bombs away (i still love you as smithereens)

Labor was excruciating, even for a man of a bomb head and bomb body, loaded with fire and powder. Labor was excruciating for Whitty, Senpai's dear husband. Labor was terrible.

He'd tilt his head to the side, his eyes teary, fire still there, though slightly. "They must not want to leave my body," he mused to his husband. Senpai faked a smile, even made a little laugh. He hoped to reassure him in this time.

Pico was delivering the baby. Whitty had his mind set on Pico to help him push, to assist wherever assistance was needed. He was good with morale, he'd sing, "Push Pico, push, push, push Pico, push." And Whitty would push. And push. And push.

Hours passed in that sweaty room. Tears flew and firey sweat trickled down Whitty's birthing hips. He cried to the skies, yes, this one's mine.

"Dear, you're doing amazing. You're almost there," Senpai had said. He knew his husband was doing fantastic with the labor, he was taking it so well. He was thankful he was not the one delivering the child, my, that would be a disaster. He would start to mouth off everyone around him like the twink of a white man he was!

"I'm drinking all the wine," Pico had muttered to him outside while the pain seemed to cease. "But so fancy's on my mind." He looked into the room at Whitty's chest, as it heaved upward and downward.

"No, Pico. He's going to make it. He has to. He's just... he's just having a hard time."

"You can't be on my mind," Pico shook his head.

Labor went on for hours more, Senpai holding Whitty's hand, bringing him food his husband could bare to swallow between his bellows of pain. Senpai muttered things to him through the whole process, telling him, again, again, he was doing great. He would deliver their dear baby.

A head popped from Whitty's glory hole, a bright fuse could be seen from below. Whitty grunted, tears streamed and hissed red. Pushing, pushing, Whitty cried, and finally, with Pico's labor song, a child came from Whitty's divine hips.

"It's a girl," Pico said with a sigh, he himself sweating from singing and helping Whitty. Finally, it was over, the child was delivered.

"Bombs don't have gender," Whitty muttered, and held his child. This child was his, was Senpai's.

Senpai's face glittered. "They have my eyes." They were so kawaii and blue, so desu.

Whitty gave a tired smile. "They do."

Then a scream. "Whitty? Whitty, what's wrong?!" Senpai took the child from his arms, confused, alarmed. Why was his husband screaming? The child was delivered!

"There's more." Pico said with a shocked breath drawn inward. He went between his legs once more, telling him the same few words, push Pico, push, push, push Pico, push.

Senpai watched with such fright, yet he kept it below the surface, just as he kept his darker, malevolent side below his skin, in the caverns of his head. Senpai swallowed his worry while Whitty swallowed his own snot and tears. Senpai would be there for him, he would be strong, though he was not, in truth.

Whitty wailed, wriggled in the bed, flinching, flinching in pain. Horrified, they both watched.

"I read about this before," Pico's face was white, "When bomb people have too many children inside them, they, they," He stammered.

"They what, red-haired hoe?"

"They self destruct to save the lives of their children. It's an instinct, not by choice." Whitty writhed in his bed, moaned, "I don't believe Whitty has much time left, Senpai."

Senpai nearly fell to the floor, let the cold and unforgiving floor tear at his knees and make him bleed. But he kept standing, though his world was not. His face fell, his eyes teared up, he could not believe it. His husband would blow up right in front of his very eyes, blow to ashes and chips of shell.

Senpai went over to his husband, lips quivering, nose running, "Whitty."

"I know what's happening to me, dear," Whitty put a hand to his face, let it trickle down to his chin. Senpai only sobbed into the minor touch. "I know I'm going to explode." A tear fell from Whitty, burned Senpai's skin. "I know you'll be an amazing father, I know you'll be there for them when I cannot."

"No, no," Senpai had a snot bubble forming. "You can't leave me, no."

"I have to. For our children." His hand fell as it shook with pain. "Tell them about me, dear, tell them about their other father. I love you."

Pico said through solemn lips, crying a bit himself, "Senpai, put the anti-explosion hat on." He already had his atop his head, strapped and buckled. It was tacky, meant to protect the head from the blow of an explosion and any debris. Senpai looked to his husband, who winced through pain and nodded.

He put the hat on. He hid behind the desk, crying, crying, as he heard his husband blow up from within.

"Bombs away!" Pico shouted.

"Bombs away." Senpai cried, blubbering through his thin lips.

He had twelve children now, those eleven born of that explosion. They were taller, they still stumbled and cried, still loved their blankets and stuffed animals. They were growing up, just one blink from then, Senpai was mourning and feeding them from a bottle.

They were playing with each other, the twelve of them, Ty, Boom, Senpai Jr., Miraya, Lin Manuel, Deku, Wine, Fancy, Connor, Angela, Boohoo, and Bear. They were babbling here and there, tripping over their words, their bomb heads far too big for their bodies, lulling this way and that as they attempted to walk. Senpai had to wipe at his eyes at the mere sight.

He walked into the other room. Stopped at a box embellished with wood engravings and varnish.

"I still love you," He croaked to the box, laying a kiss on its letters spelling, 'Whitty', "Even as smithereens."