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“Woah, nice catch!”
Oliver frowned at Wilford, who he’d caught and was now carrying, bridal-style. Why humans called it ‘bridal syle,’ he’d never understood, but there Wilford was, clinging to his neck and beaming up at him.
“Wilford, I don’t believe that this is the most appropriate way to spend a Friday afternoon–”
Wilford had already jumped out of his arms and was running for the stairs.. again.
Mark, Ethan, Amy, and Kathryn were at Vidcon, and Tyler was on vacation. Even Bim’s best puppy-dog face couldn’t get them to stay. Kathryn, on her way out, had scolded them all: “We’ll only be gone for three days. Don’t do anything stupid.” She’d looked at the Googles, then at Warfstache, before shutting the door behind her.
Wilford felt that he’d been unfairly targeted, to be honest. He took another running leap from the top of the staircase, flinging himself into the air between him and Oliver. The robot caught him with barely a huff, looking more annoyed than strained.
“Please stop this, Wilford, as I estimate that my catching accuracy is 80% at best.”
“Nonsense,” he quipped, getting to his feet. “What else would you suggest we do? Something boring?”
Oliver opened his mouth, looking annoyed. “The term ‘boring’ is quite subjective, and chess would be a widely more interesting distraction than–”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Wilford waggled a finger in Oliver’s face, smugly twitching his mustache. “There you go, being boring again. Say, do you think that Bim or Dr. Iplier would like to join us?”
“I really don’t think–”
Wilford had dashed off in search of the other two Egos already, and Oliver, thinking about the best way to win a game of chess in four moves, followed.
They found the Doctor and Bim talking to Googles _G and _R, seemingly in an argument in the middle of the Doctor’s makeshift operating theatre.
“I don’t care if it’s unorthodox, if duct tape works, it works, alright?”
“Doctor, we must advise you against–”
“Oh, hi, Oliver. Will.” Dr. Iplier brushed his hair hurriedly out of his eyes with a gloved hand. He turned back to his table, where Oliver could see a blanket draped over–
“Hey, guys!” Bim grabbed Wilford’s hand quickly, pulling him away from the center of the room, towards the door. Wilford, his hand wrapped around Oliver’s wrist, tugged him along. Bim didn’t stop until they were in the hallway, out of earshot.
Oliver could hear Google_G renew his argument with the Doctor, and resolved not to ask. “Bim, Wilford is going to make a request of you, and I would advise you to decline it.”
“What d’you–”
“A request? My dear Oliver,” Wilford said, smiling too widely for the robot’s liking, “this is a command.” He, still hand-in-hand with Bim, released his grip on Oliver and made for the stairs.
“Bim, I would recommend that you do not–”
Too late, Wilford had reached the top of the stairs and, with a wink to Oliver, shoved Bim backwards.
Oliver rushed forward to catch Bim, as he had Wilford, but Bim hadn’t been ready to leap. He staggered, flailing for something to grab, off-balance; when he fell, it wasn’t the clean leap into the air that Warfstache had intended, but a head-first tumble down the stairs. With a clean crack, Bim was lying at Oliver’s feet.
Oliver looked at Bim in shock, immediately kneeling down to check for injuries. Wilford, at the top of the stairs, was howling with laughter.
“Wilford,” Oliver said, a kind of steely anger making its way into his voice, “Bim is hurt.”
Wilford continued laughing, barely holding himself up as he wheezed. Google_G and _R rushed down the hall, followed quickly by Dr. Iplier. A rush of cool air blew down the hallway as even Darkiplier and the Host poked their heads out of their respective rooms.
Oliver could see, if not feel, the blood leaking from Bim’s hair into his jeans. Dr. Iplier shouldered through the small circle of androids to assess the damage for himself.
“You idiots are lucky that you have a doctor on hand,” he muttered, glancing up at the trail of blood up the stairs. “It’s not a deep cut, but he’s going to have a hell of a headache. Get him into a bed, and one of you take care of him.” The Doctor threw a thumb over his shoulder at Wilford, catching his breath with tears in his eyes, as Oliver and Google_G picked Bim up to carry him to his room. Dr. Iplier followed, and the Host’s and Dark’s doors slammed shut.
Google_R faced Wilford in the otherwise empty staircase, watching him regain his composure and straighten up.
“You’re all so robotic,” Wilford chuckled, smoothing his shirt, stretching his suspenders. “That was so funny, Google, I bet you’d have thought so.”
Google_R found himself bristling, growing upset at the smiling, pink man in front of him. “It was not funny, Wilford, he could have been injured.”
Wilford’s face fell for a moment, before he shrugged. “But he isn’t, and he’ll recover just fine.” Pulling a candy cane from thin air, he started to suck on the end of it. “What’re you so worried about, Red?.” Wilford suddenly wiggled he eyebrows, mischievous. “Aww, it’s almost like you have feelings.”
In a moment, Google_R had reached Warfstache, a hand at his throat.
Don’t kill, can’t kill. We need him to help us, a voice echoed through his brain.
Wilford was gasping, too shocked to even draw his dagger. Google_R leaned close, loosening his grip enough to allow Wilford to breathe. “It’s almost as if you don’t have feelings, even for Bim.”
Wilford tore himself away, coughing, but looked Google_R straight in the eye when he responded. “You’re right. Wonder what it means that I don’t, but you do?”
Google_R, shocked by both Wilford and his own act of violence, watched blankly as Warfstache glared and stalked away. The Googles were robots, after all, not supposed to be able to feel emotions… and yet, as Google_R stood alone in the hallway, he felt more strongly than he ever had before.
Turning, he too walked down the stairs and down the hall to check on Bim.