Work Text:
You hear the tick tick tick tick resounding against your floors well before you ever see the little thing running fullspeed at you. You closed your book and sighed, giving yourself ample time to prepare for the incoming hunk of metal about to collide with your chest. Being prepared for it, however, didn’t necessarily mean that it was going to hurt less. You let out a distinct ‘oof’ sound as metal hits flesh, hands instinctively wrapping around the thing that has probably left another bruise to steady it. Carefully, you lift it up and stare unamused at your first successful robotic invention.
“Why are you all sticky.” It was not remotely phrased as a question. The bot in your hands giggled, a distinct whirr as its eyesockets adjusted to reflect the emotion of delight.
“I TRIED TA MAKE WAFFLES!” His shrieky metallic voice makes you wince. You set the sticky little thing on a clean area on your desk, making a disgusted face at your now tarnished hands. The little bot continued to emote delight as it hummed and kicked its legs playfully. You let out another sigh. You suppose you won’t be getting any studying done any time soon.
“GIR, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again,” You begin, sticking the top of your foot underneath one of your drawers and pulling it open. “You were not equipped to process food. Stop gunking up your internal systems or I’ll have to reprogram you.”
“Well they ain’t fer ME, sillygoose!”
You pause your reaching for paper towels, baby wipes, and other various cleaning products and give it an accusatory look.
“Were you trying to feed the raccoon again? What part of we’re trying to stop it from visiting do you—“
“It’s for YOU!”
You blink.
“It what?”
“When didya last eat? I worry ‘bout chu yaknow?”
It put its robotic claws to its face and tilted it cutely. The eye sockets made shuttering noises as it blinked multiple times. Your companion of well over ten years made you think. It sure had been a while since that last was a thing, you guess. You make a face at him, as though displeased for being caught at less-than-perfect health habits.
The little robotic unit sitting on your desk was far from perfect. It was your first creation after all. The GIR (You had long-forgotten what the acronym stood for. You were ten when you made it, after all) unit was extremely outdated. You created Gir to be what you imagined a younger sibling to be like based off of TV shows and snippets of information you’d gleaned from schoolmates. Something to keep you company while your parents carried on with whatever their life involved (whatever it was, it must have been so important that they barely spoke a word to you). Something to give you an idea of what a real family was.
You don’t remember much from that time period. You don’t want to remember. You don’t like thinking about it. You stare at the robot, which sat, giving you an oblivious look while making a kissy face at you.
Gir ran on, by far, the most inefficient system ever. You had to run diagnostics on it every couple of weeks when you weren’t also having to repair or replace parts of it. It was rambunctious. It was loud. It made awful messes. It was awful about following commands. Its tantrums were horrible. It never seemed to really learn much anything.
But it was the closest thing to a family you had. And you knew that it cared deeply for you in its own strange, erratic way. Like bursting into your room covered in syrup because it noticed you hadn’t eaten in a while.
“Your concerns are noted. Now sit still while I clean you up.”
“Can we watch a shoooow together?? I can make POPCORN!”
You sigh and pull out the baby wipes to begin the de-gunkening.
“After we get cleaned up and I have some of those waffles you made.”
It lets out a shrill cheer as it waves its arms around, causing you to wince.
“But only ONE episode. I have to study afterwards.”
“OOOOKEY DOKEY!” It exclaims and salutes you. You thought you had programmed that out. Oh well.