maybe…maybe he'd tell him tomorrow. "Try to get some sleep, Six," 5 said, exhausted, as he tried to extricate himself from 6's grip.

"No!" 6 cried, holding 5 tighter. "Don't go! They'll come back!"

"Okay, okay." 5 awkwardly repositioned himself to allow 6 to sit on his lap while he cradled him like a child, hoping that the increased contact and warmth would allow him to fall asleep more quickly. 6 curled around his key, nesting himself in 5's lap.

Unbidden, a song came to 5's head. "Summertime," he sang softly, only loud enough to reach the corners of 6's little room. He remembered it as a song 7 would sing to the twins when they had trouble sleeping; maybe it would help 6. "And the livin' is easy." 6 looked up at 5, his eyes full of wonder, but 5's optic was closed as he focused on the song.

"Fish are jumpin', and the cotton is high." Neither of them knew what cotton was, but it sounded nice. Soft. 6 let his head sink to his chest. "Your daddy's rich and your momma's good lookin'." 5 wrapped his arm around 6's shoulders protectively, a yawn creeping into the song. "So hush, little baby, don't you cry." He opened his optic and saw that 6 had fallen asleep, his hands resting on his key. 5 debated putting 6 back in his bed and going to his own room, but quickly deduced that he'd stayed up much too late. The most 5 could do was pull 6's blanket over the both of them before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was the best night's sleep 6 had ever had.