Work Text:
Wheatley was having a very, very bad day. It had started off a small thing, but it often took the build-up of small things to create a big thing.
That morning, whilst getting ready for work, he and Glados had been running particularly late. “Step up the pace, moron,” Glados had said.
“I'm going, I'm going!” he declared and thought nothing of it. It wasn't uncommon for Glados to call him a moron or an idiot or any other derivative of those words, but that morning had already been stressful.
She'd gotten a head start on him despite how quickly he'd gathered his materials. Scatterbrained, he was already on thin wire when he ran into Pitch Black in the hallway (literally ran into him). He didn't mean to shriek every time he rounded a corner and someone ran into him, but it just happened and it only succeeded in making him feel more embarrassed.
“Ugh, preposterous!” Pitch had declared, easily picking up the manuscript he had been holding whereas Wheatley was still picking up loose sheets of paper. He really should become more organized if this was going to be a common occurrence.
As he assembled his work and Pitch stepped around him, he called after, “Sorry! Sorry, didn't mean to—”
“Oh, save it,” Pitch retorted.
Despite how late he was, Wheatley sat back on his heels and declared, “That's really rude.” He was never a fan of rudeness, and no matter how long he lived with Glados and Chell (who were neither the cleanliest nor the kindest of creatures) he just couldn't stand for such outright unmannerly behavior.
“It's not my fault I'm surrounded by idiots.”
Wheatley bristled at the comeback, spoken halfheartedly as if Pitch weren't really paying attention to him. Picking up his work, Wheatley tried to put Pitch's words out of his mind. After all, he hadn't fully backed his comments. He'd said it mindlessly, not thinking of whom he was saying it to. Pitch was just being Pitch, just as Glados was just being Glados. Nothing personal, nothing serious.
But Wheatley was unsuccessful in his attempts to put these things out of his mind. It got worse as the day went on, and he couldn't recall whether or not he'd taken his medicine that morning. He guessed not, because he couldn't help but feel personally attacked each time he wasn't able to complete something as efficiently as he typically would. He couldn't help but think he actually was an idiot, a moron. By lunch break, he was clutching his scalp with nails digging into his skull and shaking. Food wasn't helping. In fact, he could barely eat like this. Chell approached him cautiously, signing to him, Is everything okay?
“Fine,” he muttered. “I'm fine.”
She didn't believe him. She knew him better than that. She signed, What is it?
“Nothing,” he responded shortly. “I'm. Fine.”
While she didn't believe him, she said nothing else. Though he'd been short with her and lied about his condition, he found that he'd really wished she'd stayed to talk with him. He caught himself having angered thoughts towards her, criticizing her for not staying without him having to ask. He quickly berated himself for such thoughts. How could she know what was going through his head? She couldn't, no matter how well she knew him or how much she tried. And she was stuck trying often, as he was very unlikely to ever give into her questioning.
This only succeeded in making his anxiety much more unbearable.
Coming home, he passed by Xi and cringed when the landlord growled out, “Wheathead.”
Wheatley had to stop, inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth ten seconds each, and still he managed to mutter through gritted teeth, “Wheatley.” He could practically hear Xi roll his eyes and that made Wheatley clench his fists and his spine stiffen. He was done. He was so many levels of done that the next person who bumped into him received an irritated, “Watch it.”
He didn't even realize who it was until the bastard opened his mouth and said, “Yeesh man. Get a hold of yourself.” Wheatley stopped, fists clenching tighter as he turned on Bill. Bill looked at least a little taken aback by his uncharacteristic reaction, which only made Wheatley angrier. This was the guy. This was the guy who pestered Chell relentlessly and he had to nerve to tell him to control himself. What an unsavory twat.
“Just leave me alone,” Wheatley snarled through gritted teeth as he tried proceeding down the hall to his room.
He could proceed no longer when Bill uttered, “Fuckin' wacko.”
At this point, Wheatley blacked out and was completely unaware of himself. The only thing he remembered was the sound of scuffling, skin contacting skin, cracking bones. When he came to, he was being pinned to the wall not by Bill, but by Chell, Xi, and Wendy. His eyes were fixed on Bill as his chest heaved, watching the cretin clutch his now uncovered eye and clawed face as he curled up like his abdomen was sore. Wheatley vision was fuzzy and his hands itched. He started off fighting the hold the three of them had on him, then settled back when he realized what he'd done.
The realization was enough to make him collapse into their arms.
:)
“I would pay you to keep your mouth shut if I had the money!” Xi didn't actually think he could afford to keep Bill quiet for long.
Chell and Wendy held the now unconscious Wheatley up, Wendy helping Chell get him to their apartment. Wendy turned to Xi for a moment to say, “I'll be back for Bill.”
“I'm right here, you know,” the man grumbled from the floor.
“Thank you,” Xi said to Wendy, ignoring Satan. He wasn't about to help the man. If Chell and Wendy hadn't been buzzed in just as the fight began, he probably would have just watched Wheatley lay waste to the blonde bastard. Then Lara would have been upset with him and he would have to do reception work even more and he would be asking himself continuously if it was worth it.
Looking at the squirming Bill Cipher on the floor, he decided that yes. It would have been worth it to see the fight continue rather than breaking it up.