Hello again! Know it's been a while, hopping back into the fray with two short stories before getting into my longer works. Good news is, I'm almost done with the next chapter of Ups and Downs.
Getting this show on the road, I do not own Whitty, Hex, Carol, Cyrix, or any other Friday Night Funkin' characters. Just playing around with them for a bit. I would say that you can read the previous story I wrote, Buying Shoes, but you don't need to in order to understand what's going on. Scooby Doo Where Are You also does not belong to me, and you will understand that sentence a lot more when you get through this one.
Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
To Be or Not To Be Dinner:
There was a slight bite in the air, summer giving way to fall's chill as Whitty took refuge in an alley between a grocery store and a line of houses. He'd already learned that it could be a little dicey getting food from these places, as sometimes they put crap in with the food they threw out. But Hex had come through, and even though Whitty wasn't sure exactly how or when the robot did it he'd slipped about two-hundred-fifty in twenty dollar bills into Whitty's pockets.
Though there was a part of Whitty that squirmed at the idea of the helpful Hex spending so much on him, the fact that the robot was not there to give the money back to, and given that the bomb was hungry, he'd ended up going to grab six Big Macs from the local McDonald's along with a mess of fries. There was even enough left over for a larger bottle of water, so Whitty could say without much fear of contradiction that in terms of eats, it was one of his better nights.
Even with a slight bit of wind dropping the temperature, Whitty felt pretty good about staying where he was. This place was sheltered, it was quiet, and out of the way. He'd heard a few people walking by but no one had come in, to throw garbage away or anything else. He could afford to stay for just the one night.
Whitty settled back with a sigh, eyes closing as he kept his head covered in the shelter of its hood. The Big Macs and fries lingered in a salty aftertaste and the feeling of having somehow eaten a rock, but it'd do for the night. He just had to make it to tomorrow, and then he could worry about the day after that.
And then the day after that, then the day after that, and then…
Whitty broke the thought off with another sigh, his eyelids slipping to half-closed as he drifted off.
It wasn't until the moon was high overhead that Whitty's eyes blinked opened. He wasn't sure what had woken him up, maybe there had been some noise out on the street?
But a faint scuffling further down the alley caught his attention, the bomb's eyes widening. Firstly, the alley was a dead end, the person would have had to walk right by him in order to get past and would have seen him, and they'd somehow done so without waking him up. What reason would they have had to be quiet, unless they were planning something?
The only problem was, if there was some sort of trick in the works, or a trap, Whitty couldn't catch hide nor hair of it. The alley looked just the same as before, albeit a bit more lit up given the moon was directly overhead. It made it hard for anyone to hide, though there was a good amount of shadowed area at the far back.
Still, Whitty had the feeling that he should see someone if they were standing there, right? His eyes might be weird, but he'd never noticed significant issues with the dark…
Though, perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but he couldn't help feeling like the shadows were somehow darker than they ought to be. Like a silver of the night sky had come down, hiding something from general view.
And Whitty's view, the thought making something clench uncomfortably in the bomb's stomach.
The slight scraping of a bowl being pushed out into the light made Whitty bristle, his body feeling alit with nervous energy as he remembered what someone had mentioned to him when he first started living on the streets.
"Listen to your strongest instincts, kid. If something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't."
Keeping his eyes on the spot where the bowl of soup innocently sat, Whitty reeled to a crouch, about to get to his feet when he suddenly realized that there was a towering figure standing right in front of him.
Immediately his eyes were yanked to the shape, the fear only climbing when he had the realization that if this was a person, it really only looked like one in the loosest sense of the word. Its body was gangly and sort of mishappen, darkly colored but not quite as dark as Whitty's own skin. It almost looked like something that had been partially rubbed out by some big eraser, the edges of the thing's frame looking indistinct enough that it gave the unnerving impression that whatever that thing was, he wasn't seeing all of it.
But the head was the most distinct, and the worst of the bunch. Whitty had seen lemons before, enough to know what one looked like, but this one was a sickly looking yellow, a wide staring set of eyes peering out of it like it was a mask. Underneath that was a mouth filled with mishappen, discolored teeth, stretched wide in a leer.
"Now, now, that's quite rude. Here I am sharing my food with you, the food I slaved over preparing, and you try to run away from it? Don't you have any manners?"
Even the voice was wrong, warbling between deep and kind of squeaky but in an eerie way, like it was playing at being harmless and friendly but couldn't quite do it right. Or couldn't follow through. Either way, Whitty was more than ready to get out of here, thank you very much, but before he could even react the bowl was in the lemon-headed figure's mishappen hands, and he threw it back like it was water.
"I mean, really," it continued, mouth moving grotesquely as it spoke. "Who turns down such prime cuisine? You must really have no taste. I saw you scarfing down those burgers. Aren't you still hungry?"
The voice dropped again for the last question, and something slipped past the thing's teeth like noodles. Except those weren't noodles, Whitty found himself realizing with a cold snap, but fingers. Human fingers that were still faintly wriggling, twitching like they were trying to escape the confines of the figure's mouth. With a gross, sucking sort of slurping noise, it pulled the squirming digits back behind its jaws, grinning down at the by now very shellshocked Whitty. The living bomb's mind was racing, he had to be taller than it, he had to be, nothing was taller than him, right?
Stand up stand up for the love of god stand up or move or do something other than sit there and wait for this thing to get you move please move…
"So, buddy," The figure, the monster growled as it leaned into the space above Whitty. "Think you want to join me for dinner?"
In the next few seconds, Whitty could not have said exactly what happened. In one instant, he was on the asphalt, staring up at this lemon-headed nightmare, and in the next second he was hurtling to his feet and the monster was nowhere around. It left Whitty standing in the alley, feeling a familiar heat climbing through his body as he took in air like he'd just been running a marathon. But he wasn't going to relax, not yet. Not when that monster had left the sapient bomb with the downright horrifying prospect of either having people for dinner or becoming dinner himself.
But…where was it now? It had to still be here, right?
…He hadn't been dreaming, had he? Maybe there'd been something off about those burgers, the thought making Whitty lean back against the wall with a shaky sigh. Breathing out steam, he rubbed the heel of his hand against an eye, wondering if it was even worth it to try sleeping again.
And then a cold breath hissed against the side of Whitty's face, heralding a horribly familiar voice warbling out a squeaky tone that dipped into a threatening growl.
"Hey, buddy."
Immediately Whitty was up again, breathing back in the quick and shallow as pushed off the wall and stood there in the middle of the alley. He hadn't imagined that, that was the lemon-headed monster, and it was here, it was here, it wasn't a dream…
…But where was it?! The alleyway was just as lonely and desolate as before, Whitty's eyes shooting from corner to shadowy corner and still finding nothing.
Though, there was a part at the far back of the alley where the light wouldn't quite reach. Whitty squinted as he looked into the dark, not quite sure if he could see movement or if it was just a trick his eyes were playing on him.
But, in between one blink and another, Whitty found himself practically eye to eye with a dark, shadowy something that was charging right at him.
Immediately the bomb spun, bolting to the alley. On his way out he grabbed the handle of the dumpster he'd been sleeping behind, the start of a ballistic level adrenaline rush enabling him to yank it partially over. If Whitty had hung around, he might've heard someone, or something, give a displeased squawk at the mess, but once he was out of the alley the bomb was long gone.
Where he was going, he didn't know, he just knew he couldn't stay there, not with some crazy nutjob who ate people-
A pulsing throb of a headache made Whitty stagger, though somehow he didn't stop running. But now he had a new problem, because he knew damn well what that feeling meant.
Calm down, oh god calm down please please CALM THE HELL DOWN-
But even as his internal monologue began to slide entirely off the rails, Whitty knew on some distant level that he really wasn't in any state to be calm. And, worse still, he'd eaten, he'd gotten some sleep in, meaning this likely wasn't going to be a case where he'd just burn himself out. And he definitely didn't want to stop running, with who-knows-what still somewhere behind him.
Pain rocked through Whitty's head like an alarm bell, scattering his thoughts before something came through with crystal clarity: he needed to get somewhere, somewhere deserted, he needed to get the hell away from people RIGHT THE HELL NOW. He could practically feel his fuse being eaten away by inches, the sensation just heightening the anxiety and the frantic spinning that he was running out of time, YOU'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME-
Flashing eyes glanced around as he ran, Whitty realizing with a brief, welcome snap that he knew where he was. Or, to be more accurate, he knew the layout of the neighborhood he was in. There was a sports field type thing nearby, he just had to get to it.
More pain, and this time it wasn't passing. Whitty could feel his wick being eaten up by whole inches as his run briefly faltered. He quickly caught himself, pushing his body into as much of a dead sprint as he felt able, his mind racing as he tried to think.
Take the next left, across the street, keep going, keep going, it's close, it has to be close-
-they'll see you they'll SEE YOU you look like a lunatic someone will see someone will know someone will make the call-
-it's coming it's gonna get me IT'S GONNA EAT ME-
The headache was getting worse, so much worse. It was like a chain reaction, like rolling a rock down a hill, it just went and gathered more and more speed until there was no more hill to roll down. Whitty could feel the heat building under his jacket, underneath his fingers as he clutched at his head. Pains rattled through his skull, and he could almost picture a timer counting down in his head, his thoughts turning from frantic fear at being chased and seen to simply making sure he didn't hurt anyone in the next few minutes.
Carol and Hex, they weren't here but they'd hear about it and they'd know just like everyone else, that you're a freak, that you're a monster, that you hurt and break and destroy and they'll leave, they'll leave or use you like everyone else would and DID, they DID use you because that's all you are, something to be used, you're NOTHING BUT A KILLING MACHINE-
Catching sight of a familiar wire fence bordering the field, Whitty ran to a gap and pushed his way through, running into the center as his head practically burned under his fingers. He dropped to his knees, clawing at the dirt as darkness bubbled at the edges of his vision, the only thought in his head being to somehow direct the explosion that was now very imminent. He had to do something, snuff it somehow, Oh God I hope there is no gas main under here…
Just as the pain grew to a crescendo, Whitty shoved his head into the small hole that he'd gouged out of the turf, trying not to sob too much as the pressure peaked and his world turned to white.
Car alarms greeted Whitty as he came to, his eyes blinking blearily open in the dark. Not close, but near enough that he could tell there were going to be a substantial amount of pissed-off drivers. For a second, the noise, coupled with the pain knifing angrily through his skull, made no sense. It wasn't until the distant but growing louder sounds of sirens started echoing through his ears that Whitty's memory caught up to him, and his eyes blew wide before squinting shut as the pounding migraine he was having restated that yes, it was in fact here.
But he couldn't be here, the thought galvanizing Whitty as he tried to sit up. He was too close to where he'd…lost it. The police, people, were coming, they'd find him here and they couldn't find him…
Though, as he forced himself to his feet, Whitty couldn't help but be a little confused when he climbed to the top of whatever hole he ended up in and realized that he had been in, of all things, a creek. Looking to the other side, he could see the field he'd run into, now with the new addition of a crater square in the middle.
Had he flung himself over here with the explosion? Made an alarming amount of sense, especially when Whitty took stock and realized that his whole body was one big mass of ow. But the sirens were getting closer, and there was no time for him to rest. He had to get out of here.
There was a small grouping of trees between him and the next neighborhood, Whitty opting to hurry through as quickly as possible even on his somewhat unsteady legs.
He'd gone a few blocks before he started recognizing landmarks, a small bit of relief coming in that he knew where he was. This was close to Hex's neighborhood, and if he could just get himself a little further then he could get inside, be safe.
He just had to get a little further…
Hex definitely wasn't sure what to expect when his doorbell went off at around 3 AM, though he had to admit with some optimism that any home invader wouldn't be so courteous as to ring first before breaking in. Besides, there was the nagging thought in his head that this might be something important so down the stairs Hex went.
Looking back on it, the robot could say with no fear of being wrong that he hadn't expected to see Whitty partially slumped into the door frame, the eight-foot-plus tall bomb practically flopping over the threshold once the door was moved. Hex knew he called Whitty's name, something like fear jangling through him at the notion of his friend being hurt. It certainly didn't help that Whitty's clothes were covered in a mix of mud and dirt, and the sapient bomb himself barely looked conscious. Whitty's eyes roved, not seeing anything for an instant before they focused on Hex's face and something like relief blossomed.
"Made it, I made it…" Whitty croaked, eyes shimmering as they slipped closed, his head turning towards Hex's shoulder. The sight and sound kicked something into gear in the robot's mind, giving him a leaping point. Whitty was conscious, which was good, but he needed to stay conscious if Hex was going to help him…!
"Whitty, don't go to sleep, what happened? Are you alright?" Hex rushed out, his arm moving enough that Whitty's head rolled away with a faintly pained noise. "I'm sorry, Whitty, but please don't sleep, tell me what's wrong!"
He hadn't meant to sound that shrill, but the fact that Whitty might need serious medical attention was clanging like an alarm bell in Hex's mind. It didn't help that Hex knew that Whitty was one of a kind, a singular type of being that would confound most medical professionals on a good day. Never mind him being horribly injured and time being of the essence.
"I jus'…" Whitty started, taking in deep breaths like he'd just been running a marathon. His eyes took a few heavy blinks, Hex worried that he was slipping under again though Whitty forced himself awake to continue. "W-Was runnin', s…somethin' tried t'fuckin' eat me…"
"Eat?" Hex echoed, sensors quickly scanning over what they could of the rest of Whitty's body. Nothing looked like it was seeping fluid, he seemed to have all of his limbs, digits, everything looked to be where it should be.
"Ran away," Whitty breathed, before his eyes dropped to the still-open front door and started to blow wide with panic. Before Hex could even think to say anything, Whitty began to fumble with pushing the door closed, relying entirely on his unsteady feet.
"It's okay, Whitty, I've got it," Hex tried to soothe as he scooted a little closer, inadvertently pulling Whitty more upright as he did. Whitty's efforts still left a muddy footprint on the door, though for the moment Hex felt like he had bigger worries. Namely the fact that Whitty's brief burst of energy had run dry, the bomb's eyes fluttering as he slumped against Hex.
"Hex, head hurts, wanna lie down…"
"Okay, but let's get this off, I want to be sure you're not hurt…"
"'Sokay, I get better…"
"I'm still worried about you, Whitty." Hex's words did seem to strike some chord, the sapient bomb blinking and looking up at Hex's screen like the robot had said something completely shocking. It made finagling Whitty's jacket off and lifting away his shirt a little bit easier, Hex briefly stymied by the fact that Whitty's skin was a very concealing black, which could hide any potential injuries. Whitty clarifying that the pain he was feeling was sort of an all-over, dull pain mostly concentrated on his back, shoulders, and head did give Hex something to go on, but even with that the robot came up with nil in terms of injuries. Which was…good, he supposed, though once that had been verified he had the somewhat daunting task of getting Whitty up off the floor and at least to the living room. Whitty's mud-streaked shoes were left at the front door, Hex reasoning that they could try to get those clean later.
It did seem possible that Whitty could have been bruised, his skin a little tougher than the average human but it didn't mean it wasn't able to be damaged. There was also the fact that Hex's pincer-like hands weren't really made for finer work, though there was someone in the house that would be able to.
"Whitty, I'm going to get Cyrix to come down to help me, okay?"
Whitty's only response to that was to give a soft, barely there mumble, kicking Hex's worry into overdrive again as he frantically tapped at the bomb's shoulder while sending off a probably less-than coherent message to Cyrix.
"Please don't go to sleep, alright? He should be here soon."
The words got a faint, plaintive look, though a faint thumping at the stairs caught Hex's attention as Cyrix came down to the first floor.
"Alright, where's the fire-? Ah, found it." The latter was said as Cyrix spotted Whitty and Hex on the floor in the front hallway. "So, what're we working with?"
"Tried t'eat me…" Whitty mumbled, loud enough that thankfully Cyrix heard because Hex wasn't sure where to begin with that one.
"Eat? Eat you?" The other robot asked, the surprise flipping to a calmness that Hex couldn't help feeling a little relieved by. "Yeah, well, when you sleep on the streets, you run afoul of some weird things. You actually hurt anywhere?"
Whitty gave a somewhat lackadaisical shrug, Hex deciding to leap in as the bomb still looked more than a little groggy.
"He said his back and shoulders hurt. I can't see anything, but, it might be a matter of it, not being totally visible?" There really wasn't a better way to convey that, though given the semi-urgency of the situation, Hex hoped that that would be enough for Cyrix to work with. And, well, thankfully it didn't seem like he needed much clarification, nodding and slipping straight into a plan.
"Alright, let's get him off the floor and upstairs. I'd feel better doing this somewhere with more light."
Between the two of them they were able to get Whitty up, more carrying the bomb to the room Hex pretty much thought of as Whitty's. He'd certainly stayed in there often enough by this point.
While Whitty was able to make it up the stairs, his steps started to grow less steady as they crossed the threshold to the bedroom. Hex was almost relieved to let the bomb shrug off everything sans his boxers to lie down on the bed, though the anxiety came back a hundredfold as Cyrix flicked on the light and went to work. Even though Whitty's back looked the same to him, Hex couldn't help wondering if there might've been something that he'd missed, something serious that would definitely require a hospital visit, something that they should be taking care of now now now now…
If Hex could have held his breath, he would've as Cyrix leaned away from Whitty, screen turned away from view.
"Well, if there's something wrong, I'm not seeing it. You still feeling sore, Whitty?"
The sound of Whitty snoring quickly got the pair's attention, Hex feeling the faintest bit of relief mixed with a whole lot of fondness. The bomb, by contrast, was completely dead to the world, eyes closed and mouth partially open. Cyrix stared at the comatose Whitty for a few moments, before a synthetic snort echoed through his speakers as he changed gears.
"Alrighty then. You wanna keep an eye on him for the night? Think the outlet's in the corner over there. Try to give your systems a little bit of a break." The last two sentences were directed at Hex, the other robot nodding at the question before a sheepish smile flickered across his screen.
"Thank you, I'll try."
"I'll be back in tomorrow, we'll figure it out from there." Cyrix reassured, resting a hand on Hex's shoulder before he left the room. Hex's better cheer lasted until a few moments later, the robot's screen falling into a somewhat quiet, if not slightly worried stare as he considered his friend's sleeping form. Whitty had shifted a little in his sleep, lying partially curled up on his side. The fact that he was just down to boxers, and was on top of the comforter, lead to Hex grabbing a couple blankets out of the closet, doing his best to drape them over Whitty without waking him up.
He wasn't sure if he was proud or worried by the fact that he managed it, and decided to just let the matter go for now. Settling down in an armchair, Hex made sure he was properly connected into the outlet and began his vigil.
What confused Whitty about waking up was that he was warm and comfortable, two things that tended not to happen when one made a habit of sleeping in alleyways. That meant that he'd crashed at someone's house, which was odd given that the last he remembered he wasn't going to be doing that for another week.
Well, the last he remembered, right before what happened last night drifted back in like a bad miasma and had the bomb tensing under what he now realized was a blanket. Well, two blankets, ones that Hex likely gave him though Whitty didn't remember it happening. The very last thing he hazily recalled was someone gently poking over his back, it wasn't Hex so probably Cyrix, looking for injuries because he'd come in, nearly passed out, and mentioned that he was hurting there. And, while he felt leagues better than he'd had last night, he was still sore enough that sitting up was much less graceful than it could have been.
"Whitty?"
The electronic tenor to the voice already hinted at who had spoken, that being Hex. Though the bomb couldn't help stiffening up a little out of habit, it completely fell away at the teary faced, smiling emoji on Hex's screen. The robot was already hopping up out of his chair, disconnecting himself from some wires and hurrying over to the bed. But before Hex could touch Whitty he stopped short, before asking a hesitant, worried question.
"Is, is it okay if I-?"
Whitty cut Hex off with a round of rapid nods, throwing out his arms just in time for the robot to leap into them. There was a moment of shuffling around, the bomb finally letting out a sigh as he huddled around Hex's smaller frame, taking more than a small amount of solace in the feeling of Hex hugging him tightly back.
"I'm, I'm sorry…"
"It's okay, it's okay," Hex hummed, gently easing through the somewhat croaky apology Whitty offered. "You're alright, you didn't do anything wrong. I just, I got scared. You don't usually get hurt, I thought something happened…"
The robot then drew back a bit, Whitty slightly mourning the loss of that closeness but upon seeing the frowning emoticon on Hex's screen he forced himself to pay attention.
"You, you said someone tried to eat you, I wasn't sure if it was true, you were very exhausted last night."
Someone trying to eat him didn't sound entirely possible, though Whitty's mind did have a few foggy recollections involving a soup of still-living fingers, a grotesque head that resembled a lemon…
At his friend's dropping expression, and the slight shudder rattling the bomb's frame, Hex retightened his hold on Whitty. He was basically sitting in the bomb's lap, but, well, whatever worked. It definitely did the job, Whitty relaxing into the hug with a deep sigh, though when Hex realized he was being leaned on a little too much, he wondered if it might be a better idea to get Whitty lying down rather than sitting upright.
This was somewhat vindicated by the fact that it took two tries to explain the idea to Whitty, though the bomb gave a low groan in acquiesce, and flopped backwards to lie on top of the blankets.
"It'll be alright, I'll get you your pajamas if you like!" Hex spoke up, to which Whitty seemed to then realize he was completely without a shirt or pants and huddled in on himself, eyes blown wide and an orange flush climbing in his face.
"Yes, that'd be nice, thank you…"
It didn't take long for Hex to locate them, he'd pretty much left them in the usual place. Whitty pretty hurriedly threw them on, though that concluded the bomb's brief burst of energy with Whitty all but crawling back under the safety of some blankets as his eyes glazed over.
"Do you want me to get you something to eat?" Hex's question made the bomb start, Whitty blinking as his brain tried to puzzle through what he'd heard.
"…Sure," Whitty eventually mumbled, eyes slipping to half-closed as he yawned.
"Okay, you get some rest, I'll be back up soon."
There was no answer, apart from a faint hum, not that Hex really needed it. If anything, the words were more for Whitty's benefit.
Cyrix had already been downstairs by the time Hex got there, the other robot leaning casually in his chair as he looked over a laptop. It was a somewhat paradoxical sight, given that Cyrix's head was also a computer monitor, but the other robot had no actual connection to the Internet the same way Hex did. Hex had asked about maybe getting him a proper link, but Cyrix turned it down on the grounds that it would cause too many problems internally. And, while Hex did enjoy the WiFi link, the constant access to search engines, what have you, he also knew just how frightening it could be to have someone access your systems from the outside. It also did give him a bit of security in that if it was him and Cyrix at home, and if there was a problem, Hex could go to the other robot for help.
It was a thing he really appreciated now, given Whitty's condition. Cyrix likely was aware of it too, given that when he looked up to see Hex it was the first thing he asked about, apart from wishing the other robot a friendly good morning.
"Did Whitty wake up?"
"Yes, but he's still very exhausted. He'll probably need to rest a little more before he can really go anywhere."
"Hmm, makes sense. He was pretty wiped last night. So, what're we gonna be doing today? My plan was to work from home, but if you need help with anything…"
"I think I will make a stop at the grocery store, as there are some things I think we should have. But overall we're pretty well-stocked, so I won't have to get much. Maybe you could just keep an eye out in case Whitty needs something while I'm gone?"
"Can do." Cyrix easily replied, falling into the role of a sounding board as Hex went over his thinking about what should go on his would-be grocery list. Overall, the other robot had that well enough in hand, and he spent a few minutes throwing together a quick breakfast for Whitty before dropping that off, and presumably letting the bomb know he'd be stepping out for a bit before departing. Cyrix did briefly look in to check on Whitty, the bomb apparently dozing as he poked his head in. The robot did try to knock, but there was still a somewhat frenetic shadow clinging to Whitty's expression as the bomb looked his way.
"Hey, did Hex mention he'd be stepping out for a bit?"
"Mhm," Whitty hummed, nodding as his wide orange eyes stared back at Cyrix's screen. Well, Cyrix certainly hoped he didn't look that scary but then again, Whitty behaved like a skittish cat even on his better days. He wasn't attempting to climb out the window yet though, so Cyrix would consider that a plus.
"Alright. I'll be down the hall if you need anything. Actually, before I head out, you need anything now? Water, food…?"
"U-Uhh…" Whitty hummed, eyes casting around. Poor kid looked plenty nervous, Cyrix figuring that he'd be better off mitigating any problems. Apart from the fact that Whitty was a living bomb, his current situation made any attempt to get a rise out of him, accidental or not, feel more than a little mean-spirited. Though still, Cyrix didn't want it to seem like he was rushing the guy, letting Whitty waffle for a bit before making a suggestion.
"I'll see about some water if you like?"
At Whitty's answering nod, Cyrix stepped out, coming back about five minutes later with the water. Then, he got to work.
While Hex had been making plans for how best to stock the kitchen, Cyrix had, firstly, been watching the local news that morning. Secondly, he spent a few minutes making some quick touch-ups to last night's footage from their security cams, making sure there was no sign of a mess anywhere in the front hall, or on the lawn, and taking stock of the situation with their neighbors. Really, their house was the only one that had cameras, everyone else was a little behind the curve, so having conflicting footage didn't look likely. The only one that might've been a concern was the house on the corner, as that guy did have some cameras trained on his front walk. Cyrix had a feeling that he'd had some security issues in the past, though the saving grace was that his property was on the opposite side of the street. If Whitty had looped around from the street behind them, the cameras wouldn't have had a good vantage point. If he'd come from that direction though…
Well, perhaps they'd have to get creative. Though Cyrix didn't let on to his thoughts, mostly hinting to Hex to get what he needed and try to come home as soon as he could on the grounds that Whitty would be more comfortable with his friend there.
Still, while the robot was definitely expecting something, he wasn't sure if the knocking he heard at the front door around eleven thirty counted. At least, not until he opened the door and spotted a gentleman wearing a distinct white suit and tie.
Yeah, you're definitely not from Adam, Cyrix couldn't help thinking, even as he threw an at-the-ready grin onto his screen.
"Hello! How can I help you today?" Ordinarily he might've tried to be a little less…cheery, but for the moment he kinda wanted the guy to think he was dealing with something a little more mechanical. It wasn't unheard of for people to have robotic servants around here, after all. But if Cyrix were more open about his sapience, it might bring in some more invasive questions.
So, customer-service voice it was. And the guy seemed to buy it, given that his eyes briefly widened, going over Cyrix's appearance from his relatively casual but clean clothes to the monitor that served as his head and face, before throwing on a more professional veneer and launching in with his own question.
"Is the owner of the house home?"
"No, he isn't. I'm not sure when he'll be back, did you want me to take down a message?" The great thing was, this wasn't a lie. Cyrix just wasn't mentioning that the actual owner of the house was a robot.
"No, no, nothing so urgent. Though when he does come back, you could mention to him that there have been reports of a suspected terrorist hiding in the area. You should know the individual when you see him, as he is over eight feet tall, orange eyes, darker complexion…"
"I will definitely let him know." And, seeing as it might've been a little odd to not say anything about that awfully familiar 'suspected terrorist'… "I certainly hope you find him soon."
"We're hoping so too. If you do see this individual, you can reach out to the police, they'll know who to direct the information to."
"I will keep that in mind, and let the owner of the house know." Cyrix replied, keeping his expression as placidly friendly as possible. He sounded like he was wrapping things up, wasn't handing the robot anything he'd have to be worried about, so, hopefully this would be it. "Thank you for telling me!"
Little bit more artificial saccharine-ness for the effect. The man already was turning away, disinterested and done with the conversation. Cyrix didn't do more than watch him for a few seconds, closing the front door and briefly casting a glance to the closet where he knew Whitty's shoes were.
Landed yourself in something interesting, did you? He couldn't help thinking as he headed for the stairs.
It was probably about twenty minutes later that Cyrix knocked on Whitty's door, letting the bomb's shifting be his invitation. While Whitty didn't seem to like it, he seemed to expect some degree of surprise when he was staying at someone's house. Cyrix had witnessed the towering, 8'11 bomb go from lying down and dozing to standing up and at the ready levels of attentiveness in the span of maybe a few seconds. Even still, Whitty'd looked nervous as hell at the intrusion, and it became sort of an agreed-upon thing to always knock and give him a warning.
"Hey, you don't have to get up, but I need to talk to you about something. Is it okay if I come in?"
"…Sure?" Whitty hummed, tone lilting at the end with a question. Still, Cyrix didn't throw the door open, or march in, instead easing it open a spell before slipping in and leaning on the doorframe.
"Just wanted to let you know, we gotta visitor a little while ago who was asking a lotta questions. Some guy in a white suit." Whitty's eyes blew wide at the descriptor, all but saying outright that there was a connection. Even still, Cyrix didn't want to scare the kid, just get his attention, hastening on to the rest of his words.
"He's gone, by the way. Will be keeping an eye on the cameras just to be sure he leaves, but I don't think he really suspected anything. Fun part of being a robot, people tend to disregard what you're saying out of habit, 'specially if it sounds like you don't have anything they want. Though I gotta ask," Cyrix said, practically feeling the way the tension ramped up in the prone bomb at the last three words. "What exactly is going on that you've got what looks like government agents of some kind after you, and does it have anything to do with the hole that's been blown in that soccer field about ten blocks over?"
Whitty looked like he could have been knocked over with a feather had he been upright. For a moment Cyrix worried he'd have to repeat the question, before the bomb weakly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn't make eye contact, but instead turned a thousand-yard, deer-in-the-headlights stare at the floor.
"I, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I wasn't," Whitty stammered, fidgeting for a moment before grabbing and holding onto his fuse like his life depended on it. "I'll leave, I won't come back, just, don't tell Hex, okay? I'm not tryin' to cause problems, I swear, this was just the first place I, I thought I could go…"
"It's okay, I'm not gonna make you leave, and I won't tell Hex anything." Cyrix replied, hands up. Even though he couldn't exactly sigh, or show any sign of the sorta-stress that was beginning to assert itself, he still let some more, well, sapient mannerisms slip into his demeanor, gesturing an askance of permission to sit down on the bed before coming over with his hands in his pockets. All the while, Whitty watched him with wide eyes, the bomb resembling a condemned man in his mannerisms. "I would recommend coming clean about whatever this is though, 'cause it definitely seems like you've got a lot on your plate. Could probably use someone that actually knows what's going on."
The outright tension in Whitty's frame was, well, leaving-ish, but it was being replaced by a dour sort of anxiety that had his hands fumbling over the sheets and shoulders rolling inward.
"I don't wanna use anyone…"
"You could stand to have someone who knows what's going on, then. If anything, I'd consider it, Whitty." Cyrix rounded off the encouragement with a pat to Whitty's hands which were still wringing the life out of the blankets. Though there was an initial start, the words did get a more considering look from the bomb in question, but the robot did have one more bit of advice before getting to his feet. "And, I know the temptation might be there, but trust me, don't try to run now. Firstly, Hex is gonna be worried, and secondly, the guy might be scoping out the neighborhood. He'll probably see you if you try to make a break for it. Actually, now that we're on that topic, which direction did you come from last night? Do you remember?"
"…Uh, from the…" Whitty fumbled for a moment before pointing. "That side of the street, I think."
"Then I don't think you need to worry about anything. Word to the wise, the neighbor on the other side has cameras. If you're worried about being identified, just come the other way from now on. But, not that important right now. Just get some rest, alright? You want water or anything?"
The question had Whitty glancing towards the glass on the bedside table, which was empty. He'd…pretty much gone through it in a matter of seconds before…
"No, I think I'm good for now…"
"Alright. Hex should be back soon, just try to get some rest." Cyrix said, though Whitty waited for the robot to actually leave before he slumped back onto his pillow, eyes fluttering a little as the tension quietly drained out of his frame. Even if there was a part of him that was looking forward to Hex coming back, there was an equally present part of him that felt more than a little relieved by the quiet and solitude.
Though it didn't take long for Whitty's thoughts to turn back to what Cyrix had just been talking about. That there was an agent of the Greater Goddamn Good, here, looking for him. Knocking on doors, asking people if they'd seen him. Either way, it was enough to set Whitty's paranoid instincts entirely on edge. The only reason he wasn't trying to figure out how he could leave the house without anyone knowing were the two points that Cyrix had brought up. One being that Hex would be worried, and that Whitty would have to somehow avoid the guy on his way out. And, well, while he could maybe do it, if he flubbed the escape then Hex would likely get hurt. Hell, Cyrix would probably get hurt, that notion bothering Whitty more than he'd initially thought it would have but considering the other robot had been perfectly willing to run interference for him…
Well, at least it seemed that way. What if Cyrix had been merely playing it up so Whitty would stay and eventually get caught? But that didn't feel right either, because then wouldn't the smarter thing have been to just not say anything? Let Whitty think nothing was going on? Why warn him that the Greater Good was around to begin with if he was planning on selling him out?
Even with the notion of Cyrix turning traitor somewhat refuted, Whitty didn't feel comfortable fully relaxing now. In an effort to feel like he was doing something about the situation, the bomb swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning his attention to the two entryways into the room. The door was the most obvious, but the window could also be considered a problem too. It also didn't help that the shade was entirely pulled up, admitting a stream of sunlight into the room but also making it potentially easy for those on the outside to see what was inside…
Getting to his feet, Whitty carefully padded around the bed, approaching the window from the side. The cord for the shade was thankfully within view, and Hex had shown him how to use it a few times. It took a few seconds, but he was eventually able to lower the window shade to a smaller sliver. He could easily look out, but someone outside would have a hard time seeing in.
He might still have to be careful at night though, as he did have a distinct, well, look that made it hard to really mistake him. Maybe not stand in front of the window with the lights turned on, or something. Though as Whitty sat back down on the bed he realized that both the conversation, as well as his efforts to prep, were taking more out of him than he'd thought, the bomb being surprised by a cavernous yawn.
Still, he didn't want to leave either 'entryway' unwatched, leading to an uncomfortable moment of Whitty considering just how he was going to keep both in sight while lying on the bed. It did become clear in a matter of moments that he'd need to lie on his back, though it felt utterly alien to do. Mostly because Whitty found that he tended to sleep on his side, the bomb feeling oddly exposed even when his frame was under the covers. Even with exhaustion itching at his eyes, he couldn't help tensing, his arms coming up to wrap around his midsection as though shielding himself.
Why was he feeling like this?! It didn't make any sense…
Though even as the bomb thought that what immediately came to mind were the times he'd had to get ready for shows and stuff when he'd been under the care of the Dearest family, remembering how the clothing they picked would show off his, well, they'd called it his "abs" and then didn't explain what that was exactly but whatever they were, Whitty'd come to hate them, begin to really hate them for how it seemed to invite hands that would ghost over his frame when they were talking to him about such and such party, this award's show, or when they'd had their guys getting Whitty ready for his shows.
He hadn't liked Mummy's occasional touches, but they were tame compared to what some other people would do. How hands would just…linger at his waist or midsection, grab at his arms, or even that one time that Whitty had ingrained in his memory, when one of the 'make-up crew' had slapped Whitty on the rear when he'd been leaving the room. To Daddy Dearests's credit, he'd pretty quickly gotten that one to leave permanently, and it didn't happen again, but when it came to other instances he'd pretty much told the bomb to buck up and stop being so damn sensitive. He was a rockstar, he was "well-built", of course people were gonna look at him in a certain kind of way. Get over it.
Well, yeah, this had that same feeling of over-exposure. Like Whitty was under a hot lamp and any movement might bring a rush of unwelcome sensations. Though at the same time, it didn't feel entirely right. It was almost like that memory was, somewhat imposed over something else, some other fear that clung somewhere to the bomb's mental foundations and cried out don't touch me don't touch me please stop please stop when something happened. The something right now being the lying on his back, apparently.
Whitty eventually just flipped onto his side, opting to face the door even as his mind poked at him with coward coward coward because there was nothing in the room. No one else but him. Why was he feeling like this?
Even as his mind spiraled, a part of Whitty recognized the state he was beginning to work himself into, and even if he had recently exploded there might've still been enough in his system for another go. He couldn't lose it, not in Hex's house, he had to stay calm…
Besides, there was nothing happening. Nothing that mattered. That thought became a smothering blanket, and coupled with a brewing headache accompanied Whitty on his slide down into slumber.
Carefully balancing a tray, Hex knocked on the door to Whitty's room. He'd gotten home, maybe about fifteen minutes ago? There'd been some promise of rain, he'd ultimately been happy to make it in when he did, though he figured that Whitty likely would be needing something, it was just a little past lunchtime. And, though the bomb didn't like to advertise it, it was pretty clear to Hex that Whitty's systems ran on a higher caloric threshold than most. If he wasn't feeling well, logically that meant that he'd need to keep up a semi-normal eating schedule, even as Hex couldn't help ruminating about just how often Whitty was eating while on the street. There'd been days when he'd come in for a visit and just went straight for the kitchen.
Hex really hoped the bomb wasn't starving himself out of some perceived need to not cause trouble, this being what fueled his attempts to slip bills of varying denominations into Whitty's pockets. Though, well, given that Whitty was currently under his roof, he could take a much more hands-on approach to making sure his friend was okay.
"Whitty? Are you awake? Can I come in?"
There was a brief shuffling before Whitty answered, thankfully sounding not too rattled by the call.
"Y-Yeah, sure."
Opening the door, Hex was confronted by the somewhat worrying sight of Whitty sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes a little wide as they watched the door open. But when the bomb seemed to realize it was only Hex standing there he did relax, and even lit up a bit at the tray of soup, crackers, and tea. Hoping to further knock down any feeling of anxiety, Hex readily proffered the meal, speaking in a calm, easy tone as he approached.
"Here, I brought you something to eat."
"Thanks." Whitty replied, hands held up as Hex set the tray down on his lap. Once the robot moved away, the bomb practically fell upon the food. Clearly he'd been hungry.
"You're welcome." Hex chimed, letting Whitty get more into the meal before opting to address the more worried elephant in the room. "How are you feeling, by the way?"
Thankfully Whitty didn't look too bothered by the query, just stopped eating for a moment, seemed to think, before giving his answer.
"Much better. Got to sleep a lot today, so…"
"Good to hear!" Hex replied, a smiling emoticon on his screen. He was a little surprised at first to see Whitty give a slight eyeroll before the bomb mumbled out.
"I do sleep sometimes, Hex, it's not that big of a thing…"
"I know you do." The robot replied, gladly recognizing the ribbing humor for what it was. "But if you're unwell, it's even more important that you rest, Whitty. And I'm happy you did!"
The words seemed to lower some wall in Whitty's demeanor, the bomb giving a more openly comforted grin. For a brief instant, everything looked to be right in the world, right before something seemed to occur to the bomb and he looked away with an expression that appeared almost nervous. Hex had been about to speak up, wondering just what could have caused the change, but Whitty beat him to it.
"Hex, c-can I ask, ask you about something?"
"Sure, what did you need?"
Though the robot tried to sound as open and inviting as possible, Whitty still had a moment of fumbling, eyes riveting themselves to his hands which were twisting themselves in the sheets. Eventually though, after taking some time to gather himself, the bomb did manage to articulate his thoughts.
"I, I just wanted to ask that…when I need to, could I, maybe, tell you something? Not now, but, maybe later?"
Alright, not exactly an odd request. If anything, Hex was perfectly willing to give Whitty the time he needed to work up his nerve. If his friendship with the bomb had taught Hex anything, it was that it was important to be patient, especially when it came to Whitty's boundaries. So, no harm done there, right?
"Absolutely, Whitty, I'd be alright with that. You can tell me anything you need, and whenever you need to, alright? I'll be here to listen." Hex finished, a smiling emoticon on his screen before he remembered something. "Actually, I did need to ask, is it okay if I tell Carol what's going on? She will probably want to come by and visit, maybe drop off some things for you."
Whitty seemed to take a moment to think it over, but thankfully Hex saw the bomb slowly mellow to the idea as his body language slumped, growing far less guarded and on edge.
"Yeah, sure. That sounds fine to me."
"Alright. I'll send her the message now. Are you okay if I stay for a bit or do you want to be left alone?"
"N-No, I…" Whitty started, fumbling with his words for a second. "Please stay. I don't want to be alone right now."
"Alright, Whitty, sure!" Hex replied, settling in next to the bomb, who scooted around with the pillow held to his front to make room. "Did you want to listen to music, watch a video? Or we could just hang out, whatever you like."
"…Got any good videos?" Whitty mumbled, orange eyes a little demure but ultimately hopeful in a way that warmed Hex's nonexistent heart.
"Sure, anything in particular you're in the mood for?"
"Uhh…" The bomb hummed, gaze tracking around the room before he came to a decision. "Maybe somethin', I dunno, cute, funny? Maybe both?"
"No problem. Let me search for something." Turning more of his awareness inward, Hex went to the Internet, casting around with a few search terms to get a suitable collection of videos. These he projected onto his screen, watching with a fond amusement as Whitty's eyes immediately grew riveted to the visuals playing across the display. It wasn't long before the funnier videos and memes had the bomb faintly chuckling, a low but warm rumble that reverberated through Whitty's chest like electric-tenored thunder. There were a few videos that had that rumble breaking into a full-on laugh, Hex feeling an internal, synthetic smile at his friend's joy.
Hex ended up going through the whole playlist, though he noticed by the end of it that Whitty's demeanor was starting to dip more into a pre-sleep sort of lull, eyes growing more languid and lazily focused on the last video. However, as this one ended with a bright flash of color, the robot was a little concerned to see Whitty wincing and flinching away from the brightness.
Stopping the playback, Hex let his facial animation come back up on the screen, a worried emoticon blinking over his display as he spoke.
"Whitty, are you feeling alright?"
"Huh?" The bomb grunted at first, though the question registered a few seconds later. "Oh, 'm fine. Head just hurts a little. 'M okay."
"You're having a headache?" Hex echoed, waiting for Whitty to give a reluctant nod before continuing. "Sorry. Did it start up when we were watching the videos? Maybe I should have adjusted the brightness on my screen…"
"A, a little, though m'head often hurts for a bit after…" Whatever Whitty was going to say, he apparently didn't like talking about much, given how he trailed off with his eyes turning towards the mattress. The dismal sort of exhaustion tugged on Hex's nonexistent heartstrings, the robot gently patting the bomb on the shoulder.
"It's okay, you don't have to get into it too much right now. Actually, I can think of a few things that might help, but I need to ask a question to be sure, is that okay?"
"…Sure." Whitty replied, hesitance clear in his tone as his shoulders scrunched a little. Trying his best to rub over Whitty's shoulder blades, Hex went on.
"It's okay. It's a pretty simple question. Would you say the pain from the headache is more in the top of your head, or the sides?"
"Kinda, yeah," Whitty hummed, his more downcast demeanor turning slightly wondering as he looked up at Hex. "How did you know?"
"Those are usually what's called a tension headache. It comes on when people clench their jaw, or just grow more tense overall. The muscles in your head and scalp are basically feeling overworked." The robot explained, a smile flashing across his screen as he went on. "Do you want me to walk you through something that might help the headache go away a bit?"
"Do I hav'ta get up?" Whitty mumbled, Hex more than happy to refute the notion.
"No, you can stay lying down for this. In fact, you can lie down on your back-"
It generally was the best way to do something like this, but judging from Whitty's immediate shift from languid and tired to wide eyes and stiffened shoulders, it wasn't going to be workable. Come to think of it, had Hex seen him sleeping on his back? Not really ever, leading to the robot quickly chiming in with,
"-Or your stomach, or side, whichever works!"
Hex waited for Whitty to get settled before moving on, briefly checking to confirm that the bomb was following along.
"Okay, now what you do is take three deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, and focus on the act of breathing. Try to let all other thoughts go for a moment, and just sit with how your body feels right now." The robot could both see and hear Whitty's efforts, though he was pleased to notice how by the second one the bomb's rhythm felt much more natural, at ease. He could also see Whitty's frame go from more curled up to relaxed underneath the blankets, practically sinking into the mattress as he started on the third breath. "And, as you breathe out on the third breath, let your eyes close. Return to breathing normally, but stay in-"
Hex had been about to continue, but a faint snore rattled loose from Whitty moments after the bomb's eyes had closed, the robot sliding off the bed and trying to get a closer look at his friend's face.
"Whitty?" He hummed, practically on the lowest volume setting available as he searched for any sign of wakefulness. Though, for all intents and purposes, Whitty was completely dead to the world, loosely curled around his pillow as his frame slackened with sleep.
Well, the point had been to get the bomb to relax, and he definitely seemed plenty relaxed now. Hex couldn't help a slight giggle, moving away from the bed as quietly as he could before heading out the door.
Sleep was dismissed as easily as a light flicking on in a dark room, Whitty's head lifting off the pillow with a quiet, somewhat electric snort. His eyes felt a little gunked up, the bomb rubbing at them as he tried to figure out what was going on and where he was. He was, he was at Hex's house, right? The robot had just been here, hadn't they been watching videos?
At first, the disparity was confusing, until Whitty turned enough to look at the window, noticing how the light had dimmed from more in the afternoon to the later evening. Had he fallen asleep?
…Though the memory of Hex asking about a headache was faintly there, Whitty remembering with a slightly embarrassed shade how concerned the robot had gotten. It wasn't like it was really that big of a deal, headaches seemed to come with the territory of being able to explode.
Especially right after having exploded, though all things considered, Whitty would say he was feeling much better. The last of the grogginess was dispelled as he sat up, stretching his arms and hearing a smattering of popping ring out from his shoulders and back. Happening to glance over at the small table next to the bed drew Whitty's eyes to what looked like more water, the bomb unable to keep a faint smile from his face at the thought of who likely put it there.
Really, it could've only been Hex, and while he really didn't have to do that, it felt good to have someone care. And, well, the water was needed at this point, Whitty's throat definitely felt on the dryer side.
Once he'd finished, the bomb couldn't help a twinge of curiosity about where Hex had gone. Probably downstairs, though Whitty couldn't help hesitating as he approached the door. Even though it must've been hours ago by now, the Greater Good knocking on Hex's door was still a fresh worry in his mind. Had they come back? Were they still around at all? Pressing the side of his head to the door didn't tell Whitty much, but there was an odd smell drifting through the hallway as he gently eased it open.
Not that it was a bad smell, Whitty internally agreeing that the scent was more of a good, decidedly signaling food kind of smell, and though it felt like he'd eaten not that long ago it was definitely teasing a little at his appetite. Then again, it had to be much later than it was feeling, and his system probably still needed a nudge or two.
Even if there was a part of Whitty that couldn't help frowning at his more reactive sense of hunger, wondering if he was being led into some kind of trap. But he wasn't hearing much of anything, at least not until he got to the landing, and the hum of voices drifting up from the first floor all sounded very familiar.
"-wait, they actually put that in pasta?"
"You better believe they do. Especially if you're doing it right."
"Still feels really excessive."
"What do you care, robo-man, you ain't eating it!"
That sounded like Carol and Cyrix, Whitty briefly wondering where Hex was before the robot spoke up.
"Either way, this should be more than enough for Whitty!"
Whitty, meanwhile, had made his way fully down the stairs, moving down the hall and coming up to the kitchen door. The door itself was one of those swinging ones, the light shining out from under it into the dark hallway. Whitty could see someone's feet moving back and forth, the bomb freezing for a moment before he caught himself.
He was being stupid, these were his friends…right? They were making food, there wasn't anything else going on here, right?
The bomb pressed the side of his head to the door, listening for any footsteps that seemed out of place, safeties clicking off guns, anything that would hint that he was in some kind of danger…
…But he ended up reeling back from the doorway when Carol pushed the doorway open and nearly smacked him in the face. The resulting noise made Carol freeze, Whitty giving a shriek as he toppled back onto the floor. That definitely got Hex and Cyrix's attention, Whitty able to hear a near-synchronized clatter of metal as the pair presumably rushed to the scene of the mess.
"Whitty?"
"Sorry, Whitty, you alright?" This came from Carol, who had hurriedly come around to offer her hand to the living bomb currently sprawled out on the floor. Whitty, for his part, had to remind himself to not scramble away, these were his friends. They wouldn't hurt him, and from the sounds of things there wasn't anyone else in the kitchen he ought to be worried about. Good. Now if he could just do something about his very much murdered dignity…
"U-Uh, yeah, fine. Sorry." He stammered, reaching out for Carol's hand and realizing just a hair too late that she likely wouldn't be able to pull him up alone. Thankfully Hex was coming around at that point, and was already reaching out to grab Whitty's other hand. Between him and Carol, Whitty was able to get up, though the bomb found his shoulders rolling inward as he tried to internally recover from his earlier spill.
"It's okay." Hex spoke up in response to Whitty's apology. "We were just about to come get you. Dinner's ready."
"Dinner?" Whitty parroted, orange eyes somewhat dazed as he glanced at the still-open kitchen door. Cyrix was currently propping it open, the other robot giving a quiet smile and a wave when he noticed Whitty looking his way. The sign of friendliness did bring a belated smile to Whitty's face, though it felt strained as all hell and the bomb quickly let it drop.
Besides, he was definitely smelling something good, so for the moment Whitty just focused on moving into the kitchen, even as he stalled for an instant on the threshold and peeked around the room. Looked empty, apart from Cyrix, who had already made his way back to the table. Even though they couldn't eat, Hex had clearly set up places for both himself and Cyrix, making them a part of the event of dinner.
A tug at his hands drew Whitty's attention to Carol and Hex, the pair having begun gently pulling him towards the table.
"Hey, Whitty? Dinner's ready, we made pasta. Want to sit down?" Carol asked, voice casual but with a distinct air of calm, one that eased Whitty's bristling nerves. That along with the presence of the food cajoled the bomb to take his own seat at the table, accepting a bowl of pasta that was proffered his way. Briefly Whitty had the somewhat embarrassing thought that the whole thing was for him before it occurred to him that it was just a serving thing. He was supposed to take from the bowl, not set it down in front of himself like he'd been just about to do. It was a movement that Carol clearly didn't miss, a faintly teasing grin dancing over her face as she spoke up.
"Feeling pretty hungry, huh?"
"A little…" Whitty mumbled in response, an orange flush creeping over his face at the mix-up. Still, apart from the slight jab, Carol did let it go, doling out what she wanted before making sure Whitty got a share of the meatballs and tomato sauce.
Thankfully no one tried to keep Whitty from digging in, and though there was a part of him that felt extremely conscious doing so, there was also enough for him to take seconds. And thirds, when Carol made the point that the bomb would be helping her given that without any leftovers it would be easier overall for her to get back home. It did help that no one really made any sort of commentary, or scoffing, Whitty easily able to recall the occasional comment thrown his way during his rock star days. The Dearests wouldn't say much, and if anything they made sure he had more than enough to get through the day, but their demon buddies definitely had their fair share of…constructive feedback, as they'd called it.
Whitty couldn't say that it had felt constructive, but, well, that's what they had called it. And there wasn't much point dwelling on it now, even as his shoulders rolled inward in a self-conscious sort of hunch. He didn't even realize that he'd done that until Hex spoke up.
"Are you feeling alright, Whitty?"
"Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, just, yeah. I'm alright."
The robot didn't seem like he entirely believed the bomb's words, though he let it go, giving a somewhat softer smile emoticon as he replied.
"Okay. If you're getting another headache or if you're not feeling well again, you'll let me know?"
"Sure." Whitty replied, feeling a strange mix of both grateful and anxious at the extra attention. It also got Carol's attention, the young woman looking up from where she was washing the dishes to consider Whitty a bit more closely.
"Yeah, meant to ask, are you feeling alright, Whitty? Hex told me you'd gotten, sick or something? That someone had hurt you?"
The question was well-meaning, but it jolted to mind the memory of a malformed, lemon-shaped face leering at him in the dark, Whitty trying his best to hide a jolt even as his jaw pulled in a strained grin.
"I-It's okay, I'm fine now, Carol, really."
Carol didn't look like she believed Whitty, but she didn't do much apart from offering a somewhat half-hearted sounding "okay". Hex also leapt in again, giving a more definitive distraction in the form of a TV show. Whitty, nearly wasn't sold on this, he'd never really had the time for TV, before, during, or after his rockstar days, but the way Hex described it made it sound, kinda interesting?
A bunch of teenage sleuths (people who solve mysteries) and their dog, "cracking cases" and unmasking monsters.
Hex got some other snacks, popcorn and chips that Whitty eyed with some interest. Carol seemed fine with a mug of "hot chocolate", Whitty also getting some when he expressed an interest and then had to relay for a somewhat concerned Hex that he was feeling better and could handle it. Cyrix even joined them, crashing on the opposite end of the couch from Whitty. The bomb couldn't help throwing the other robot a glance; Cyrix's recommendation had been to come clean, and Whitty had done the exact opposite of that.
Not that Cyrix seemed to be holding it over Whitty's head. If anything, the only answer he seemed to have to the bomb's somewhat wide-eyed look was a calm smile and a wave. But then, before Whitty could worry about the specifics of the scene, Cyrix turned his monitor more in Whitty's direction, projecting a brief message to the anxious living explosive.
Don't worry about it.
Hex and Carol had been preoccupied with the snacks at the time and hadn't noticed, though Whitty had definitely seen. The message coupled with a small, electronic grin and a thumbs up did help smooth over some of Whitty's more frenetic emotions, the bomb unable to keep a small smile of his own from forming in reply.
It was done with, then, at least for tonight. He could live with that.
So, instead of dwelling anymore, Whitty threw himself into the act of enjoying the show that Hex had just pulled up on the TV, blinking at the swirls of animation and color. The theme song had that less-boisterous, but no less peppy 1960s-70s flair. Immediately Whitty was confronted with the images of the aforementioned "teenage sleuths", and their dog. Compared to the teens, the dog looked downright massive, making Whitty wonder just how big it was. When he gave a soft exclamation at the sight, Hex spoke up in a lower voice, calling the dog a "Great Dane", which was a particular type of dog, and that the dog's name was Scooby-Doo, the subject of the opening song of the show.
Whitty was quickly swept in at the first plot of the episode, which detailed a ghost in old-timey scuba gear terrorizing the gang on a beach. Paradoxically, instead of leaving outright, the gang then went on an actual tear trying to investigate the strange sighting they'd just experienced. Which led them to the sinking of a boat, and the apparent ghost of Captain Culter, which turned out to not actually be a ghost but was instead the real, living Culter, who had faked his death.
Funnily enough, the people that Whitty found himself agreeing with the most were Scooby Doo and his, friend? Human? Shaggy, anyway, that was the guy's name. They seemed to be the only ones that really got the notion Whitty was thinking, that there was no real need to put themselves through this sort of thing. Besides, when considering the one scene where the other three had been trapped in one of the wrecks, what if no one had come? They would have drowned, right?
Hex confirmed Whitty's thinking when the bomb asked, though the next episode coming on cut off the conversation, Whitty grabbing another handful of popcorn as he settled in to watch.
This one involved the gang all going to an island home to read a will, which Hex hurriedly clarified was something that someone wrote out before they died to make sure their belongings went to the people they wanted them to go to after they died. The episode itself seemed to confirm this, telling the people gathered that they had the chance to get a share of a million dollars, provided they spent the night at the house. Scooby was apparently mentioned in the will due to having saved the guy who wrote it, the Colonel, from a fish pond, and therefore one of the "people" who could inherit the money. Whitty looked on with wide eyes as it became steadily clearer that either the house was legitimately haunted, or someone was doing their best to try to scare everyone away.
Or do something else to them, something that made the bomb more invested as he realized that Scooby, the dog who had done absolutely nothing wrong apart from being there, was also likely going to be targeted.
Actually, scratch that, he was actively being targeted. The scene in the "catacombs" just heightened that fact, Whitty's eyes going wide at the bit involving the coffins containing the other people that could've gotten the fortune.
"Whitty? Are you alright?" Hex asked in response to Whitty's quiet "Oh hell no".
Whitty nodded, eyes riveted to the screen as he followed the scene, giving a worried hiss as Scooby got startled by the two phantoms and passed out. Thankfully Shaggy was able to drag his friend away, Whitty a little surprised and sheepish at the level of tension he found in his frame as the danger onscreen passed.
"Let me guess, you're now in the camp of 'Would Take a Bullet for Scooby'?" Carol asked, having glanced over and noticed Whitty's veritable roller coaster of emotions. Though the bomb couldn't help jolting at the acknowledgement, he quickly recovered with a frown and indignant squawk.
"Yeah! He couldn't help bein' there! They brought him cause'a the will! And how the heck was he supposed to leave?!"
Carol didn't have much of an answer for that, apart from a somewhat conspiratorial grin she shared with Cyrix and Hex. Whitty was somewhat mollified by the end of the episode; everyone got out okay and it turned out the other folks had just left, they weren't actually in the coffins under the house.
Though immediately after that one wrapped up they had to take a brief pause, as the snacks had more or less been eaten over the short hour that the episodes had been playing.
"Did you want more, Whitty?" Hex asked, the bomb feeling a reflexive, nervous jolt as attention was drawn to him.
Don't cause trouble…
"N-No, I'm fine, Hex, really…" He stammered out, feeling a flutter of anxiety coiling in his chest and stomach as the robot seemed to consider him a bit more closely.
But, well, it wasn't a lie, though Whitty could've eaten more if he'd wanted, but he didn't want to, Hex and Carol had done more than enough…
In the end, it was let go, Whitty trying to keep a relieved sigh on the downlow as he settled in to watch the next episode. Something about a Creeper…?
What a Creeper was rapidly became clear in the first scene involving a man in a uniform driving down a road, having to get out to move a tree before being approached by some greenish-skinned person that didn't seem to mean him well. It then cut to the gang in their own car on their way to a party, Shaggy making some mention of corn on the cob with chocolate syrup.
"How would corn and chocolate taste…?" Whitty couldn't help wondering aloud at that, jolting as a groan rang out from Carol.
"Oh nooo, Hex we're creating a culinary monster…"
"Oh I don't know…" Hex replied, flashing a grin Whitty's way as both a means of letting him in on the clowning that was happening as well as easing the bomb instinctive nerves. "I think it would be worth trying out at least once. And if Whitty's willing…"
"You can take the fall for the rest of us, doing crazy things in the name of finding potential good snacks." Carol replied, throwing a jaunty salute the bomb's way as well as a wink, her own way of letting Whitty know that she was just fooling around.
Perhaps it might've gone on, but the plot of the episode quickly decided to intrude as the gang happened upon the earlier mentioned guy in uniform, who turned out to be a bank guard. Turns out the green-skinned person had not in fact meant him well, as he was now lying in the road with his car ransacked. The fact that the car was entirely wrecked on the inside rather than the outside was noticed, but apart from the guard handing them a paper and mentioning something about a flame "telling the Creeper".
Bringing the guard to the bank president's household offered a few more gems of information, in that the Creeper was a…figure, person?, that had been robbing their bank despite everything still remaining locked up throughout the whole robbery.
Either way, the bank president said he could handle the thing, so they all left to go to their party, where Whitty finally got to see corn on the cob with chocolate syrup in action. It actually did seem like a pretty alright party, at least until the Creeper cut the power and proceeded to crash it.
Though of course the Creeper waited to actually come out until everyone else was gone, when Shaggy and Scooby had separated from the group. Running back to the rest of the gang hardly deterred the Creeper, and worst still it seemed like he wanted the paper that the guard had gave them. A chase started up in earnest after that, with the gang running all over the barn with the Creeper in hot pursuit.
The song playing during the chase also caught Whitty's attention, not that he knew what an ostrich was. Trying to whisper the question to Hex ended with Whitty being shown an image of some kind of utterly bizarre thing that he supposed was a bird, the bomb giving that a wide-eyed stare before turning his eyes forward like he had accidentally made eye contact with some weirdo on the street.
Besides, well, the chase on the screen was a lovely distraction, as it went all over the barn and even ended in the gang riding some kind of cart and the Creeper chasing them on another animal.
That ended in Shaggy and Scooby getting separated from Velma, Fred, and Daphne, and needing to hide in a chicken coop in order to avoid being caught by the Creeper. But it also gave Velma, Fred, and Daphne the room to find a car that had been hidden nearby with a torn up "negative", something that Hex clarified was meant to be like a picture.
"Oh, so was the paper an actual picture?" Whitty asked, not quite getting the shared look that was passed between Carol, Hex, and Cyrix, but they were smiling so hopefully it wasn't that bad, right?
Though thinking about the why of that immediately brought memories of being in the Dearest mansion, that had been a gamut run of various little moments and tells that Whitty had been hopeless to keep up with, and after a while he felt like he was being intentionally kept out of the loop. It also bought plenty of the more unwelcome surprises, but Carol, Hex, and Cyrix wouldn't do that, right?
…Right?
In an effort to not think about it, Whitty threw himself back into the episode, his mind quickly growing distracted with the different developments ranging from the Hermit the gang found to the baby chick that thought Scooby was his mom. And of course, the Creeper, who kept showing up and hollering about the paper.
Eventually they were able to get the Creeper trapped, and when unmasked it turned out that the bank president had been robbing his own bank. Whitty couldn't help listening with some interest, even as he felt the plan was somewhat convoluted and didn't make a ton of sense.
But it was right as the episode was wrapping up that the bomb found that he was slumping into his half of the couch, a yawn slipping out as he dazedly watched the closing credits.
"Ready for bed?" Carol asked, Whitty jolting a little before he belatedly realized that yep, the yawn had been a fairly obvious tell.
"I-I can stay up…"
"Whitty, if you're tired, then you're tired. Besides, if you're just getting over something then you oughta be sleeping. It does help." Carol pointed out, patting Whitty's hand as she spoke. Albeit, with a glance at the clock, she did have another factor to add in. "It is also getting late, and I need to wake up for work tomorrow anyway."
"We can also do this again if you like, Whitty." Hex pointed out, working with Cyrix to grab up the various bowls and cups they'd been using.
"Absolutely. What's having a fun night watching cartoons between friends?" Carol added, the warmth and promise of another night like this one bringing a cautious smile to Whitty's face.
Well, he'd maybe want a night like this without the earlier exploding, if he could avoid it. Or the Greater Good renewing their efforts to find him. The thought immediately made Whitty's good mood do a downturn, but he tried to keep it from leaking out too much. No need to make the others worried, even as he tried to be careful not to linger too close to any doors or windows while he was saying goodbye to Carol.
Hex seemed primed to hang around downstairs, finish up a few things for tomorrow, he'd said. Though he'd been insistent that Whitty go upstairs and get some sleep, something that Whitty could agree was probably a good thing to do, even with the thought of the Greater Good weighing on his mind.
However, as he was arriving on the landing, he happened to overhear Cyrix saying something to Hex that caught his attention, Whitty turning partially around as he listened.
"I'm gonna check on some things around the house, just wanna be sure everything's good." Cyrix was saying, going to the front door with Whitty hearing the somewhat reassuring and worrying noise of the lock sliding into place. Well, at least it offered a barrier against whatever might be outside, whether that be a Greater Good agent or, well, a monster.
It was such a faint thing, still kind of hazed by his ballistic meltdown, but that sense of fear, that brief snapshot of seeing mobile, desiccated fingers slipping through a grotesque mouth, put a brief sense of shivery nerves into Whitty's stomach. True, it hadn't seemed so bad during the day, but that was when everything of the monstrous variety seemed very far away and removed. Now, it felt like he could glance out a window, or into some darkened space in the house, and witness something he wasn't sure he wanted to see.
Whitty ended up standing there long enough for Cyrix to finish with his check of the doors and begin making his way upstairs, the bomb briefly flinching at the sound before he realized who it was. Cyrix too paused, clearly not expecting to see Whitty there, but he at least was able to regain his cool pretty quick, voice pitched low but still casual as he joined the towering bomb on the landing.
"Hey. Thought you went to bed already?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'." Whitty hummed, shuffling his way over to his door though after flicking the lights he did end up pausing to make sure nothing about the room looked…off.
It was a pause that Cyrix likely noticed, given his next words.
"Didn't see anything off, but I'll be keeping an eye on the cameras tonight just in case. Try to get some rest, alright?"
Well, at least Whitty wasn't the only one aware of potential dangers tonight, the feeling more than a little heartening as the bomb gave a small nod and a smile, stepping over the threshold of his bedroom door and gently nudging it closed. After checking in the closet just to be on the safe side, Whitty toyed with the idea of raising the blinds before he decided that, well, if someone did want to know if he was here, then that would just be handing them an answer, as well as a nice bullseye when it came to picking out which room he was staying in.
No, best if he just slipped into bed and tried to keep an ear out for any potential trouble, though it still took Whitty an embarrassingly long time to turn off the light. Not that he ought to have worried, it didn't take his eyes long to adjust, and the room looked pretty much the same, just dark.
Despite his desire to stay awake, it didn't take long for the comfortable, safer climes to work their magic, Whitty falling asleep not long after.