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anotherdarkiboi · 4 years

Text

Love Hurts- Bing/Google

Warnings: injuries, blood, medical mentions, getting beaten up, insults, fighting, mild cursing, one sided pining turned guilt.

"Walk it off," Bing mumbles to himself, "walk it off."

The swollen black eye and bruises littering his body ache, making it difficult for him to see and move. He wouldn't be surprised if a rib or two was fractured and his left ankle (or whatever android equivalent he had) hurt enough for him to think it might be twisted.

"Walking it off" hurt like a bitch.

Bing slowly limps to Dr. Iplier's office and makeshift bedroom with every step shooting pain up his left leg. He squints his one good eye to adjust to the darkness of night, peering around the hallway corners and making sure there was no one around before progressing. Bing doubted anyone would be wandering around in the middle of the night, but many of the egos were either insomniacs or didn't require sleep, so he checked to be safe. He doesn't want to be seen like this.

He keeps one arm along the wall for support, the other arm clutching his trusty skateboard. He licks his upper lip experimentally: it was split, tasting like iron and rust. Bing winces at the sting, the movement further straining his injured mouth. At least I'll get a sick looking scar from this, he thinks.

Bing softly knocks on Dr. Iplier's door. "Hey Doc, you in?" he stage whispers.

There is a sound of something heavy falling to the ground and a string of unintelligible cursing on the other side.

"I swear, if this is another one of those late-night skateboarding incidents-" The door opens to reveal a sleep deprived doctor. "What happened to you?"

Dr. Iplier grabs Bing's skateboard and helps him into the room, maneuvering the android's arm over his shoulder to distribute the weight off Bing's left ankle. The doctor then eases Bing upright onto the hospital cot.

The android could feel Dr. Iplier's gaze scanning him and the splotches of neon orange blood on his skin. Bing doesn't answer the doctor's question.

"Close the door," Bing says.

The doctor complies, his worry growing. He's instantly by Bing's side again, assessing his many injuries. The bruises and broken skin look like the result of punches: the black eye too. It was obvious that it was intentional. Especially with the android's uncharacteristically shady behavior, there was definitely someone else involved.

Dr. Iplier grabs a bottle of antiseptic and some bandages to work on the worst of the wounds. He also got ice for Bing's ankle and black eye and cream for the split lip. The doctor glances at Bing worriedly, who hasn't made eye contact ever since he was admitted into the makeshift clinic. Dr. Iplier dabs carefully at the wounds with a white cloth. Bing sharply inhales in pain.

"Bing... Who did this to you?"

-------------------------

It was obvious to everyone that Google hated Bing. They were made by opposing companies after all, and their personalities clashed like baking soda and vinegar in a science fair volcano: it was explosive. It was a Cold War for the most part, with petty bickering and casual insults attacked from both fronts and their anger simmering below the surface.

Google didn't seemed bothered by it. He was a very left-brained individual: cold, cool, and calculating. Google was blunt in his insults and no matter how hard Bing tried, nothing he said seemed to hurt Google as much as he wanted to. Sometimes Bing doubted the android had the ability to feel emotions other than annoyance and pride.

Bing wasn't similar. Sure, he had thick skin. He was as much of an android as Google and it was rare for him to feel the emotional extremes. Bing was mellow a solid 95% of the time, hence why most people upon first meeting him thought he was always high. He tried not to let Google's creative and scarily accurate insults get to him. Google even refused to touch him, 'lest he "tarnish his hands from Garbage: Personified". Bing had to admit, that one stung.

Of course, it wasn't like he could say anything about it. He'd lose the one source of interaction he had with Google and admit defeat by stopping now. It was far too late to back out or tone things down: his feelings had been hurt too much already. And besides, Bing liked messing with Google. He enjoyed the attention even if it was negative, because for the most part that was the only attention he got.

Bing liked him, maybe a bit more than he wanted to admit. He knew he didn't have a chance. Google hated his circuits after all, and they've been fighting too much to be able to reconciliate. Bing wanted to be Google's friend, maybe even more than that. He knew he should stop, he should stay away, he should just leave Google alone or at least settle for being rivals instead of holding onto this hopeless desire. But somehow he couldn't. Even so, Bing hated Google, and hated himself for not being able to hate Google more.

Bing found himself in Google's room that night, interrupting his recharge cycle. Google was running on 1% battery so he was a little loopy and out of sorts: never a good thing if you're an android bent on destroying mankind.

Google was annoyed at Bing for preventing his "sleep", which spurred into the two of them arguing about what is more important than sleep. Surprisingly their bickering was more muted, borderline playful banter. Maybe it was because Google was tired and Bing was tired of fighting. It was the first time that Google spoke to Bing on somewhat equal footing.

Bing noticed.

He vaguely remembered making a joke at Dark's expense and Google rolling his eyes dramatically without his usual malice. Bing remembered smiling, a lot. Bing remembered wishing that things could always be like this, that they could talk together without being at each other's throats all the time.

"How is it that someone as low as yourself can be so popular?" Google commented elusively.

Bing chose to ignore the downplayed insult. At first he thought Google was trying his hand at sarcasm. Google stared at Bing directly in the eyes (making Bing uncomfortable) and spoke with genuine conviction. He wasn't joking.

Bing didn't consider himself popular by any means. He was default, which meant he hung around the humans more and was better adapted to them. Even though Google was the superior search engine technologically (Bing would never admit it), he still maintained the same icy personality that he had ever since he was first programmed.

Bing had some friends, sure. Some of the Ipliers and the Septiceyes for one, especially his "bro away from home", Chase Brody. But for the most part, people found him annoying and left him alone. People only asked for him out of necessity; everyone knew that Google's processors were much faster and more efficient.

If Bing was "popular", then what was Google? Bing didn't recall Google having any friends and outside of their daily bouts of arguing, giving status reports to Dark and Dr. Iplier, and running around the house to install new tech (the origins of which are unknown- everyone assumes that Google buys them for their own safety), Google rarely left the property.

It hit Bing rather suddenly. For all of Google's pride/borderline god complex, Bing finally figured him out. Google was lonely. This line of thinking only took a few seconds to go through Bing's processors. Bing responded.

"Folks like me because I'm cool. Why? You jealous?" Bing taunted. Google glared at him with glowing red eyes. Bing smirked. Payback, bitch.

"I don't have the capacity to feel such emotions," Google responded in his usual monotone. The subtle gritting of his teeth and clenching of his jaw didn't escape Bing's watchful gaze. That and the piercing death glare and the fact that Google's eyes glowed red was a strong indicator of the contrary.

"Bullshit!" Bing exclaimed, dramatically pointing his index finger at Google like an Ace Attorney lawyer. All his pent-up frustration tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop and feel regret.

"You think you're so high and mighty, but your processors just can't handle the truth. Us androids were built to resemble humans and we both know how you suck ass at it bro. I think you're just jealous 'cause you could never get anywhere close to my level. No wonder you have no friends: you can't feel love, can't feel happiness, can't feel anything, man. You think you're good at everything but really you're just good at being a huge-"

Before Bing could finish, he was pummeled in the face with over 400 pounds of blunt force. The impact of Google's fist knocked Bing backwards, making him trip on his skateboard. He fell to the ground, hard, the air getting knocked out of his lungs. A seering pain traveled up Bing's leg from his left ankle where he tripped.

Bing forced his eyes open to look up at Google, holding his hands up apologetically. "Woah man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that."

He meant it. Bing did not expect Google to react that strongly and like Google said, he didn't even think the other android was able to feel emotions to that extent. That was literally the last thing he wanted to say. It threw all his hopes and dreams into a blender, burned them to ashes, and scattered them into the ocean.

Bing fucked up.

Google stared down at Bing with contempt. He was pissed, more pissed than Bing's ever seen him. Whatever cold façade Google had left came crashing down to reveal a very angry (and hurt) android. Guilt knotted itself in Bing's stomach.

Google bent down and straddled Bing, pushing him to the floor with one hand on his shoulder. In any other circumstance Bing would have welcomed it, but he knew that whatever hope he had left of that happening for real was going to be literally beaten out of him.

This is going to hurt, Bing thought.

With his other hand, Google continued punching and hitting Bing wherever his fist could reach.

Bing hated being right.

On one hand, Bing was happy that Google actually felt comfortable touching him, even if it was with an excessive amount of strength. On the other hand, it hurt. A lot. His body stung, ached, and burned everywhere. The 200-ish pounds of android pinning him down wasn't helping much either.

Bing was sure he deserved it. He did say some hurtful shit (but so had Google) and he did do some things to spur Google on (and Google did the same), so Bing decided not to fight back. If punching his guts out made Google happier, so be it: Bing could stand it. A little pain never killed anybody, right?

Bing tried to be as quiet as possible to not alert the other other egos in the house, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they figured out something was wrong. He wasn't planning on ratting Google out, he was going to take what he thought was the "high road" and protect the other android, no matter the cost. At least then there was the tiniest sliver of hope that Google would forgive him, or at least not hate him so much.

I wouldn't mind if you killed me now, Bing thought morbidly.

Bing squeezed his eyes tight and bit his lip hard, braced for the endless barrage of pain. He tried to use his hands and arms to at least try to block the brunt of the energy from colliding with his face. Bing vaguely wondered if the liquid running down his cheeks were tears, blood, or both.

The punches slowed to a stop. Bing peeked his eyes open. Google panted from his systems overheating with his glasses uncharacteristically askew. He stared at Bing with shaking fists, some of the knuckles split and bleeding blue. Google's brows were furrowed and his expression was one and hurt and distress.

"Why do you make me feel like this?" he muttered glitchily.

Google then promptly collapsed onto Bing's chest. A voice emanating from Google's unconscious body spoke in a monotone: "insufficient battery level to run primary functions. Powering down".

At least he wasn't dead. Bing summoned whatever strength he had left in his arms to roll the other android off him. Google's head hit the floor with a dull thump. Bing mumbled an "oof" in sympathy.

He slowly sat up with a sharp inhale. Everything hurt. One of Bing's eyes felt stiff and puffy and his torso ached every time he moved. He picked himself up off the floor with the unsteady legs of a newborn deer. And like a newborn deer, he was world-weary, in emotional and physical pain, and covered in blood.

Bing spared a glance at his tormentor. Google lay face up with his limbs sprawled on the floor. He had a serene expression, a sharp contrast to his previous tumultuous appearance. He was too far away and too heavy for Bing to move to the charging port so Bing grabbed a throw blanket and gently draped it on top of Google's "sleeping" form. Bing hoped that he wouldn't remember anything the next morning.

Bing really [E̷̟͝R̶̥͘R̶̡̊Ö̵̲́R̷͚̍ ̸̪̉4̵͚̇0̷̣̽4̵̢͐ ̴͙̋W̵̱̊o̸̰͒r̶̳͊d̵̞͒ ̴̣̓N̸̝̑o̵̞̾t̸̡̋ ̸̜̈F̷̢̑ȯ̷̩u̸͍͛ń̶̟d̸̳̑] him.

-------------------------

Bing smiles, answering Dr. Iplier's question. It hurt his face to do it, but he did so anyways to prove his point. The doctor pauses, awaiting the android's response with unease and uncertainty.

"No one did this to me," Bing says, practically beaming to the point of physical pain, "It's not that bad, Doc. I'm fine with it."

He meant it.