A/N: Alright, had this one sitting for a while, and I realized it was getting extremely long. Didn't wanna cut it though, so what I have is the initial, inciting incident, and a more solidifying aftermath that's gonna be coming later. So, y'all get a two-parter! Everybody is the property of their original creators, I'm just playing around with 'em for the time being. Hope you enjoy!
Coming Clean:
Perhaps Whitty should have been more in tune with the moment when Carol and Hex had somehow got onto the topic of emotions. He'd been a little distracted at the time, given that he'd had one near run-in with an agent following the whole, mess, at the soccer field. Thankfully not Updike, and Whitty was able to get away before he could be cornered, but the encounter stuck in his mind.
So, when Carol had mentioned something about crying, and Hex had given the somewhat more logic-based explanation that he wasn't really capable of crying, being a robot and all, Whitty had made the mistake of giving his answer a flippant tone as he replied that he didn't cry. Ever. And then looked away because someone moving on the periphery caught his eye, someone wearing white, and completely missed any apparent plan being cooked up between his two friends.
It made him completely unprepared for when Hex and Carol asked him to come to Carol's house, with the invitation to watch a movie. It sounded like a nice one, for sure, something about a mouse?
He couldn't say that he'd paid too much attention, and that was yet another mistake he'd made during this whole…thing. Not paying attention, not noticing how things were aligning until he'd been all but backed into a corner.
Except not really, because it was so stupid in retrospect. He'd gotten upset over a stupid, stupid kid's movie, because he was a moron whose emotions were all over the place and wasn't that just lovely, wasn't it all just so damn great, why couldn't you keep your stupid mess to yourself you walking WRECK—
…Well, either way. He should have known better.
It was an interesting thought to have in retrospect towards the very end of the movie, after watching this absolutely tiny, completely trusting mouse go through hell after hell to find his family, only to end up in an alleyway tearfully proclaiming that this was his home now—
—Whitty's lungs were burning when he finally stopped, crouching behind a dumpster as he tried to get his air back. His clothes were in shambles, his old leather jacket a tattered wreck around his arms. The body had pretty much disintegrated after he'd crawled out of the smoldering remains of the building he'd-
Don't think about it. You can't do anything about it now, don't think about it.
He called me a FAILURE, he told me to leave, I thought he cared! Didn't he care at all?!
Don't think about it.
Even with the mantra thumping away in his mind, Whitty couldn't help a sob from coming up as he huddled there, feeling more alone than he'd ever had before. At least before, he hadn't known what it was like to have something you cared about, to have people who cared for you.
Or at least, people who'd seemed like they cared…
Not that it mattered anyway. It was gone now. He was on his own.
It didn't stop the crying, the gasping sobbing that felt less like tears and more like he was trying to flail away from that realization. That no one was coming. There wasn't any rescue, YOU'RE ALL ALONE NOW AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT—
And it wasn't helping how things were playing out on the screen, hitting Whitty with that gut-punch of familiar emotions, that horrible reminder, and then whisking it away by having that last minute save.
One that he'd never gotten to see.
Whitty couldn't tell if his breathing was growing faster because he was upset or angry, but he'd clearly gotten someone's attention given that the screen paused on that happy reunion, a soft call of his name coming from somewhere off to the side.
It could have been Hex, Carol, maybe even Sunday, weren't they still in the house somewhere? Either way, Whitty didn't answer and he didn't let himself think. He just bolted to his feet and went right down the hall to the bathroom, throwing the door closed and leaning against it as he tried to breathe.
The light had been on already, the sight of himself in the mirror snapping Whitty out of his turbulent emotions better than a bucket of cold water to the face.
There were black tears forming in the corners of his eyes, a few spots already dotting the front of his shirt. He was shaking with how heavily he was breathing, his eyes wide and growing wider as he took in his current state.
And worse still, his wick was smoking.
Immediately Whitty reached behind his head, grasping and attempting to smother the brewing fire with his own hands. Though fire itself didn't bother him, the somewhat metallic threads of the wick were searing enough that he quickly felt a flash of pain go through his fingers.
It didn't help that not a second after he did that, someone knocked on the doorway. Before Whitty could stop himself a pained yelp tore through his throat, his body jolting itself to the side and right into the open shower. The bomb's head cracked against the tile, the whole world turning incomprehensible as he slid down to sit on the cool plastic floor. Whitty could hear noise, a couple different voices talking outside before the telltale sound of the bathroom door opening made him jump out of his skin.
"Whitty? Are you okay?"
Hex?
The robot peeking around the corner did catch Whitty's attention, and though he recognized Hex, the bomb still flinched away with a yelp as Hex tried to come closer. Immediately Hex stopped, though he knelt after a moment, not retreating as he spoke to Whitty.
"Whitty? It's alright. It's me. Hex. Remember?"
The bomb nodded, though he couldn't stop a tremble from reverberating through his arms as he huddled in on himself. It still felt like the air was being sucked from the room, but there was a little bit of space. Enough that Whitty could tell his wick had stopped smoking, though he couldn't say the same for his eyes tearing. He had to stop that, had to calm down…
"Here. Whitty, look at me. Just focus on me right now," Hex murmured, a softer smile taking root over his screen as the bomb's orange eyes zeroed in on the electronic display. The robot's smile blinked away, becoming a glowing circle that softly swirled into existence, and then out, and then back in. It really only occurred to Whitty what was happening when he caught sight of a corresponding line of text, instructing him to breathe in and out in time with the circle appearing and disappearing.
And it was working, the shivering gulps of air turning into slow, deep breaths, one right after the other. The adrenaline was running slowly out of the bomb's frame, his head lolling forward a bit as he continued to breathe. He couldn't help wincing at the feeling of a few oily tears slipping down his face, but it was better than the veritable waterfalls that had been primed to break free before. And a lot safer, especially since Whitty could see Carol peeking around the corner, clearly wondering what the heck was going on.
Why don't you tell them.
The thought had the bomb wincing, averting his eyes like there was some shameful secret in plain view. He hadn't forgotten the talk he'd had with Cyrix, following the whole soccer field incident, but, he hadn't found the time to bring things up with Hex like he'd wanted to. Of course, there'd been a part of Whitty that never wanted to, to just have things keep going like they had been. Though he knew it would only be a matter of time now, just a matter of asking the right questions and while they'd been polite before surely that politeness was just about to run out…
"Whitty?" Hex spoke up, the aforementioned bomb jolting a bit at the sound of his name. "How are you feeling?"
"…Fine." Whitty mumbled, flinching somewhat as Carol gave a faint, but no less disbelieving sigh.
"Somehow, I don't think that's entirely true."
Even though Hex didn't say anything, it was clear he didn't believe Whitty either, the animation of the swirling circle blinking off the screen and being replaced with a pair of glowing "eyes". The ones Hex usually only tended to pull out when he was being really serious.
The realization made Whitty flinch again and huddle down on himself, practically riveting his gaze to the floor of the shower.
They're gonna know THEY'RE ALL GONNA KNOW—
Blinking hard, Whitty's eyes yanked themselves over to the other side of the shower, the bomb fighting the impulse to curl up more. The only thing keeping his fuse from lighting at this point, it seemed, was the fact that any fear was being smothered under a heavy sense of shame, as well as a strange sort of tense relief. Just let it be out, let it be over, please, just let it be quick…
"Okay, that last scene in the movie clearly didn't sit well with you. Think maybe we could talk about that?" Carol finally spoke up, sighing as she sat down on the toilet lid while keeping an eye on the bomb. "It'd be better than just having it sit up in that dome of yours."
It was a sound enough principle, but Whitty still ended up sitting there in silence for a good few minutes, doing his damnedest to vanish into the shower tile. It didn't surprise him much when Hex spoke up, electronic voice bleeding compassion and worry.
"Whitty, we're here. What's wrong?"
If it's gonna be over, then let it be over quick, please, just get it over with…
"Nothin', it's, was a great movie. Just, reminded me of some things…" Whitty stammered, finally wrenching his jaw open. Even still, he knew it didn't answer much of anything, the bomb still bracing for the conversation that was to come.
"What kind of things?" Carol asked, still in that lower, more concerned tone, but there was an air of inquisitiveness to it. And, well, fair enough. Whitty knew he'd never really liked talking about his past. Guess they were talking about it now…
"…I'm never gonna have that. No one's gonna just, come for me. Make my problems go away. It's not, I don't get that." Still didn't get to the heart of it, still didn't get this over with, but the words spoke to some forlorn and lonely part of the bomb's mind. In a strange way, it felt good to finally admit to something, even if it was just his own emotions.
"…Maybe someone could help you with them, if you'd tell people what exactly these problems are?" Carol asked, that calm and reasonable tone getting more grating when Whitty remembered just how telling someone about his problems had gone before. Not that Carol and Hex were anything like the Dearests, but everyone had to have their upper limit for problems, right? And, well, Whitty was nothing but problems. Talking about them didn't mean they just stopped.
"Won't work." The bomb finally huffed out, frustration and fear mixing into a tone that probably sounded very close to annoyance. It wasn't entirely inaccurate, he did feel annoyed…but moreso at himself. Moreso because he'd allowed himself to get caught up like this, catching them up in this. His friends who had done literally nothing wrong, and if anything deserved so much better than—
"Whitty, you don't know that." Hex replied, inadvertently cutting the bomb's thought off. Not that it really helped with his bristling irritation. If anything, it made Whitty feel worse. They just weren't getting it…
"It won't, it'll just—blow up in my fuckin' face. Like everything else has." The words came out with a harsher tone than Whitty would've used ordinarily, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel the least bit sorry. They put on the movie that set this whole thing off…even as a part of Whitty pointed out that they had no way of knowing the effect the movie would have, given that the bomb had remained mum on everything going on in his life…
"Why don't you feel like you can trust us?" Hex asked, electronic voice somber but even-keeled, making Whitty feel all the worse about snapping earlier. But they had to understand, they had to know…
"That's not—Because I'll just—" The bomb stammered out, thinking of a million potential ways to broach this and finding he didn't like any of them. So, he let out a tired, frustrated, probably somewhat steam-exuding sigh before he went on in a tone that just screamed how done he was with all this back and forth. "Okay, fine. You want a reason? Reason number one, I am a walking, talking weapon. I set things on fire, I explode when I'm pissed off enough, I can scare someone just by walkin' up to them, hell my tears are fuckin' flammable. An' y'know what? I thought I had an out, with singin' an', just, everything. And then whoop-de-fuckin'-doo, it's gone in a massive fireball 'cause I am just meant to break shit. All the shit. Even your shit, Carol."
He punctuated that by pointing up at the crack he'd left in the tile of the bathroom wall, and Whitty knew it was there, he'd definitely heard something break. But Carol didn't seem to pay it much mind, didn't even spare it more than a passing glance. Instead, she glanced from that, back to him, looking at Whitty so much more closely even as she spoke with a tone that would have suggested calm casualness otherwise.
"Alright, well, glad you shared, first and foremost, and secondly, I'm a little insulted that you'd think that the shower tile means more to me than you."
"Huh?" Whitty grunted, as that…really wasn't what he'd been expecting. More upset. Maybe yelling, or disappointment. There did seem to be some kind of emotion there, but it wasn't either of those two. The bomb was utterly lost for how to react, the earlier, angry wind completely gone from his sails as he sat there, staring at the both of them.
"Your head's bleeding. You don't think that would be my first concern, rather than a shower tile? The fact that my friend's hurt and has an open wound?" Carol went on, indicating a spot that was definitely dripping on the side of Whitty's head. He hadn't bothered to look, hadn't even bothered to really try touching it. As far as the bomb was concerned, there wouldn't be much of a point.
"…I heal fast. It's not gonna be open long."
"Regardless. If you think the tile means more to me than my friend Whitty, well, I'd think you'd need to get your head examined, but the head wound's giving you a little leeway there." Carol's words struck Whitty completely silent, the bomb simply staring at her for a moment before letting his eyes drop back to the floor in between them. "Here, let's try to clean that up…"
The brief shifting following that statement yanked Whitty's eyes back up again, but it was only because Carol was grabbing some tissues, which she then used to mop at the drips of orangish, kinda-sorta blood that Whitty could feel running down the side of his head. The bomb readily let his eyeline fall again, feeling more than a little out of his depth. But before he could completely step back, at least on a mental level, Hex spoke up.
"…I'm not scared of you."
"Hex—" Whitty started, though he was almost glad the robot interrupted him, because he had no idea where he was going with this. Was he going to tell Hex not to continue, thank him? Could have been either or, at this point.
But even still, Hex carried on, further breaking through Whitty's admittedly battered defenses.
"And, I don't think you're a weapon. I think you're my friend. I know it might sound very…paltry, but I'm sorry that things didn't work out before. You're a very wonderful person, Whitty. You deserve better in life. Even if you don't feel like you do."
But he didn't know, he didn't know the trouble Whitty could bring him, the thought driving the aforementioned bomb to huddle in on himself a little bit more, a hand clasped to his head in either defeated exasperation, or perhaps a shield.
"'M not wonderful…" The bomb murmured, though Hex seemed not to hear, and kept talking.
"Our jam sessions together are wonderful. I've always enjoyed them. I liked it when you've helped me work on those older recipes we found online. Remember? Tomato soup cake? And I know you don't always enjoy it, but you playing basketball with me has been wonderful. And you did all that just by being you. I could hardly ask for anything else."
"B-But I, you don't know—" Whitty answered in the ensuing lull, though he couldn't finish his thought. It was too much, he could feel the tears threatening to fall, he'd make a mess, make more trouble for his friends, if they would even stay his friends after he told them the whole story…
"Then you can tell me. Whatever you want. I'll listen." Hex went on, unaware of the conflict brewing inside Whitty's mind. "And I apologize if this is too intrusive, but…you look tired, Whitty. You did have a place to stay this past week, right?"
It was such a switch that Whitty didn't have anything to say, though when he didn't immediately answer, Carol spoke up.
"Wait, he wasn't at your house? Because I know he wasn't here."
"I wasn't at anyone's house…" Whitty mumbled, avoiding both sets of eyes that were now undoubtably looking at him.
"So, what, you were just, sleeping on street corners?" Carol spoke up after a moment went by and it became very clear that Whitty wouldn't be elaborating without some prompting.
"No, alleys. Don't wanna be out in the open." The bomb replied in clipped tones, keeping his eyes averted.
"…Y'know, being at someone's house would keep you from being out in the open. Just saying." Carol said eventually, her more sardonic tenor making Whitty almost wince before he caught himself, choosing instead to speak up.
"Can't do that, it'll…" You're saying too much, you're saying too much, shut up shut up shut up…
"It'll what?" Carol asked, after the silence had dragged on for too long. When it became clear Whitty wasn't going to continue, she went on, this time trying for something a little more sincere, still trying to extend an olive branch. Not that he was sure he deserved it… "Look, if this is about groceries, we'll work something out. You don't need to be sleeping on the streets just because you think you're difficult. Which, you're really not by the way."
"You don't even know what's goin' on…" The bomb tried to reply, though his voice quickly grew choked and he cut himself off to breathe. Don't cry don't cry don't cry…
"Then, can you tell us? If there's a problem, we want to be here for you, Whitty. We want to help you. Please, just let us in." Hex had been the one to jump in that time, the robot's words utterly sincere as well as worried, just making Whitty feel all the more worse even as he tried to speak through a tight throat.
"I, I can't, I can't do that to…"
He didn't want to start crying, not at all. Gasoline, fumes. While Hex might've been okay Carol would definitely have problems, but God he couldn't stop himself anymore. Here they were coming to the real problems, the tougher, less easily digested parts of himself that would surely make a friendship untenable. That would force Whitty out, make him alone again.
But he didn't want to be…not anymore…
Whitty jolted a little as Hex crawled to sit next to him in the shower, arms wrapping around the bomb's shivering shoulders in a hug. Though there was a part of him that wanted to reach out, grab and hold on with such desperation that it was startling, he held back on the grounds that he hadn't even gotten to the difficult stuff yet. Instead, Whitty looked up, locking eyes with Carol and found himself surprised by the sheer intensity of the emotion in the young woman's gaze. He couldn't tell if she was tearing up because of the fumes, or because he himself was crying. She certainly looked upset though, achingly so, something that struck Whitty like one of Updike's bullets. Even with the makeshift mask of her shirt to help her with the odor of gas.
Hex's speakers humming for a moment caught Whitty's attention, his tears stopping completely for an instant at the new sound. Though they returned in full at the robot's words, even if they were slightly muffled by the fact that Hex still had Whitty in a hug.
"Whitty, it's okay. We're here. We're here. Just tell us what's wrong."
Just get it out, get it over with, rip it off like it's a band aid…
"I-I…" Whitty started, briefly swallowing around a thickness in his throat. "Y'know what I said, 'bout, bein' made t'be a weapon…'n breakin' things…I was, was literally made to do that. To explode an' sometimes if I'm really, really mad, it…can happen. Has happened. The reason I'm not in music anymore 's cause'a me blowin' up an' takin' out the back of a building. Mr. Dearest, he told me to, to get out…"
He'd said a bit more than that. That Whitty'd been a lost cause, a failure, great voice but too much of a problem to really get anywhere in life. All with the casual flippantness of someone simply going down a list, like the person that they'd spent so much time teaching music to hadn't turned up at their door in a panic, with half-shredded and burnt clothes, after having run from the burning remains of a building. And then he'd made his position entirely clear when the first guy turned up for the bounty on Whitty's head with a knife. Thankfully Whitty healed from his injuries, otherwise his right hand would've been completely crippled and probably stayed that way.
Though the memory of his sliced-up hand made Whitty shudder anyway, at least for a moment. The real sharp wake-up call to that had been just how alone he'd been, grievously injured and unable to go to anyone for help. And now it was looking like he'd be alone again, the thought nearly smothering his ability to speak before a quick squeeze from Hex grounded him.
The feeling of one of Carol's hands reaching down to grasp at his arm also snapped Whitty back to the present. He looked up to meet her eyes, still partially obscured through a makeshift mask of her own shirt. Her eyes were also tearing up a little, the observation making Whitty do his best to try to control his breathing, calm down, anything to stop the fumes and make things easier on her.
Just get through it, get it out, if it's gonna be over, then let it be over, just get it out…
"A-An' that's where, that's where a lotta things started, started happenin'…" A few deep breaths, Whitty letting his eyeline fall to his knees. He didn't want to see their reactions, hopefully if they were going to throw him out it'd be quick…
"I-It was after that that, people started comin' t'find me, people from Dearest, an' some others. They call themselves the Greater Good. I've seen a few of 'em, but the one that's—" Shot me, told me he wants me to die… "—Been, been sent after me, specifically I guess, was this guy, named Updike."
"They're not just coming to find you, are they." It was not really a question, and Whitty had a difficult time figuring out if the hardness in Carol's voice was being directed at him or what he was saying. He flinched either way, trying to force himself to talk even as his eyes itched and a faint pain squeezed at his head.
"No. They're…they've all been tryin' t'kill me. I don't wanna stay in one place too long, 'cause then they'll find me. An' they'll get you all involved an', an' y-you don't deserve it…"
A new wave of tears pushed through despite Whitty's efforts, and he knew his shirt was a lost cause at this point. There was the brief thought in his mind that he could be doing something to Hex's arm, damaging it in some way, but, well, Whitty was sure that Hex wouldn't be letting go anytime soon, and a part of the bomb didn't want him to let go.
Please, just stay a little longer.
The silence carried on for a lot longer than Whitty was sure was a good thing, but in the moment he wasn't really aware of the time passing. Tears were still slipping down his face but it was in slower spurts, he'd mostly sputtered out in terms of energy.
The sound of a motor kicking on made Whitty jump, his eyes snapping up just in time to see Carol pulling away from the light switches next to the bathroom door. She'd just flicked the middle one, looking back at Whitty's startled gaze.
"It's okay, it's just a fan. Gonna ventilate the room a bit. Was there anything else you needed to say, Whitty?"
There was a lot the bomb could say. Thank you for everything, you don't have to stay friends if you don't want to, I'm so sorry, thank you so much, you've helped me more than you know, and you don't have to but, please, please just let me stay a little longer. But he'd already taken up enough of their time, and the fumes from his tears were likely filling the whole bathroom, hence why Carol turned on the fan.
"No, no, it's, it's okay. Gotta clean this up," the bomb mumbled, trying not to grow too despondent as Hex pulled away. Keeping his emotions to a dull sort of impassivity, Whitty slipped off his shirt though he hesitated at taking off his pants, which definitely had a stain or two from his tears.
"Alright. I'll get you your pajamas, okay?"
Hex didn't sound like he was going to run off and not come back, but Whitty knew better than to just take words at face value. Especially when he'd been let down already, more times than he could count…
Still, it didn't feel right to make a scene. Hex didn't have to do anything for him. So Whitty just offered the robot a dull 'alright' and let him go. It took a moment for Hex to extricate himself from the shower but the robot hurried off, Whitty fighting the strong urge to call for him to come back.
He didn't have the right, the thought growing stronger as the living bomb looked over the stains dotting and in some cases running over his shirt and pants, as well as going in a trail towards the shower drain. He didn't have the right, they were already doing more than enough. Even if they decided that tonight was it, that Whitty had to be gone by morning for their own safety, he didn't have the right to ask for more.
They were already risking plenty just having him be here, Whitty had no right to want anything.
The living bomb went through the motions of getting ready, more passively registering the completion of steps before he actually got the water running. Briefly, he couldn't help catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his features almost human, almost, but his height forcing him to crouch down to properly use the damn shower, a few dried streaks of fluid still visible on his face.
Mirroring the streaks that were being slowly washed down the drain, leaving a few odd smears behind. Wincing at the sight, Whitty tried to rub away the stains on his own face, trying his best to avoid looking in the mirror again as he clambered into the shower.
If you were anybody else, your life would be so much better.
Yeah, couldn't disagree with that one, the thought bringing a renewed, dull haze to the bomb's mind as he slipped back into the routine of cleaning himself up. Before he realized it, he'd been simply sitting under the showerhead for about ten minutes, and someone was knocking on the door.
Whitty couldn't tell if he felt exhausted or merely out of it, though he hurried to turn off the water and go to the door, standing firmly behind it out of some knee-jerk sense of vulnerability/exposure.
"Well, he's got everything else in all the right places."/ "There he is!"
Yep, thank you memories, definitely needed to think about that right now. Still, Whitty tried to stow the more unwelcome thoughts, giving a half-smile he hoped didn't look too strained to Hex as he reached around the door to grab his pajamas. Even as he fumbled through the act of getting them on, Whitty stubbornly averted his eyes from the mirror directly in front of him.
But, eventually there was nothing else to do but go out and actually get ready for bed. And, well, Hex hadn't moved from his spot outside the door. Whitty didn't have the heart to tell the robot he didn't have to keep an eye on him, or pretend to care, so for the moment he just kept his eyes down and merely nodded when Hex asked if he was okay.
"Whitty?" Hex said, the repetition of his name snapping the bomb out of his relative stupor. Had he said something wrong? The thought made a faintly fearful tension coil through his stomach, though as Whitty stared down at Hex's screen, he couldn't register any signs of anger or irritation. But there was a sort of, worry, maybe?
Had he done something wrong? But before Whitty could do anything more than think the question Hex continued.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I, I…" The living bomb started, fumbling around for a moment before his eyeline dropped to his feet. "I'm just tired. That's, I'll be fine. Think I just need to sleep."
"Alright." Hex replied, the slight pause only lasting for a few minutes before the robot went on. "I'll show you to where you can sleep, but, I wanted to ask first, do you want a hug?"
The words completely took Whitty off-guard, the bomb unable to keep himself from looking back to Hex's screen. Now there was a smaller, but no less there smile, the robot's arms held open in invitation.
If the words had been a surprise, the open gesture of friendship and caring completely ripped the rug out from under Whitty's feet, the bomb's expression dropping from passively dull to wide-eyed, almost afraid.
"Y-You mean…?" He'd had to stop talking. His throat had caught, vision blurring enough that he couldn't help a flicker of instinctive nerves at the idea that he was crying again. But even as his arm came up to wipe at his face, Whitty couldn't keep himself from somewhat frantically gesturing from Hex to himself.
"I, I, you're not, I, I'm sorry, I just…" The bomb's stammering cut off as Hex practically launched himself into Whitty's midsection, knocking the wind out of him for a second. But once it clicked what was happening the bomb practically rushed to hug Hex back. Hug him back, and keep wiping frantically at his eyes because oh boy those were definitely some heavier emotions bubbling up all of a sudden…
"Shh, Whitty, just breathe, it's okay, just breathe, in, one two three four, hold for two three four, let out two three four five six…"
It thankfully didn't take long for the bomb to figure out just what Hex meant by the counting, easily falling into the rhythm of breathe in, hold, and breathe out. Whitty honestly didn't realize quite how tense he had been until he noticed his head was practically drooping over Hex's shoulder, the robot nearly holding him up on his feet. Sniffling, Whitty absently rubbed at his face just to make sure it was free of any stray drips of gasoline. Or whatever the hell his tears were made of. It wasn't really all that important now.
"Hey, Whitty?" Hex spoke up, the aforementioned bomb jolting a bit with a grunt. Thankfully the robot didn't sound too bothered, rubbing up and down Whitty's back for a moment before continuing. "Did you want to get some sleep? I know where Carol set up your room for the night, I can take you there if you like!"
It was somewhat subdued, though it did have Hex's trademark enthusiasm, enough that it dulled the sting from the thought that this might be the only time Whitty would be sleeping in Carol's house. Or potentially seeing Carol again at all, though Hex didn't sound like Carol had told him that Whitty could only stay the one night.
Besides. No right to complain, and all that. And Whitty was too tired to feel anything more than careworn. So he nodded, giving a noise that Hex thankfully took as a 'yes please', and let the robot lead him off down the hall. Carol's house was definitely smaller than Hex's, though Whitty reasoned that that was likely true of a lot of houses. Hex's house was big, the Dearests's place had been big. Carol's and Sunday's, was relatively small. But there was an extra bedroom at the back, one that Carol had said was for guests, or really anyone that wanted to sleep over.
It didn't take Whitty long to spot the fact that they'd lengthened the bed though, or tried to. Carol had clearly taken notes from Hex, there was a, a big seat cushion with legs, stuck at the foot of the bed, and covered with sheets. However, there was a noticeable difference in height between the mattress and the standing cushion thing, one that stood out even as Hex lifted the quilt and blankets away.
Turns out, that difference was because there was some sort of soft pad on the mattress, Whitty growing briefly enraptured by the feeling of his hand sinking into the plush surface.
"What the hell…?"
"Oh, yes, that's a memory foam pad. If you like I can try to take it off, but it might take a few minutes to fix the sheets up again."
"No, no, it's okay," Whitty hummed, carefully clambering up onto the bed before lying down like a somewhat house-shy dog that hadn't quite figured out its bearings yet. However, as he laid down and started to sink into the mattress a bit the bomb couldn't help settling in, eyes giving a slower, more relaxed blink.
"You think you might need anything? Water, maybe another blanket?" Hex asked, turning away for a brief moment as he considered what was in the room. There likely was an extra blanket in the closet, but water would likely involve going back downstairs.
Even still, the robot was more than happy to act on Whitty's next words, the bomb's voice gone a little quiet with exhaustion but Hex had no trouble hearing him.
"Water would be nice, thanks…"
"Sure thing, I'll be right back, okay?" The robot's response was met with a softer murmur, Hex taking that as his cue to skedaddle. However, in the time it took for Hex to run downstairs, get water, and come back up, Whitty had fallen dead asleep, partially sprawled on the bed with his eyes somewhat open.
It was such a downright funny sight that though Hex didn't dare laugh and wake Whitty up, a flicker went through his screen that betrayed him as he edged closer to at least drape a blanket over the comatose bomb. That part was accomplished easily enough, though Whitty did start with a small snort, eyes roving around for a moment before focusing on Hex and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a recognizing grin. Not that he stayed awake long, eyes unfocusing as they slid closed, Whitty letting out a slight snore as he dropped off.
Though the image was definitely a rare, kind of adorable one, Hex couldn't help the brief thought of what had been discussed not that long ago.
Does he really look dangerous to you?
Even though it was probably cathartic, Hex couldn't help feeling a sort of reciprocal, compassionate ache as he recalled how Whitty had cried. Well, cried wasn't really the best term. Whitty hadn't just been crying, he'd been downright sobbing, completely crushed under the weight of, well, everything he'd been dealing with. On his own, for far too long, it sounded like.
There was a part of Hex that honestly wanted to stay put, almost keep watch. Even though this was something of a far cry from previous misadventures, what had happened still felt close enough to home that the robot couldn't help noting the impulse to stand guard in Whitty's room.
Not that that likely would end well, all things considered. Given what Whitty had told him the idea of being watched while he was sleeping would likely upset the living bomb more than anything else. So, with a somewhat regretful, metaphorically heavy heart, Hex went for the door, resigning himself to keeping watch from downstairs for the night.
That night the relatively small kitchen saw a bit of a meeting, and a fairly understandable one given the night everyone had just had. Though it was upwind of two AM, no one was really eager to sleep just yet, at least not without letting out some of their own thoughts about what had just happened.
Or at the very least, that had been where Carol's current thoughts were, the young woman pacing around her kitchen in a slight fury before going to work on the dishes in the sink, grumbling angrily to herself as she did.
"No wonder he's so jumpy, no wonder he disappears for weeks, no goddamn wonder he was so afraid of going out places, that jackass abandoned him and sent hitmen after him!"
"Just clarifying, who's the jackass?" A somewhat faint voice spoke up from the direction of the living room, reminding Carol that the door to the kitchen was left open and Sunday could probably hear every word given that they were currently camped out in one of the recliners. Practically a stone's throw away, and while Carol did have the sneaking thought that Whitty probably hadn't been intending for his secrets to be spread throughout the house she couldn't help replying back.
"Daddy Dearest is the jackass in question. Bastard took Whitty in, abandoned him, and now Whitty's, apparently running for his life every other day thanks to him sending hitmen. Because I guess the jackass can't stand his protégé going freelance or some BS."
It was a bit more complicated than that, though for the moment it felt like the best way to sum up that mess. Carol could also hear the sounds of Sunday actually sitting up and actually moving towards the kitchen, hinting that this was going to be a much longer conversation. There were also the distinct sounds of clanking, hinting at Hex coming down the stairs. Though it lacked his usual enthusiasm, the robot's footsteps a little more ponderous than usual.
Oh gee, wonder why? Carol couldn't help thinking, turning away from the dishes in the sink. Probably best to have her full attention on the topic ahead.
Sunday was the first through the door, sleepily stumbling through with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders.
"Whitty's bein' hunted by actual hitmen? Like, not just random weirdos, actual hitmen?"
"If he's telling the truth, and I'm inclined to believe he is, then yep." Carol replied, folding her arms as her frown settled in heavier on her face. Questions were firing through her mind one after the other, how long had this been going on, have they hurt him, how badly, how are they finding him, what was the ultimate goal there, and more importantly, was any of it something that Whitty should be dealing with considering the circumstances?
The answer to the last one was a resounding NO, Carol feeling all the more sure in her assertion when she recalled what Whitty had told her about his, well, nature, so to speak. Being a living weapon, a living explosive. Even though Whitty hadn't really said what the trigger for the apparent explosion was, Carol felt incredibly inclined to believe that stress could play a role. After all, if Whitty was some sort of…designed thing, a basic "test tube baby", it stood to reason that he'd operate off of some kind of rules. The explosions didn't seem to be something he had entirely conscious control over, otherwise nothing likely would have happened in terms of his music career quite literally blowing up.
Maybe it was a weird form of stress response, which therefore made it seem all the more stupid that various groups were trying to hunt Whitty down. Wouldn't stressing out the living explosive just make it more likely for mishaps to happen? Unless the point was for a mishap to happen, in which case Carol had the distinct feeling that Whitty was being set up, again, and that just made her very, very angry.
"Damn, now I feel very bad for that crack I made about him being so jumpy." Sunday murmured, drawing Carol out of her thoughts. "Figure if you're getting hunted down, you're probably gonna be a basket case."
"To say the least." Carol murmured, a hand kneading at the bridge of her nose turning into a rough tousle of her hair. Anything to bleed off some of the frustrated energy, especially since she could hear Hex cautiously approaching the door. The robot did linger outside, not that Carol could blame him much for his nerves. However, when he poked his head around the doorframe, Carol was quick to wave him in.
"Hex? How are you feeling?"
Though it did seem like Hex was trying to be as together as possible, it wasn't long after Carol spoke that some nerves began to peek through. Namely in the form of the robot's pincer-hands clicking together, screen averting itself as a pair of simpler "eyes" popped up. These squinted somewhat, Hex briefly wrestling with his own emotions before he finally answered.
"I, I think I'm a little worried? And, maybe afraid? Definitely afraid." Once that was out, it wasn't long before another, more heartbreaking realization slipped out, Hex's shoulders slumping a bit. "I don't want to lose him."
Carol's face softened, holding out her arms as she walked forward, Hex eagerly meeting her in a hug. Even though she wasn't sure it would actually help, her hands still rubbed lines in the robot's back, a more automatic action as she murmured her reply.
"I know. I don't wanna lose him either."
The words made a brief squeeze run through Hex's arms, the pressure just shy of painful. But Carol knew that there was a deeper meaning behind the robot's upset. She had, after all, seen the room off in the corner of the robot's home that Hex had kept closed. His general excuse had been for storage, but she'd seen the pictures around, and had been friends with Hex long enough to know that there was a particular day of the year where he withdrew, then was back to his usual self the following day. It wasn't something they'd really talked about, but it was a mutually understood sort of thing.
However, before she could grow too sunk into her thoughts, Hex spoke up, a faint, synthesized sigh in the first half of his words.
"Thank you. And, I'm sorry, I don't want to take away from things if you are also upset."
Leave it to Hex to worry about someone else while he was worried, Carol giving a softer sigh of her own as she replied.
"Naw, don't worry about it. You're my friend, I can be there for you too." Drawing back, she continued, in more of a conversational vein and with circular gestures to match. "If anything, I'm more fucking pissed. Especially since it sounds like Whitty's being, I dunno, set up all over again. Think about it, what probably makes him explode?"
A slight flicker of a loading wheel popped up on Hex's screen, the robot's pincer "hand" tapping at the bottom of his monitor as he likely went back over the talk they'd had with Whitty. Moments later the animation was dropped for a somewhat furrowed set of eyes, Hex's "mouth" appearing as a sideways slash.
"…I don't, actually think he said."
"Yeah, we can clarify that part, but I'm thinking, he's a biological being, right? So he has to work off the same rules as everyone else does, just maybe a little skewed 'cause of—" The best way Carol could express her thoughts was calling Whitty a 'test-tube baby'. Which, yeah, he basically was, but after everything that felt like a really, really crappy shorthand for being created in a lab. Which, felt like another thing that would have to be discussed at a later point, like, had they treated Whitty like a person or was he just…treated like a weapon? His insistence on that word seemed to hint at the latter, which was more than a little heartbreaking now that Carol had a second to notice it. Though, for the moment, she really only gave herself a second, pushing past it as she tried to continue on with her thought. "Yeah. So, maybe the exploding plays into that. Is a kind of self-defense mechanism that crops up when he's put under stress, and we can all figure how stressful it is being quite literally hunted down."
"And if he's provoked into exploding, then they'll have no choice but to take him off the street." Hex finished the thought, the robot's expression growing more and more worried as he went.
"Yeah, that's, pretty close to what I was thinking." Carol replied, even as she grasped one of Hex's hands in an effort to calm him. "I mean, the 'Greater Good' or whatever, that sounds like some kind of fed outfit. But Dearests's guys? They might be entirely in it to antagonize Whitty or get him out of the way. And what better way to do that then making him look dangerous and unstable?"
"You have a point." Hex murmured, mulling over the issue for a moment before a very strained grin flashed across his face. "This is, actually somewhat distressing."
"Hey, it's alright, it's alright." Carol hummed, though as Hex's distress changed to a more mulish, thoughtful look she went on. "We're just going to have to…maybe be a bit more forward helping Whitty out from now on. And careful overall."
"Any chance we could misdirect 'em?" Sunday spoke up from the sidelines, getting the pair's attention. Though at their utterly uncomprehending looks, they went on. "What? That's what they always do in the movies. They misdirect the bad guys when they want them to stay away from something."
"What, make 'em think Whitty's somewhere else?" Carol asked, Hex pulling away as he visibly considered the notion.
"It could work?"
Carol felt a little less sure, though it took her a moment to fully bring together the why as to her reasoning.
"…I'm willing to consider the idea, though we're gonna have to work out some logistics. One thought is that Whitty could leave town entirely, but, I don't think just sending him away is the answer either. Wouldn't help him at all mentally, for starters."
"Maybe, that is also something we could help with?" Hex interjected, sheepishly explaining as he realized he'd gotten both Carol's and Sunday's attention. "If he's more healthy, mentally, he's not as likely to explode, right?"
"That's the running theory, at least until Whitty wakes up and we can ask him." Though Carol had the feeling it might be a bit before they'd get an answer. Whitty had to be pushed to the brink to even divulge this much, though a much more optimistic part of her couldn't help pointing out that maybe now that the tougher bits were out of the way, a simple question about the bomb's, general makeup, would be received a lot better. Though, all things considered… "But, that's not a bad idea. Especially seeing as we know where the problem's coming from now. At least mostly."
"What do you mean?" Hex asked, expression quizzical as he refocused on Carol, who couldn't keep a bit of her annoyance from before from seeping back into the conversation as she talked.
"You can't tell me Dearest was a model manager right up until he tossed Whitty out. Also I talk to his daughter, remember? Especially since she's started hooking up with her new boyfriend, she's been cottoning onto some things and telling me stories about her dad and her mom." Those stories though weren't ones for tonight, seeing as the majority of them had nothing to do with Whitty. In fact, Cherri had been pretty mum on that, more or less just stating that Whitty had lived under their roof for a while, until one day he wasn't and her father didn't say precisely what had happened. Only that Whitty was out of their lives and not to mention him. Though judging from what Cherri had said regarding her parents, particularly about how they dealt with people they didn't like and their work ethics, Carol wasn't feeling particularly happy about what she might dig up regarding Whitty and his past as a rockstar. "But I think we oughta be careful poking around that topic, especially now. Whitty's been through enough for a bit."
"He really has…" Hex murmured, slumping slightly on his feet before something caught his attention and he jolted upright. "Oh, Carol! Not that I want to rush this and if you have something else you can absolutely say so but it's about two-thirty—"
And a quick look at the clock proved the robot right, Carol grimacing as she caught sight of the clock on the nearby microwave.
"Oooh, shit, yeah. Thanks for that, Hex."
"No problem! I'll see you in the morning?" Hex asked, some of his earlier nerves leaking through in the emoticon smile he sent Carol's way, not that she was willing to leave him hanging. Immediately the robot was swept up into a hug, one that he gleefully reciprocated.
"Absolutely, ro-bro."
Hex pulled away a little quicker than Carol thought he would, but then again that likely had something to do with the fact that it was, again, past two o'clock in the morning. Either way, she waved him off, about to follow him out the kitchen door and head for her own room.
"Gonna make carnival pancakes for Whitty?" Sunday asked, their sleepier tone getting Carol's attention as she was about to leave. Pausing on the threshold, she gave the question some thought before turning back with a confident grin and a thumbs up.
"…You know what, yeah. Gonna let him sleep in and make at least three batches. With bacon. If I can't punch Daddy Dearest and whoever this Updike is in the face, then at the very least I can make sure Whitty's getting a good start to his day."
Sunday gave a softer smirk and a tired hum to that, Carol more or less letting it lie as she left and headed for the stairs. Mentally she couldn't help going through a brief mental list of what she knew she had, likely everything she needed, but three batches was kind of a lot.
But hey, with the night Whitty had, he'd more than earned this. Hell, she was pretty sure he'd earned this years ago, though there was no time like the present.
It took a little longer than she would've liked to fall asleep, but when her alarm went off the next morning, Carol was more than ready to get started.
For Whitty, the morning started late, his mind groggily warring between the notion of staying asleep and getting up. On one front he was very, very comfortable, but he also knew that he needed to eat something today. His stomach was already starting to voice some complaints, the bomb finally sitting up with a sigh as his eyes blinked open. The room looked pretty much the same as it had been when he'd gone to bed, and it took a moment for the events of last night to be re-remembered. Though as they came flooding back Whitty couldn't help a frown. That turned into a huddle on the mattress, Whitty letting his head press into his knees as he thought back, and tried to wrestle down the very real urge to try climbing out the window.
Though there was a part of him that was aware doing that was overkill, he couldn't entirely squash the thought that he was here on entirely borrowed time, and it was about to run out. Ergo, it made it harder than it probably should have been to actually get up, cross the room, and ease the door open a sliver.
…And apparently getting someone's attention given that he heard someone say his name from further down the hall, Whitty automatically slamming the door shut before he recognized the voice.
"Carol? OhellCAROL—" Immediately the bomb grabbed the door, coming just shy of wrenching the doorknob off as he opened it. Thankfully Carol hadn't done what Whitty feared she would do and walked off, and was instead standing out in the hall with a smile as she waited for him to collect himself.
"Carol I am so sorry—"
"Whitty, Whitty. It's okay. If anything I oughta be sorry for startling you—"
"But it's your house." The bomb groaned, before he realized he'd interrupted her yet again. "Sorry!"
"It's okay. I'm not mad about it. Besides, I was coming up to get you."
"Y-You were?" Whitty asked, turning wide orange eyes down on the comparatively smaller human. Not that Carol seemed the least bit bothered, instead turning to the stairs even as she was answering.
"Yeah, made you pancakes. With a few extra treats thrown in, figured you earned it after last night—"
"I'm sorry." Whitty abruptly said, cutting off Carol's words with a snap as she turned back to him. The bomb definitely looked like he had something to be sorry for, his expression hangdog and his shoulders slumped as he stared down at the floor. However, though she wracked her brain over just what that might be, the most of an answer Carol could come up with was a semi-intelligent 'huh?'. Seeing that she had no idea what he was talking about, Whitty went on through a nervous stammer.
"S-Sorry for, for yellin', and, an' making a mess in the bathroom. I can understand if you don't want me back—"
"Hey, whoa, when did I say I didn't want you back?" Carol spoke up, confusion turning to a frown as she caught the last bit of what he was saying. Whitty's eyeline jolted to meet hers as she spoke, though he went right back to staring at the floor not a moment later, hands fumbling as he did his best to explain.
"You, you didn't, I just, I thought that, because of everything—"
"Alright, I'm gonna stop you right there." Carol spoke up, face serious as she stepped closer and pinned the flow of the conversation with an upraised finger. However, upon seeing how the shift made Whitty flinch, she softened her tone. "Firstly, most of what you said last night wasn't anything you did. If anything, I'm glad you finally told me and Hex what was going on. That way, we're able to actually help you instead of just giving half-assed help. As for the bathroom, don't worry about it, took care of that this morning."
"…You did?" Whitty asked, finding his eyes turning to the bathroom door a few feet away. It was open, and while the angle didn't allow him to see the state of the shower, it definitely looked like the tile floor had been recently cleaned. Which, was impressive, and also had him throwing together another apology. "I'm, I'm sorry, I know—"
But Carol immediately spoke up, gesturing for Whitty to kneel and gently holding his face when he did. Despite the fact that he still had trouble making eye contact, Carol didn't look away from him throughout the whole speech, her tone still light and soothing.
"Hey, no apologizing for getting upset about all of that, because what you told me, everything you told me? Those are perfectly understandable reasons to be upset. There's nothing wrong with you for being upset about them, alright?"
Whitty's eyes had finally managed to meet Carol's by the end, though he couldn't help growing slightly flustered again at the reminder of being 'upset', and what that tended to mean for him versus everyone else.
"A-Alright, but, I mean, I didn't mean to make a mess, and I shouldn't be, be getting that upset anyway, it's dangerous for you, for me to, to cry, because of the, the stuff…" The stuff being his own tears, the bomb roundaboutly trying to indicate that by gesturing to his own face as he looked away again. Not that Carol was willing to let him blame himself, giving a softer sigh as she briefly squeezed the sides of his face, bringing him close enough that their foreheads could touch.
"Whitty. Crying is a perfectly normal response, especially if people hurt you. And people did hurt you. It's okay to be upset, in fact I'd say it's normal." Whitty seemed to calm down, though given that Carol knew he had only so much of a tolerance for people touching him she freely let him move back, smiling with a more humored air as she went on. "So, hey, in that respect, you are just like everyone else. Nothin' crazy about that. And if we have to be a little more careful when you're upset, then we can do that. No harm, no foul."
There was a smile starting to shine through on Whitty's face, small but there. Even still, a cloud or two couldn't help lingering, the bomb shrinking down a little again as he replied.
"But, but it's a lot of trouble, and I don't wanna cause you any trouble, you've done more than enough…"
"Clearly I need to do more if just listening to your problems is the bar for 'doing more than enough'." Carol said through another sigh, though her grin was endlessly fond as she playfully reached out and poked Whitty square in the center of his face. "And before you say a word about 'not being worth it', or 'not causing trouble for me', well, you can put that right away right now. Because we're friends and you're stuck with me, hothead."
Even though Whitty had scrunched up a little, face furrowing as he went cross-eyed trying to see Carol's finger, her words made him freeze. He practically didn't react at all as she drew back, though his eyes were wide as he stared down at her.
"My, y-you're…I'm still your…"
The implication was enough that Carol immediately reached up and grabbed the sides of his face again, making sure to maintain eye contact as she answered.
"Whitty. Yes. You are. You never stopped being my friend. Don't ever doubt that, alright?"
The words hit like a bullet in the stomach, Whitty feeling firstly how they seemed to somehow knock the wind out of him but also make his vision start to swim with more tears.
"S-Sorry, I'm sorry, 'm tryin' not to cry, you just cleaned—"
"It's okay, here." Carol's words weren't the least bit recriminating, the warmer tone soothing some of the edges off Whitty's nerves as she pushed a tattered washcloth into his hand. "We use these for cleaning, you can use this one. Deep breaths, okay?"
He quickly shoved the tattered bit of fabric under his eyes, catching what he could even as he tried his best to breathe. Focus on breathing, nothing else, not even the fact that they want ME, they want me to stay, they WANT ME—
"…'m, I'm good now, sorry." Whitty finally murmured, letting himself relax as he tried to rub at the thankfully small smears of liquid that had managed to break free.
"No more apologizing. You are the last person who should be apologizing for anything." Carol let the words stand for a moment before she reached out again, drawing the still-kneeling bomb close. "C'mere…"
And for the moment Whitty did his best to not completely sag into Carol's smaller frame, instead just savoring the feeling of her being there, of her wanting him there. Her hands were cooler than his, her overall body temperature lower, but for the moment it was the warmest feeling, and he just hoped he could keep it.
…Especially seeing as his stomach chose that moment to remind him that food was needed, Whitty giving an exasperated sigh as he drew back, Carol echoing it with a giggle.
"And that is why I made pancakes. C'mon."
Hex was waiting when Whitty came downstairs, a grinning emoji appearing on his screen as he saw the bomb walk into the kitchen. Briefly Whitty was able to spot a lump of blankets in the living room area that looked like Sunday, though his attention was rapidly taken up by the spread on the kitchen table.
He honestly wasn't sure if he should feel touched or guilty. He settled on gobsmacked, given that there were two plates stacked high with pancakes, one with waffles, different fruits, blueberries, strawberries, raspberries…
There were also bottles of regular syrup, chocolate syrup, jam, whipped cream, even rainbow sprinkles, Whitty's already wide eyes fixating on the last container with something close to awe.
"Well, you gonna sit down?" Carol spoke up, Whitty jolting a little as his attention was grabbed.
"H-Huh?" He grunted at first, before something about the scene caught his attention. "W-Wait, aren't you gonna eat too?"
"I already ate. That's for you."
Whitty could not find one thing to say to that, instead looking between Carol and the table with something close to frantic bemusement.
"Yeah, it's for you. Go on, sit down!" Carol "replied" through a laugh, Hex getting up and dragging Whitty to one of the seats. The bomb just barely managed to catch himself, trying to keep from coming down too hard on the chair and breaking it, wouldn't that be a great way to start this off…though for all his worries, Hex just grinned and Carol went to wash up at the sink.
Goddammit, they'd even put away all the dishes too…
Given that he could feel his throat catching, Whitty hurriedly reached out and grabbed the plate of pancakes. He'd been about to pull it to be in front of him when Hex spoke up.
"Oh, Whitty, it's okay, there's a plate right here—!"
The words took a moment to register, the bomb owlishly staring from the pancakes to Hex before it finally clicked and he went for the plate he'd been supposed to grab. Without thinking he pretty much transferred all of the pancakes from the first plate to his own, dousing the whole thing in maple syrup before doing his best to shovel the stack into his mouth.
Carol, meanwhile, had come to sit down at the table too, her and Hex falling into the familiar back and forth about work, the latest mundane news, and everything under the sun, really. A lot of the exactness of it blurred in Whitty's ears, especially when there were pancakes and waffles to eat. Perhaps if he had been a little more cognizant he would have noticed that they weren't really bringing him into the conversation much, though that was likely more so that he could eat without being interrupted. However, he'd been halfway through his second plate of pancakes when Carol glanced over and spoke up.
"Hey, Whitty, wanna give the chocolate syrup with rainbow sprinkles a try? It was one of my favorites growing up."
Blinking a little at the suggestion, Whitty gave it a go with his first waffle, finding the whole thing vaguely reminiscent of an ice cream sundae. A hesitant bite turned into a more fevered eating, the bomb trying the combo again with the next waffle. At Hex's insistence, he tried the fruit with the next waffle too, and ended up mixing the combos over the next few. Wasn't quite as good, but Whitty didn't want to waste Carol's and Hex's hard work.
As Whitty was finishing up, Carol and Hex were clearing up things in the kitchen, the bomb more passively registering something they said about waiting for him in the living room.
And, well, fine. Wasn't like he'd be taking that long to get through the last of the waffles anyway, though Whitty could definitely say that he needed a moment to figure out his bearings.
Though, all things considered, that might've had an equal amount to do with what he'd been through the night before.
For a moment, Whitty simply remained slumped in his chair, blinking somewhat out of sync as he tried to take stock. Was a little hard to do when you were starting to conk out, but he tried his best.
The thing though that kept him from dropping off there at the table was the sound of laughing from the other room, the TV faintly playing what sounded like music. Before he could think on it too hard, Whitty lurched to his feet, belatedly realizing that he ought to at least get his own dishes into the dishwasher before he completely left the room.
After taking care of that, Whitty stumbled out to the living room, following Hex's gestures to the couch and flopping down onto it.
Or, well, almost. Carol was sitting on one end, and even if he could fully stretch out Whitty knew from experience that his legs would hang off the armrest anyway. So he sort of ended up partially slumped into the couch, legs folded and eyes dozily blinking as he looked at the TV. Some kind of sitcom thing, the volume was lower, probably because Sunday was out cold not that far away.
He might've noticed it a bit sooner if he hadn't been fighting a food coma, but Whitty did eventually catch the somewhat sly smile Carol was aiming at him from across the couch.
"Wuzzgoinon?" The bomb muttered, frowning a little with bemusement as he tried to piece together what was going through his friend's mind.
"Nothin'. So, we finally find out if your stomach's got a limit?" Though there was a part of Whitty that knew that the jab likely wasn't meant in a more mocking way, he couldn't help a wince, his eyeline jerking off to the side before accidentally making eye contact with Hex. In an effort to avoid that, he yanked his eyes up to the ceiling, shoulders rolling inward as he did. It didn't take long for Carol to speak up, a new tone of regret in her voice. "Shoot, I know that face. Sorry, Whitty. I won't talk about it again if you don't want me to."
"No, it's okay. I've heard worse." And, well, as far as he was concerned that was the case. Why get so worked up when everyone said pretty much different flavors of the same thing…
"Gonna go slop the pig?"
"He's lucky he can eat like that, can you imagine what he'd look like if…?"
"Watch out, black hole comin' through."
"Y'think all those tween squeakers would be so adoring if they knew…?"
"Your usual ten servings, kid?"
"Dearest and his cronies?" Carol's abrupt question snapped Whitty out of his memories, the bomb jumping before trying his best to look unbothered as he replied.
"Y-Yeah, sometimes. Though people just, y'know, make comments. A-And it's not like I'm trying to be this way, it's just—"
"There's nothing wrong with you being this way, Whitty. Me and Hex, we like you this way. You don't have to be any other kind of way, alright?" Carol cut in, reaching over and clasping Whitty's hand tightly in hers just to make sure her point was clear. And, glancing between the softer look in her eyes and the more worried but not less heartfelt emoticon on Hex's screen, the bomb couldn't help feeling something catch in his throat.
"You're okay, just breathe." Hex spoke up, a familiar claw resting on Whitty's shoulder as he tried to regather himself, hopefully without making the couch a fire hazard. It took a few moments of breathing deeply, focusing just on the air moving through his body, but eventually it did quell the pricklier, upset emotions that had been primed to break free before. Though, as he looked up, Carol asked another question, the bomb trying to kick his brain into gear in order to pay attention.
"You want me to move?"
"No." Whitty mumbled out, his eyes sliding closed. He'd leave them that way for just a moment, they were kinda itching and the flashing colors from the TV weren't really helping…"Stay."
A faint chuckle, the squeak of a body settling more firmly into the couch cushions before Carol replied.
"Aye, aye, Whitty, parking my behind here."
Even if his awareness was fading out, the words were a relief to hear. That coupled with the faint touch of Hex's clawed hand still on his shoulder and Carol's hand still holding his knocked the last of the tension from Whitty's frame, his body finally succumbing to the promise of a restful sleep.