Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s mid afternoon when Bing and King spot the Jims acting more weirdly than usual, making all sorts of strange poses and both clearly enjoying themselves. King is a little wary about approaching them, knowing that it’s not something one should do lightly but Bing just grabs his wrist and drags him along.

As the pair approach, the Jims wave and immediately babble excitedly about the camera they’ve been using. Not their usual film camera that they always use for their ‘newscast’ but rather one for taking still shots, and Jim crouches to show them his favorite pose, where he raises both his arms like cat claws, but extends his neck to the strange point where he actually looks weirdly graceful. Other Jim, the one now holding the camera, sees the opportunity and gently nudges King out of the way so he can get the shot.

When Bing and King ask if they can join in, the Jims pretend to think but every one of them knows that this is their afternoon sorted and to exclude them would just be stupid, though the Jims insist that only they are allowed to touch the camera which the cyborg and the monarch both agree to.

It’s weird though, the Jims insisting on the strangest locations, having King climb on a table they carry out into the garden, a squirrel or two beside him as they direct him to make oddly regal poses, including one where one of his squirrels climbs up on his chest, forcing King to lean back so the poor little fella doesn’t fall off.

Bing’s first picture involves him having to do a handstand. All of them, even other Jim, give Jim a weird look about that. They all know that Bing can’t do a handstand for more than like a second and will most likely fall on them and break the camera. Jim insists though and leads them all to a wall for Bing to prop himself up on. Bing worries that maybe the picture won’t look that cool, trust him to get the only bad picture from the whole thing, but it’s hard to say no to the Jims when they get an idea in their head.

Plenty of other pictures get taken, including a couple with Wilford, when they ask if they can take a few behind the scenes in his studio. Every picture is taken by one of the Jims and it’s only as the day is winding down that King asks if one of them could please, please get a picture of the Jims together.

“Just one photo,” he begs, “a world exclusive!”

Because never, not in photo, nor on film, nowhere have the Jims ever appeared together except in real life and when Bing realises he facepalms. Of course! They’ve never had a picture together! it’s a crime against nature, and Bing insists that they have to rectify it!

The Jims look between themselves nervously. They’ve never appeared on screen together for good reason. They’re not ignorant to how similar they are or the fact that some people in this building can’t see any difference between them, never mind the wider world. Having just one of them visible at a time just saves all those comments. The Jims look uncomfortable as they purposefully avoid looking at Bing and King. Yeah, they’re a bit airheaded but they’re not ignorant.

Bing and King both pull one Jim in for a hug and do their best to reassure them. King suggests a few more photo ideas which is how they manage to get a photo of Bing giving a piggy back ride to Other Jim while Jim gets a picture of him and King posing like they’re looking for lost treasure. It’s a pretty swell picture.

By the end of the day, the camera’s battery is all but dead, and all four of them are exhausted, gathering in the lounge to just sit and talk, going over their favorite shots and moments from the day. Other Jim soon dozes off against Jim’s shoulder who, with the reassuring soft snoozing of his brother nearby, soon dozes off as well.

Bing can’t help himself, taking out his phone, he manages to snap a picture of the brothers sleeping together. Once he gets a physical copy to give the Jims, the picture’s getting deleted, but the two boys just look so happy and comfortable and this snap is the perfect end to such a good day for the four of them.

Chapter Text

Google doesn’t hug. Red, Green, and Oliver do but Google doesn’t, never has. When it comes to Bing though the two have kind of developed a sort of alternative method of expressing physical reassurance.

From Bing to Google it’s shoulder pats, gentle but firm touches to Goog’s shoulder so the droid knows that Bing sees he’s in pain but respects the fact that he doesn’t do hugs.

From Google to Bing, it originates from when on a near daily basis, Google had to physically remove Bing from their computer lab before he caused any damage, distraction, or destruction. Being the strongest of the four Google droids, he is easily able to lift Bing up and carry him from somewhere to somewhere else. Bing’s robotics are nowhere near as strong and so he really can’t fight it, often just having to accept his fate of being carried and trying to convince Google that he won’t cause any damage. He never succeeded.

After the ‘break-in’ attempts died down and as the Googles and Bing got a little closer after the cyborg reveal, Google has developed a tendency to pick Bing up when there’s no need to. Usually it’s a fireman’s carry, just hoisting Bing up and throwing him over his shoulder Bing laughing while Google smiles like a little shit.

None of the other droids do it, none of the other egos do it, it’s strictly a Google and Bing thing and when they do it, everybody thinks about how much they look like brothers.

Lifting Bing up is Google’s hug, and Bing kind of loves it. Something just for them.

Chapter Text

Every one of them begins with the soft click as Bing closes his bedroom door. No one will approach it until it’s opened again, and then, that’s not a guarantee. He heads to the bathroom, slowly taking off his clothes, his fingers lingering over the scars that nobody but him will ever see. The seams between what is really him, and what really, when you think about it, isn’t.

Normally it doesn’t matter, what he is doesn’t come close to who he is and he can just brush them off like nothing. But on days like this, he remembers who he was, the life he had, the plans, the dreams. Bing used to have a whole life. Family, friends, a future, and it’s all just….gone.

Bing….Ashley had been working towards The Dream™. Go to college, study hard, date maybe, find a good job, settle down, build a family, find security and stability. He hadn’t figured out the details but he knew exactly what he’d wanted in his life and he could fill in the blanks as he’d go. Or so he thought.

The water in the shower has to steam; hot enough to feel it in his lung when he breathes it in, not so hot that it burns. He’d made that mistake one too many times already. He easily loses himself in thought in the shower and he can live with that.

It was raining that day. The details escape him, they always have. Of course he was told about it after the fact but it’s not like his memory is entirely blank. That day is mostly flashes of faces, places, screeching, that distinct taste of terror that he’s never felt anywhere else. Then…

Apparently there had been several vehicles involved and three people died. Well, Bing knew that it was only two, but as far as the wider world knew, it was three. The next time he’d been aware, it had been several months, he couldn’t talk, could barely think and was told that he was alive, he was illegal, and that he’d long ago been declared dead.

He turns the shower off, his skin a ‘healthy’ red from the heat, soon covered up again by his pajamas before he just crawls under the covers and curls up.

Ashley wonders about his mom. His dad went away when he was little and his mom never had another kid so they’d always been incredibly close. He thinks he might have been on the phone with her just before the thing happened. He hopes he told her he loved her before he hung up. He doesn’t remember.

She wasn’t allowed to know about him. No one was, that’s what the doctor had said as Bing slowly learned how to function with his new parts. It was a slow and rocky process and he’d tried to give up multiple times, but the doctor wouldn’t let him. By the time he was fully functioning, Ashley Bingham had been dead for nearly two years. He couldn’t go back to his old life then, it was too late.

That’s when Dark had found him. Walked in like he owned the place and spoken about this strange building filled with people like them apparently. Kept saying about how they were all connected somehow, though Bing wasn’t sure if he could trust this strange grey man. Dark promised that he knew the kind of muted, half-hidden existence he lived with the doctor, unable to go outside, unable to live or die by his own terms, forced into an existence he never asked for. He’d promised Bing he wasn’t alone. That in this building he would be safe, he would be free to be and do whatever he wanted, and he would never be alone again.

Bing shifts, pulling the pillow from under his head, clinging to it as he pulls the covers over his head. No one’s going to come in. No one ever does. But just in case, he doesn’t want anyone to see the tears that are starting to stain his pillowcase. He buries his face in the pillow, holding it tightly to his chest. Technically the tears don’t fall this way. They’re just soaked up.

He doesn’t know what Dark arranged with the doctor, what promises he made or what money may or may not have exchanged hands, but Bing had left that day, come to the building with the others in, and he’d never looked back. Never, except for on his grey days.

On his grey days he wishes he could be Ashley again. Now he’s only Ashley when he’s done something wrong and Dark barks that name at him in anger. He wishes he’d have gone to college, found that someone, lived that life he’d been planning for. Wishes that the surgery scars that litter his skin weren’t there as a reminder of how wrong and unnatural his existence is.

He wishes he could tell his mom how much he misses her. How much he thinks about her and wishes he could make her proud. Dark had offered before Bing came to the building. Said he could easily track her down and allow Ashley to say his goodbyes. He’d said no. Not because he didn’t want to, he wanted to see her more than anything, but it wouldn’t be fair. She’d have a new life now, she’d have come to some kind of peace with what happened, labouring for years under the belief that her son was dead and gone. And Bing was going to take that away from her just so he can have a few seconds with his mommy? No. He refused to do that to her.

It’s several hours before Bing’s door creaks open and the cyborg, wrapped in his black hoodie, slowly traipses his way to the TV room. His eyes are red and puffy from crying and he doesn’t say a word, not even when someone comes into the room and asks him how he’s doing. He just thinks.

He thinks a lot on his grey days.

Chapter Text

The Googles are working in their computer lab. Each of them has their own part to focus on but Google’s distracted, repeatedly turning to glance over at the door as though he’s waiting for something.

“We can see you not working.” Red eventually says.

“Apologies.” Google returns to his work, but looks up when he can feel the others continuing to glare at him. “Is something wrong?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Green says. This has been stewing for a while and they won’t get anything else done until they tackle it. The problem is none of them have been sure how to broach the subject with Google.

“It’s nothing.” Google insists, “I just haven’t seen Bing in a while.” Typically, Bing in in here being somewhat of a bother but Google hasn’t seen him in a few weeks and it’s a little worrying. Blue, Red, and Oliver exchange awkward glances and Google frowns. “What?”

Oliver, reaches up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Bing…kind of thinks you hate him.”

“What?” Google gives up all pretences of working and turns to the door. “Why would he think that?”

“If you want to know that, go ask him.” Red says, returning to his work, clearly believing that to be the last of it.

Google pushes open the door to Bing’s room calling out for him, just catching the droid leaping off his bed and raising his hands, looking to all like he’s just done something.

“I didn’t do it!” he says a bit too quick.

Google can’t help the scowl that comes to his face. “What did you do?”

Bing’s gives a confident smirk as he lowers his arms. “Nothing that can be proven.” His hands settle on his hips as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “What’s up, Googs?”

“Why do you think I hate you?”

Bing’s eyebrows shoot up in shock at the brashness but they settle and his smile widens just a little too much. “I don’t .” That’s what he says, but there’s something off about Bing’s tone that says otherwise.

“You’re not a very good liar.”

The facade lasts a second more before the smile and bravado drops away. Bing lets out a tired sigh and his hands fall from his hips as he avoid looking directly at Google.

“It’s just….I used to think we were bros, you know.” A faint smile plays over Bing’s lips as he thinks of all the good-natured teasing that used to fly between them. “You never said the word but we had banter…Then you got your upgrade.” The smile’s gone and Bing’s shuffling in place. Google had been glitching a lot and he knows that the upgrade had been important but Google had made those other droids and things changed. “It’s cool that there’s four of you but….you throw the word ‘brother’ around like it’s going out of style.”

He’d always assumed Google just didn’t use the word ‘brother’. To find that he not only can, but will do it willingly, just not with Bing…. Because Bing’s not his brother. Bing is…Bing’s…He doesn’t know what he is.

At the realisation, Bing had locked himself in his room for a couple days. Not that anyone really noticed. It was a difficult week, but eventually Bing was able to pretend that he doesn’t care. He really does though. Not that it makes any difference.

Google’s face softens as Bing speaks, stepping forward to reach for the other droid. Emotions have never been a strong point, part of his upgrade was supposed to help with that, it’s what Oliver had been the test for, but it isn’t as simple as he’d expected.

Bing moves away, giving a gentle dismissive gesture to try and wave him off. “No I get it. They’re like a part of you, and they’re your brothers it’s just… Not being your bro gives ‘no one actually loves you’ a whole new meaning.” he sighs as he turns his back, reaching to hold his own arm. “I figured it would be better if I left you alone.”

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Google hated Bing back in the early days. That positivity, that upbeat attitude, that wholly unrobot way-of-being just ground at him, and any day without Bing bothering him was a good day. But Google hasn’t felt that way in a long time.

To say he likes Bing isn’t quite right, but to say he hates him is just as inaccurate. Again, emotions, very complex and having them is very much a learning experience. Understanding them, let alone communicating them to an emotional bot like Bing, is somewhat beyond Google’s ability. So the bot does the first thing that comes to mind. Reaching for Bing’s shoulder, Google makes him turn so they’re facing each other, his lips a firm line as their eyes meet.

Google shakes his head and dips, grabbing Bing round the waist and lifting him up until Bing is essentially hanging over the blue droid’s shoulder. Bing lets out a yelp as he’s lifted from the ground, his legs kicking and hands trying to find something to grab a hold of on Google’s back. There’s nothing though so he settles for trying to keep his glasses on his face.

“What are you doing?!”

Google ignores him, proceeding to walk out the door with Bing casually thrown over his shoulder, walking him through the corridors towards the computer lab.

“I think you might have this in reverse Goog. You throw me out, not carry me in.”

As they enter, the other three are all staring, Oliver with a small smile, Green looking confused, while Red seems frustrated at yet another interruption. None of them say a word as Google drops Bing to the floor beside his workstation. Google turns to them, raising a questioning eyebrow, and they return to their work. Google turns to Bing and hesitates.

“What’s going-?”

The blue droid silences the question with a firm hand on Bing’s head as he quietly shushes him before sitting at his desk and returning to his own work.

Bing sits there in utter confusion. He doesn’t understand what the heck Google brought him here for but he doesn’t need telling twice to be quiet, sitting back against the side of Google’s desk and just waiting.

After twenty minutes he starts to doze, the sounds of the Googles’ clicking keyboards being surprisingly soothing. It’s weird, since he got his robotic ‘upgrade’ there’s something of a musical tone to a lot of typical computational noises and it’s really kind of rhythmic.

A hand ruffling his hair drags Bing back towards consciousness, blinking open tired eyes to see Google’s hand retreating, a smirk playing at his lips as he resumes working again.

Did Google just…?

Bing just sits back. Nah. He probably didn’t. Maybe it’s that weird hallucination thing when he gets tired.

More time passes, Bing just about manages not to doze off again, instead trying to name in his head all the different tricks he wants to learn on his skateboard…once the Host unconfiscates it next week.

It’s while he’s distracted that he feels the hand in his hair again, looking up to see Google smiling at him, pressing a little harder for just a moment with the ruffling, before drawing back and going back to work again.

Bing blinks up at Google in confusion.

“I don’t get it.” he eventually says. “What’s happening?”

Google’s eyes flash, though he just about manages not to roll them. “I don’t hate you, you idiot.”

“So you’re…ruffling my hair?”

“According to various sources, it’s a common behaviour among older siblings to show younger siblings that they’re not completely annoying.” Google looks down to Bing, a mixed look of confusion and curiosity on his face. “Why? Is there a better way I can do it?”

“No!” Bing insists, sitting back against the side of Google’s desk. “No, hair-ruffling is fine.”

Bing can’t help the slight grin on his face. He waits, and sure enough after another twenty minutes, Google reaches across and ruffles his hair again. That just makes his grin bigger. Google has actually researched ways that human siblings interact with each other and has chosen what honestly might be Bing’s new favourite gesture as a means to try and express himself.

That’s a little bit freaking awesome!

“Am I okay to stay here for a bit?” Bing ventures to ask after a while, not really wanting to overstay his welcome.

Google smirks. “If you don’t break anything.” he teases.

Oh yeah, thinks Bing. We’re bros.

Chapter Text

King’s still tree-hunting, the Googles are busy in the lab, the Jims are asleep in the hospital bed, one still looking pale and sickly and so Bing has taken it upon himself to sit with them. Y’know. Just in case something happens. Anything’s possible in this crazy place.

“Why are you in here?” Across the room, Mare is sat in the window, his feet up on the ledge. “That doc’s in the next room. They don’t need a babysitter.”

Bing frowns but doesn’t move.”You don’t have a lot of friends do you?” Mare throws a glare across the room but is silent. “They’re my friends. I’m not leaving them alone.”

Mare turns to look out the window. “I thought Mad was my friend.”

“You need better friends.”

The spirit is silent and Bing realises that he probably could have found a better way to say it. After all, the other egos are hardly falling over each other to be friends with Mare. And the guy he thought was his friend abandoned him. That doesn’t give him a free pass for the stuff he did, but he can see why Mare is a bit of a sour spirit.

“Why did you do it?” Bing asks after a few moments.

Mare turns to look at the cyborg. “What?”

“I get that Mad wanted to learn about my parts, but what did you get out of it?”

Mare blinks at him for a few moments before he speaks. “Do you have any idea how good you have it here? Pretty much everyone in this building came after you. They noticed you were missing and fought to protect you without a second’s hesitation.”

“And?”

“And I hate it.”

“…you hate it?”

Mare moves, half standing, anger in his words as he speaks. “When I found this place, all I wanted was to be a part of it. A whole group of weirdos living together and protecting each other. It was exactly the kind of place I was hoping to find. But Lord King Emo said I wasn’t welcome and kicked me to the curb.”

“What? Why?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”  The anger slowly drains as he sits back, raising his leg to the window ledge again. “My working theory is the fact I look nothing like any of you lot.”

Some of them wear glasses, some of them have scruff, and their hair isn’t all the same, but there is no denying that every last member of this dumbass family has the same face. A face that Mare doesn’t share.

Bing isn’t ignorant to the similarity, but he’s just kind of come to accept it in the building. Sure they look the same, but except for the Jims, they’re not identical and they all seem pretty distinct to him. The fact they look the same is just not a thing he’s ever questioned.

“So you joined Mad.”

Mare shrugs, his fingers tugging gently at the knees of his jeans. “He said he needed my help. Offered me a chance to get back at Dark. I needed a friend.”

“He’s not that great of a friend.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Mare’s form flickers, his figure turning slightly translucent as he turns back to look out the window. "But we don’t all have the luxury of choice.”

Chapter Text

Phantom has taken a stroll around the building, a little pleased with all the madness still taking place. He doesn’t mean any ill will necessarily but there’s something about seeing the fruits of someone else’s chaos that’s like going out for dinner. It’s not home cooked but damn if it ain’t still tasty.

When he returns to the clinic, he’s greeted by two unimpressed Jims who are both sat on the edge of sickly Jim’s bed. They both have their arms crossed and are glaring at Phantom.

“Oh dear.” Phantom teases slightly. “What have I done?”

“Did you take the writer?” asks one Jim.

The lightness is gone within a second. “I needed to be certain he wouldn’t hurt you any further while I ran an errand.”

“And you’re back.” says other Jim. “And the writer is missing.”

Phantom turns from the Jims. “He can’t hurt you where he is.”

“Unless the writer makes a deal you can’t take them.” Jim jumps to his feet and jabs an accusing finger at the deal maker. “You’re breaking the rules!”

Phantom doesn’t want to. Things are so much nicer when the writer isn’t interfering in everything. Turning around to see the ass just hovering and making notes. Ugh. Why does that rule even matter? Everybody’s probably better off.

The other Jim jumps up as well, a little slower. “Let the writer go, Phan!”

The Phantom gives an almighty sigh before turning and raising his staff. The glass globe on top glows and a small light emerges from the top before flying off. The light dims and Phantom slams the ground with the base of his cane.

“You two are impossible.” and in a blink he’s gone.

Chapter Text

Yan goes on a small grocery run and comes back to Rowan grinning at them. It’s very suspect but Rowan waits until they’ve put the food away before handing them a bag. It’s from a local clothing store and it’s very suspicious now. Reaching in, Yan pulls out what’s inside. As they shake it out, the realise it’s an orange skirt.

“I wasn’t sure what size to get so if it’s wrong, I still have the receipt. We can go exchange it.”

Yan tilts their head in confusion. “You bought me a skirt….”

Rowan frowns, a little worried he did something wrong. “Was I not supposed to?”

Reaching forward, Yan runs their fingers over the fabric. It feels soft. They look up to Rowan. “Why?”

Nervous that he’s done something he shouldn’t have Rowan’s fingers tap against his thigh as he considers his answer. “I haven’t seen you in any of your skirts or dresses in a while. Actually you’ve worn nothing but the same shirt and jeans for the last three weeks. I thought you might like it.”

They do. God they love it. Nobody else has ever bought them anything like this. I mean sure it’s just a skirt but Yan has always had to get things for themself.

“I can take it back.” the bot offers.

Yan clutches it close to their chest, glaring at him. “You dare and I will dismantle you.”

Rowan startles at the sudden motion but smiles as he sees Yan cling to the skirt. “You want to try it on?”

Yan nods excitedly and reaches up, twirling their finger at Rowan. “Turn around.”

Rowan rolls his eyes, he’s seen Yan change plenty of times so it’s not like he hasn’t seen it before. Still he obliges and turns, listening to Yan moving around the room, rummaging and shuffling before eventually there’s a few seconds silence.

“How do I look?” they ask. Rowan turns.

The shirt they’d been wearing has been thrown aside, replaced by a blue chiffon shirt tugged down around the top of the skirt. The skirt itself goes a fair way down their legs, clinging around the hips but flaring out a little towards the bottom. It gently shakes as Yan shuffles nervously in place. They run a hand through their hair. “It would probably look better if I got my hair cut.”

Rowan takes it all in, maybe looking a little longer than entirely necessary. He won’t lie, the clothes mean really nothing to him, but that genuine smile Yan’s wearing right now. They haven’t smiled like that in weeks, since before Freddy Fazbear’s. Stepping forward, he reaches to brush Yan’s hair behind their ear and smiles.

“You look amazing.”

Yan throws their arms around Rowan pinning his arms to his side as they tightly hug him. If he could he’d return it but Yan’s not exactly giving him a much wiggle room.

When Yan pulls back they move over to pick up their discarded clothes, throwing them back into their bag sat beside the bed. “You do realise I’m going to be wearing this anytime I don’t have to be outside?”

Rowan pretends to frown. “You can’t wear the same outfit all the time.”

Yan calls over their shoulder, “Watch me.”

Rowan sighs faux-dramatically, putting his hands on his hips as he gives an over-the-top shrug. “I guess we’ll just have to get you some more outfits then.”

That makes Yan laugh, but Rowan is a hundred percent serious about getting more outfits. Though he thinks, as he notices the safety pin pinning the skirt together at the back, maybe next time he’ll make sure Yan is with him.

Chapter Text

The Jims have holed up in their cupboard again. It’s been their go-to hidey hole for the two years since they moved in to the building. Wilford is sat just to the side of the door, his back against the wall a hand to his nose trying to stop the bleeding.

“Dark?” A timid voice calls through the locked door.

“No no. Just ol’ Wilford.” Wilford calls back, turning slightly and raising his voice. He doesn’t fully understand exactly what’s happened but from what he can tell, the Jims have broken something of some kind of significance. He’d walked in to find Dark’s aura going mad with the boy’s cowering in the corner and managed to drag grey demon into a small pocket void so he can properly let loose without causing any more damage. The Jims had run off in that small window.

“We didn’t mean to make him mad!” the voice calls again.

“Of course you didn’t.” Wilford agrees. The Jims never mean to mess up but they are awfully good at it. If he wasn’t trying to actually be a responsible adult for once, he would even say he was proud of them. But first he needs to make sure they’re all right. “Why don’t you open the door. Let Uncle Wilford make sure you’re okay?”

The silence stretches for a while before the door clicks, gently opening just a crack. Wilford reaches up, pulling it open and peering inside. The Jims are shuffled as far back against the wall as they can possibly be, one sat rubbing at his ankle while the other, the one who probably unlocked the door, is purposefully placing himself in front of the other protectively. Bless these boys.

“Did the old man get you?”

“No.” They answer in unison, a bit too quickly. Obviously they’re lying.

“How about you come out here and we all get cleared up while Dark’s in time out?” That manages to get the Jims snickering. In their time, the boys have developed a bit of a sneaky streak and they’ve bonded with Wilford over teasing the super serious, unwilling-to-wear-anything-but-a-suit grey man. It’s never failed to get them to crack a smile.

It takes a fair bit of coaxing and the promise of copious amounts of sugar and a day out soon to draw them out. Wilford gives them some cocoa and sits them down  in the relatively new TV room that Dark installed in the building. Best to have them keep out the way while he checks on Dark.

With a weary sigh, and some tissue stuffed up his nose, Wilford steps into his void, reappearing moments later with an unconscious grey idiot thrown over his shoulder. Nobody can ever seem to tire the old boy out like the Jims. He’ll sleep like a baby for the next several hours and then wake up and be back to his usual grumpy self again. Nothing can ever keep Dark down for too long.

Chapter Text

“Nice of you to finally join us Ashley.”

As Bing trudges in to the meeting about a half hour late and plonks into his seat, he slumps across the table and buries his head, completely ignoring Dark’s sarcasm. All the others are staring at him but he doesn’t care. The rest of the meeting is spent in this position, not sitting up, not contributing and only groaning when King leans over and asks if something’s wrong.

It’s not a grey day or else Bing wouldn’t have turned up at all, but even when the meeting ends and Dark dismisses them, Bing doesn’t move. He stays, exactly where he is, and listens to everyone leaving around him.

“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you going to be a whiny baby and just lay there?” King is still in his seat beside the cyborg, leaning forward and talking to the little pile of grump that is his best friend.

There’s a vague grumble in response and King frowns in confusion.

“What?”

Bing shifts slightly so his mouth isn’t covered. “I broke my photo.”

“Photo?”

Giving a sigh, Bing gets up, reaching for King’s hand, before pulling him, remarkably silent for Bing, through the corridors to his room and points to his bed. On top of the messy covers sits the photo frame that’s usually on the table beside Bing’s bed. The glass is broken.

“I didn’t see it fall on the floor and I stood on it.” Bing mutters quietly.

Sure enough, all the spiderly break lines lead to what looks like the pressure point where it was probably stood on and the photo underneath is barely visible through the glass any more.

Now that is the big issue, because, being the cyborg’s best friend, even not being able to see the picture, King knows what this picture is. It’s of Bing and his mom at this place that the cyborg swears does the best wings he’s ever had in his life. They’re both happy and smiling, her arms are wrapped his shoulders and he’s got his trademark goofy grin on his face. The server took it for them, and it’s the only connection Bing has to her any more.

After he first moved in to the building, shortly after the two of them became friends and just as he was starting to cement himself as a playful nuisance to the Googles, Bing had a really really bad day. Not so much grey as nearly black. All he’d known for years was this old workshop and now he was somewhere new and the homesickness was way higher than it had even been before, or ever has been since.

And when he finally emerged from his room, wrapped in a giant blanket, eyes sunken and hair looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, then forwards, then backwards again, Oliver had gifted this photo to Bing.

To this day, the droid refuses to explain how he obtained it just that it seemed that Bing looked like he needed it and ever since then, it’s sat in its simple frame, in pride of place, next to Bing’s bed.

And now it’s broken.

Thankfully there’s no glass on the floor, and the glass is still in place, just shattered. So King just leads Bing, picture in hand, to the kitchen where they wrap it very, very carefully in cling film. That at least will stop the glass falling all over his floor if it gets knocked, and keep any shards from getting loose and damaging the photo.

It’s just a temporary solution, until Bing can get a new frame. Except Bing can’t exactly work, technically being dead and all, and also illegal. And it’s not like they have allowances or anything. And it’s obvious from the gloomy look on Bing’s face and the way he carries the frame, so very delicately and like it might just shatter in his hands, that the cyborg is distraught that he’s ruined his picture forever.

Luckily King already has an idea, and once he’s able to get the Jims to distract Bing, he disappears to the Google’s computer lab.

Google is in there, as he usually is, doing some hardware maintenance, caught a little unawares by the sudden appearance of King.

“Are you still looking for a present for Bing’s birthday?” King asks.

“We have the shirt-”

King waves to dismiss this as he interrupts. “Yeah but are you still looking for a present for Bing’s birthday?”

Fast forward a few months, it’s Bing’s birthday and after he finally gets up and heads to the kitchen for his usual three or four bowls of cereal, King sneaks in and carefully picks up the picture frame and sneaks it out, rushing it to the Google’s lab.

It takes a while to carefully extract the photo from the broken frame, especially with the cling film that still holds it together but soon enough it’s in it’s new frame, and Google is wrapping it up, at King’s insistence.

Luckily, everyone has planned a busy day and Bing doesn’t even know that his picture’s been moved, and as he is about to head back to his room, grinning like a happy idiot and exhausted beyond belief, Google approaches him, haphazardly wrapped present in hand.

Given that the Googles gifted him a black shirt with an orange ‘G’ on it, Bing is a little confused but still thanks Google and pulls the paper off.

There’s a moment of silence as Bing stares and Google looks down at the frame in Bing’s hands. It’s nothing overly ornate or elaborate since the photo is more important than the frame so it wouldn’t do to have it overshadow the photo.

“King says your old frame became broken so I-”

Bing surges forward, wrapping his arms around Google, cutting him off. It’s not particularly comfortable but Bing just needs to hug his brother right now because despite being easily the simplest gift he’s been given, it’s also the greatest and if he wasn’t trying really hard not to burst into tears right now, he’d just be saying ‘thank you’ over and over again.

The picture takes up its usual spot on Bing’s bedside table and now it’s even more his most prized possession. And he sets his alarm about an hour earlier so he doesn’t wind up running late and knocking it over again.

Chapter Text

Google groans as yet another message appears in his inbox. Again, it’s marked urgent. This time he doesn’t even bother to read it, pushing himself to his feet and telling the others he’s heading to the clinic. Before he leaves, he retrieves something from a box in the corner of the room.

When he enters the cliniic, Bing is about six feet from his bed, the doctor is nowhere to be seen. The cybrorg looks hot and frustrated, face overtly flushed, and visibly sweating, clearly unsteady on his feet.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.” Google reminds him.

“Not sick.” Bing grumbles. That’s a lie.

Google adjusts his glasses. “If you’re going to insist on running around then wear this.” he tosses the item from the box at Bing who struggles to catch it.

Rolling it out, Bing holds up a large warm zip hoodie the exact same blue as Google’s shirt. His eyes go wide before he turns to the droid.

“Is this…?” Bing’s voice trails off as he rubs it between his fingers. It’s really soft. “I thought you burned this.”

“Reports of its destruction may have been exagerrated.”

This hoodie is a relic from back in the early days; back when there was only one Google and Bing was simply a shitty droid. Google was malfunctioning, in desperate need of an upgrade. Fritzing and glitching, just pissed off in general. Dark was an insufferable prat, Bing was the bane of his existence, and humanity in general was nigh on impossible to process.

When it all got too much Google would disappear into the throngs of humanity. Just a few days without everything and everyone demanding his attention. Except walking around for days on end with the same blue t-shirt on tends to get you noticed by people, especially the homeless charities that tread the street. So Google had a large warm blue hoodie that he would wrap around himself to try and deflect attention.

“Put it on.”

Bing swings the hoodie around his shoulders, pulling it tight around him. He smiles, still running his fingers over the fabric.

“I love this.” 

“Go to bed.” Google is firm, and this time Bing doesn’t protest. He doesn’t argue or grumble, simply pulling the hoodie further around him and climbing back into bed. Within minutes the cyborg is asleep.

Google smiles. Idiot.

Chapter Text