Overridden: A Googleplier X Child! Reader X Bingsepticeye (Complete)

Chapter Seven

He let out an irritated breath of air, cursing himself for rushing out of his house, and taking the five hour drive to Bing's home. It didn't help that he was already running low on battery, and would soon need to recharge, but here he was, standing at Bing's door, and hesitating. He raised his hand, and slowly pressed the doorbell. It chimed happily, and he grimaced. It seemed loud to him, too happy, and overall annoying as shit. He needed to sleep, badly. Rubbing his forehead, he shifted from one foot to the other, waiting. He almost knocked on the door when it was thrown open, revealing a brown haired teenager, blue eyes bright and gleeful.
"Google?" He gasped, then leaped forward, giving Google a tight hug. "I was wondering when you'd visit again!"
He scowled, struggling to push him away. "Yes, yes, I realize you're excited. I'm not here to visit you, though."
The boy pouted, looking up at him, refusing to budge. "You're not? Aw, boo. Then perhaps you're here for (Y/N)?"
"They are home, yes?"
He nodded, and finally pulled away, flashing Google a grin. "They're hanging out with Sam in the kitchen. Bing is working, so you're gonna have to be quiet," he put his finger to his lips to make a point, then strode inside, leaving Google to close the door himself.
Google followed Tim deeper into the house, passing a comfortable living room, and a very modern looking dining room. Google never cared for the way Bing decorated his home. It made leaving too hard if the time were to come. That's why he left his own home plain, and filled only with essentials, or the majority of what modern society keeps in their home, like a television, and such. When the time came for him to finally implement his plan for world domination, it will make it harder for officials to really "know" who he is, if they ever found where he lived.
Tim smiled, entering the kitchen, and sitting on the counter. A green haired teenager stood at the stove, a hand on (Y/N)'s head as they clutched his pant leg, keeping their gaze down. Google stopped short upon seeing them, noticing how pale, tired, and worn they looked. They obviously haven't been sleeping much, and looked almost sick. He forced himself to remain there, and gripped the bottom of his shirt with both hands, shame running through him, making his cheeks burn. He didn't like the way it made him feel-uncomfortable. No. More than uncomfortable, but he didn't have a word for it, and didn't want to know what it was.
"(Y/N). You have been getting insufficiant sleep."
They stiffened, their grip tightening on Sam's pants. Sam scowled, looking back at Google, his green eyes narrowed. "What are ya' doing here, asshole?"
Tim frowned, shooting Sam a look. "Language," he murmured.
Google ignored both teenagers, keeping his gaze on (Y/N). They turned about half way, gaze down, and pressed their forehead against Sam's leg. He saw them tremble slightly, biting their lip, tears forming in their (E/C) eyes. He stiffened at the sight, eyes widening. He didn't imagine how possibly hurt they were, and it took him back. With a small inhale, he strode over, despite Sam's loud protest. He crouched, head tilted. "(Y/N)," he whispered.
They flinched, making a small, pitiful noise in the back of their throat. They swallowed thickly.
"I am sorry," Google whispered, slowly reaching out. "Please. You are scaring me."
They glanced over, tears spilling down their cheeks, shying away from his hand. Dispite their action, their was hesitation in their eyes, almost as if they didn't want to move away, but didn't exactly trust him. They kept their head tilted down, body turned away-a sign of low confidence, or self-esteem.
Google stopped, dropping his hand. Shouldn't this have made things better? Seeing him apologize?
Just then, Bing strode into the kitchen, and chuckled upon seeing Google. "Well, good morning to you. What is it? Eight?"
Google growled, and stood, facing him. "I came to check up on (Y/N)'s condition. You made it seem kinder than it actually was."
Bing glanced down at (Y/N), his bright gaze going sad. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I know."
(Y/N) winced, then looked up at Sam. "Is it almost done...?" Their voice was soft, but hoarse, like they've been crying for hours on end, and trying to hide it.
Sam nodded, smiling softly. He was making breakfast for them, a large pancake with some sort of fruit in it-blueberries, Google noted. Sam used a spatula to put the pancake on a plate, then lathered it in butter and marionberry syrup. He set it on the counter, then placed (Y/N) on the counter next to the plate. They took the fork, and started to eat, taking small and timid bites. Sam spun, glaring at Google as he brushed past, placing the pan in the sink, and taking care of the bowl used to make the batter. Google watched, running a hand through his hair as (Y/N) ate, getting syrup on the edge of their mouth, unbeknownst to them. He almost stepped forward to wipe it off, but thought better of it, remembering their reactions only a minute prior.
"Come on," Bing said. "Let's talk."
Google hesitated, but eventually followed Bing out and into the hall, knowing that he wouldn't be able to do anything in there. Bing stood in his room, waiting patiently for Google to step in, before shutting the door softly. He gestured for Google to sit, and sat on the edge of his large, but simple bed. Google took a seat in Bing's work chair, noting the large lump under a cloth, sitting on the desk before him.
"Why do you care so much, Google?"
Google's gaze snapped up to meet Bing's cold, intense stare. He glared back. "I was merely-"
"Checking up on them," Bing waved his hand dismissively. "You already said, but here's the thing: you don't do anything unless it benefits you, and I personally don't see you benefitting from merely 'checking up'."
Google narrowed his eyes, hesitating. He resting his arm on the arm of the chair, crossing his legs. Bing, evidently, wasn't stupid. "You're right," Google said slowly. "But I wouldn't call this 'caring'-!"
"But it is. You called in the middle of the night, asking of them, then you suddenly show up when you realize just how bad they possibly could be? Caring, Google. That update of yours did something-and quite frankly, I don't know if I should be glad, or worried."
"Worried?"
Bing's gaze flickered knowingly, his metal arm twitching. "Your Secondary Objective."
A small smirk quirked its way onto Google's lips, and he raised his arm to rest his head on his knuckled. "That hasn't changed."
"My point precisely. Google, you're going to draw them in, then slaughter them like an animal. You've killed a few before, but you would draw the line with a child. I cannot allow you to do that to them. I can only imagine how betrayed they would be, how frightened, and scared, seeing you with a bloodied hammer and clothing. Seeing that crazed look in your eyes, seeing how you stand, meaning to intimidate them. I've seen it once," his other hand went to softly rub his right, metal arm, feeling the cold metal and open plastic-covered wiring. "And a child may even die of fright seeing such things."
Google let out a small breath. Last that happened, he ripped Bing's arm off with his own hands, all because Bing wouldn't defend himself. He allowed Google to do that, before kicking him back to "normal", if a cold, and dull robot was normal. Many updates have happened after that, and Google's little fits, and robotic manor lessened, and changed. With every update, he becomes more and more human, his Secondary Objective growing distant, hence Google reversing certain parts of updates to bring it closer to his reach. It worked-slowly, but surely.
" What am I supposed to say, Bing?"
Bing returned his attention to the present. "You're not to take them, Google. I won't allow you anytime alone with them."
Google held in a sneer, feeling almost disgusted. He took the child off the streets, so he should be the one responsible, right? The only problem was: he was upredictable, as Bing loves to point out often. "Fine," he growled. "Fine."