Markiplier Ego Oneshots

Love Hurts- Bingiplier/Googleplier (Request)

A long awaited request by Ishipalotofthingsoof. Sorry it took so long. Your request was probably the darkest one thus far, not gonna lie. I love me some angst :)  The above art is by xmoonyxbunnyx on Tumblr and the song is "I'm Not a Robot" by Marina and the Diamonds.

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.