#ollie: …..fine. someone will have to be uninvited then

[blackbatcass]

listen I know it’s kind of corny and inaccurate to act like every single person in the dc universe knows each other and is besties but it IS endlessly funny to me to follow the web of connections and see how many degrees removed from each other everyone is.

like look at the arrowfam okay. ollie and dinah are together, ollie is homoerotic best friends with hal, dinah is homoerotic best friends with babs. roy is dating dick, has a kid with jade, and is basically an adoptive father to both grant emerson and rose wilson. connor is dating kyle and is constantly followed around by eddie fyers. mia is friends with a lot of the second gen teen titans kids, had an on-again-off-again thing going on with steph for a while, and is currently dating sienna. emiko is besties with courtney and some of the other recent teen titans. sin has a small army of protective aunts from the birds of prey. the real question is how far does it go before ollie puts a cap on the number of people who are invited to family brunch on sundays

[heyyyharry]

Olivia

(from the Flatmate!Harry Series)

...in which Y/N’s dealing with her family issues, and Harry’s past comes knocking on his door.

I know you guys have been waiting so long for this so I can only hope this doesn’t disappoint you. 

Harry cannot explain his unusual hatred of surprises. He hates surprise parties, he hates unexpected phone calls, he hates London’s unpredictable weather, he hates movies plot twists, he hates changing plans at the last minute, and most of all, he hates uninvited visitors. But somehow ever since moving in with Y/N, he’s been facing all of the above on a daily basis. And today is one of those days when a surprise just casually shows up at his front door.

Y/N has a presentation for her business club this morning, so when Harry wakes up she is already gone. As Harry’s making himself a sandwich for breakfast, the first and probably only guest of the day rings on his doorbell. He knows it’s not Y/N because whenever she forgets the keys she would just stand outside and shout out his name, the same thing happens when Niall comes to visit and the door’s locked. 

Harry rolls his eyes and leaves the sandwich on the kitchen counter to go see who it is, hoping that this person won’t ruin his entire day.

“It is you!”

Before Harry can react, the blonde haired stranger pulls him into a hug and tells him how thrilled she is to finally see him again. Shocked and confused, he grabs her by the arms and slightly pushes her away.

“Wait, do I know you?!”

“Haz, you don’t remember me?!”

There is only one person in this entire world who calls him by that nickname, and now that he has a better look at her face, he just doesn’t believe in his own eyes that she’s actually here in person.

“Ollie!” Harry almost tackles his childhood best friend to the ground with that hug, causing Olivia to squeal but starts laughing anyway.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” Harry doesn’t even realize how big his smile is, he’s just overjoyed that she came back to him after all those many years.

“I just arrived here two days ago. Last week I visited your mum and she gave me your address!”

Olivia finally breaks the hug. With both hands on his shoulders, she takes a step back to admire how much he’s grown.

“And look how tall you are! When I left we were the same height! Now you’re a head taller than me! What is this?! And your voice! Oh my God!”

“It’s called puberty!” Harry rolls his eyes. “And thank you, you look great, too!”

Olivia puts her hands on her hips and squints her eyes at him in doubt. “Really? Because I think my boobs are still a bit small.”

To his surprise, she actually places both hands on her breasts and squeezes them right in front of him. Harry immediately clears his throat and turns away. If this had happened before he began dating Y/N, he would’ve found it completely normal for the nature of their friendship. But he’s in a relationship now, it’s uncomfortable to see another girl do something like that.

“Boobs scare you now?” Olivia covers her mouth and gasps. “Haz, are you gay?!”

“No!”

“It’s fine if you are though.”

“What? No, love!” He shakes his head and chuckles at her funny reaction. “I’ve got a girlfriend now so…yeah…”

“It’d be more believable if you said you were gay.”

“Nope. My girlfriend lives here with me.” 

Olivia looks at her friend with bug eyes and slack-jawed, arms crossed in front of her chest. Of course she’s aware that it’s been years since they last saw each other, and he’s definitely not the same sixteen year old boy she knew anymore, but she didn’t expect Harry to turn into someone who would move in with his first serious girlfriend!

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Harry laughs.

“I think I’ve got the wrong address. Sorry!” Olivia jokes and turns to walk away but Harry grabs her by the wrist and smoothly spins her around to face him again.

“You haven’t changed much, Ollie,” he says, winning a smile from her.

“Is it a good or a bad thing?”

“Good. But you should’ve just called me before coming here.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Ollie reaches up to stroke Harry’s curls, looking happier than ever. “Besides, I knew how much you hated surprises!”

...

“And that’s the end of my presentation. Thank you for listening!”

With a smile on her face, Y/N walks back to her seat in the applause of her peers. As the next person comes to the front to deliver his presentation, which Y/N doubts will be nearly as good as hers, she receives a call from an unknown ID. 

At first she doesn’t want to pick it up, thinking it’s either a telesales employee or an estate agent, as always, but her phone has been vibrating for a while now it makes her think this one call could be important. So she excuses herself and leaves the room to answer it.

“Y/N, it’s me, Maisie!”

For a second, all Y/N can see is herself falling head first into a dark black pit. She wants to think it’s just a prank and that someone’s pretending to be Maisie, her sister. However, she cannot lie to herself and say she doesn’t recognize the voice on the other line. How can she not? She grew up hearing that voice every single day. 

“Y/N, are you there?”

She should just hang up. She should just pretend she’s never picked up that phone call, but deep down inside she knows that’s not what she wants. In this very moment, Y/N can finally relate to her boyfriend's unusual hatred of surprises.

So that is how Y/N ends up meeting her sister in the park near her campus. When she sees Maisie, she still thinks this is a bad idea, because when somebody leaves you and later comes back, they’re never the same person. Her sister could be a dangerous criminal and she still wouldn’t know because it’s been years since she last heard from Maisie. 

Before the incident, the two of them used to be so close. They shared a bedroom and Maisie read Y/N at least one bedtime story every single night. Maisie got her first boyfriend and the girls grew apart, and the night Maisie left in her boyfriend’s car she didn’t even say goodbye to her little sister. 

“How did you find me?” Y/N asks, arms crossed defensively in front of her chest and she’s not even looking at her sister as they’re having this conversation on the park bench.

“I ran into Violet...”

“Violet? Did you blackmail my best friend to get my number?”

“No! I just told her about my situation and she was so understanding.”

It does sound like Violet, Y/N’s no stranger to her high school best friend’s good nature. No one’s more easy to be manipulated than Violet.

“And what situation is that?” Y/N lets out a sarcastic chuckle. She still cannot believe Maisie’s never contacted her once ever since she left but suddenly when she needs something from her she just casually shows up like nothing had never happened. 

It doesn’t sound like Y/N to blame every unfortunate event in her life on her older sister whom she hasn’t seen in years, but she’s more than sure that had it not been for Maisie’s incident, her parents wouldn’t be pressuring her to become her perfect oldest brother, Darren, knowing she cannot. All because of how much she reminds them of the daughter they’ve lost.

“I didn’t know anyone else to turn to,” Maisie says while her fingers start fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, same thing Y/N would do whenever she’s nervous. “I couldn’t come back home to see mum and dad. If I knew where Darren was, I still couldn’t come to him, he’s always hated me. You’re my only family, Y/N.”

“You should’ve thought about that when you left me.” Y/N’s voice breaks at the last three words. 

“If it’d been you, I doubt you would’ve stayed with our problematic parents Y/N.” Maisie’s response leaves Y/N at a loss for words. “All mum and dad wanted was a perfect child. They didn’t care how horrible it was for me to find out I was pregnant with my first boyfriend! I know my pregnancy wasn’t planned, but I didn’t want my child to grow up thinking she’s unwanted.”

“She...?” 

“Yes.” Maisie smiles at how the look in her sister eyes softens. “Her name’s Eleanor, she’s five now. You’re an aunt.”

Wow, Y/N thinks to herself. When she woke up this morning, she never would’ve thought she would receive an unexpected phone call from her sister, and she would end up having a five-year-old niece that she’d never known of. Though the title makes her feel a bit old, she cannot hide the fact that she’s over the moon.

“Where’s she now?” she asks Maisie, whose smile disappears once receives that question. 

“At home, my neighbor’s babysitting her while I’m at work.”

“Where’s her dad?”

"Last week he left us.” Y/N feels her heart ache when she finally gets the answer. “He met a rich woman, who was willing to give him everything she had only if he’d give up his poor family, and that’s what he did...”

“I’m sorry...” Y/N reaches out to hold her sister’s hand and brings it to her lap. 

Maisie presses her lips into a smile. “I know we haven’t talked in years, and it’s not right to come here and ask for your help but I don’t know what to do. He left me with nothing, so I took El here to start over, but my waitress salary can only afford her clothes and food. I can’t pay the rent and if I don’t have the money this weekend, the landlord will kick us out.”

Y/N has no idea what’s gotten into her, but she doesn’t regret saying what she says next, “what can I do to help?”

...

Harry feels something’s off when his girlfriend returns to their shared flat. She seems worried and irritated and the first thing she does when she enters the living room isn’t to kiss him on the cheek, but to go straight into the kitchen for a glass of water. He asks her what’s wrong but she says she just had a bad day, that’s all. 

“Hey, guess who came to see me today?” Harry asks when Y/N’s texting on her phone and doesn’t even bother to look at him. “Olivia. I’ve told you about her once.”

“Sure, that’s great, baby.”

That answer, to Harry, is no different from a slap across the face.

“You’re not listening.” It’s not even a question, it’s a statement.

Y/N looks up, and the questioning look she’s giving Harry immediately confirms that he was right.

“I said-”

“Wait! I have to make this call! We’ll talk later okay?” Y/N quickly tells Harry and walks right past him to her room.

When her door’s closed, Harry still has no idea what just happened. He wants to follow her and interfere with that phone call then demand her to talk to him, but he thinks that’s probably too much, and maybe he’s overreacting. So he sits on the couch and wait for her to come back. Little does he know, he’ll have to wait until morning.

...

Y/N’s behaviors in the next few days are just incomprehensible to Harry. They live in the same flat but they don’t speak more than two sentences to each other a day and she’s always coming home late then making excuses like she’s too tired to talk or she just wants to be alone. At first Harry thought he was being delusional, but gradually, he feels like she’s drifting further away from him. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

Olivia’s voice breaks Harry’s train of thought and he blinks a couple of times to adjust to reality, which makes her giggle. They just went to the bookstore together, which was originally a date with Y/N but she blew him off at the last minute.

“Come on, your ice cream’s melting, Haz.”

“I can’t understand your craze for ice cream.” He laughs when notices Olivia’s finished half of her cone as they’re walking down the street back to her hotel. 

“I don’t need a reason to like something.”

That’s obviously a lie, but Harry doesn’t need to know. Even if he already did, Olivia wouldn’t tell him either. She’d like to think about it as her own little secret.

Olivia became Harry’s friend when they were in middle school, but their history went all the way back to first grade. She was really sad that day, sitting on her doorsteps alone while her parents were arguing in the kitchen, and he was riding his bike around the neighborhood when he found her. It was none of Harry’s business, he didn’t even know who she was, he just knew his mum had taught him to never walk away from a sad girl. 

“This is for you,” he said, handing her the chocolate ice-cream he bought with his own pocket money.

Olivia looked at him, eyes wide, then shyly mumbled a soft “Thank you.”

They hadn’t spoken another word to each other until middle school when they got paired as partners for a class project and later on became close friends. Olivia still doesn’t know if Harry remembers how they first met, but every time they meet, Olivia would ask Harry to buy her a chocolate ice cream and Harry would always do it without question. The truth is, she doesn’t even like ice cream that much, only for him that she does.

“Are you still in university?”

“Of course, Harold! You know how important education is to me!” Olivia playfully slaps Harry’s chest. “Just kidding, but yeah I’m still in uni. I just decided to take a gap year and travel the world. Before I came here, I was in Bali. Holy shit, it was the best time I’ve ever had!”

“Fuck, that sounds awesome.”

“It really is! My next destination is Korea! You can come with me! I mean...if you want.”

They’ve talked about traveling far away together before. When they were younger, all they ever dreamed of was to get to eighteen so they could go anywhere. She used to be his partner in crime, “used to”, sad, but also true. A lot have changed since the day she left, and despite how she feels about him remains unchanged after all those years, she’s no longer his first and foremost. 

“I don’t want to leave Y/N behind, and I’m not so sure she would like to come with me.” 

“Right. Harold’s got a girlfriend now,” Olivia teases as she pokes his dimple with her forefinger, wishing she could be as cool about this as how she appears to be.

The rest of the way back to Olivia’s hotel is silence. Something has dawned on the pair of friends since the moment Y/N was brought up, something they have always known but for the sakes of their friendship, pretended like they didn’t.

When they arrive, Harry thanks Olivia for joining him today, after that they share a hug, which is too formal for their liking.

“Haz,” calls Olivia when her friend turns to leave. “Do you...uh...do you want to come to my place tonight?”

“What for, love?”

“Uh, i don’t know. I can cook for you if you’d like. I’ve been eating alone these days, it’s pretty sad.”

“Okay. Can Y/N come?”

“S-Sure!” Olivia nods. “Of course!”

“Great! Thanks, Ollie! We’ll see you tonight!” With that, he walks away, however, with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Harry heads back to his shared flat, thinking about Y/N constantly. Even though he’s still a bit mad at her for ignoring him, he still wants to believe his girlfriend has a good reason for it. He knows she loves him so she wouldn’t hide things from him. Harry really wants to believe so. 

But how can he convince himself she has nothing to hide when he comes home, once again, to a dark empty flat, with just a single note on the fridge: Working late to prepare for a business club’s event. Don’t wait up for me! Love you. :)

Harry rereads the first sentence over and over again in his head, not wanting to believe that is Y/N’s actual handwriting. Because it’s a lie. There’s no event preparation because there’s no event to begin with. 

Harry ran into the president of her business club this morning, and that girl told him Y/N hasn’t shown up at club meetings for days, let alone be this devoted to stay late preparing for an event which she will definitely miss. Now Harry just doesn’t know if he’s more hurt or more disappointed. And what confuses him more is the fact that he still believes that she has a decent reason for lying to him.

Letting out a sigh, Harry pulls out his phone and types down a quick text to Olivia, not sure if it’s the right thing to do, but it’s better to get drunk with someone else than just yourself when you’re desperate.

Hey, I guess it’s just me and you tonight. H. 

...

“More?”

Harry shakes his head slightly to refuse another bottle of beer Olivia offers. He’s a bit tipsy right now, and sure he will probably book an Uber to get home, but he knows Y/N hates it when he’s one over the eight.

“Are you seriously still thinking about your girlfriend?” Olivia laughs, which lets Harry know she’s now on the same level of tipsiness as he is. 

Just less than an hour ago, Harry was eating with her on the sofa but somehow they ended up lying side by side on the floor between empty glass bottles. 

“Are you happy with her, Haz?”

“Of course I am,” Harry responses without a second though. Even when he’s drunk, Y/N’s still the only thing he thinks about. For someone who’s never been in love before, he thinks he’s never been more sure of his feelings.

The pair drowns in silence for a brief moment as Olivia finishes the beer in her hand, only to change the subject soon afterwards.

“Do you remember our first time? That was some fun shit.”

This would be a weird subject to discuss with one of your old flings when you’re already in a relationship. However, Harry’s not in his right mind to decide what he should and shouldn’t say.

“Yeah, that was wild. I was terrible though.”

“What? You were great.” Olivia flips herself over on her stomach and scoots closer to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Couldn’t have asked for a better first time.”

“Ollie...”

“Haz, I miss us...” Olivia lazily drags herself on top of Harry, sighing contently. Harry laughs but immediately sits up, forcing his disappointed friend to do the same.

“We’re here now.”

“You know what I mean,” she whispers, fingers reaching out to fist Harry’s shirt. Harry may not be sober, but he knows her intention. Instantly, he grabs both of her hands to stop her before she goes too far. He knows she’s now too hammered to control her own actions, so he doesn’t blame her for doing this.

“Ollie, I’m sorry...I can’t,” he says with sincere in his eyes, which she’s too wasted to see. 

“Of course you can. Remember what you said? About how good I tasted? About how good I felt...”

“Ollie, no. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Harry’s whole body stiffens all at once. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Harry, if you meant that much to her, she wouldn’t lie. And if she meant that much to you, you wouldn’t turn to me for comfort.”

Olivia struggles to keep her eyes open, but for these drunken words of hers, Harry has to eat his heart out. 

He wastes no time to gather his stuff and leaves his friend’s hotel room, despite the heartbroken look she gives him when he heads to the door. He’ll talk to her tomorrow when she’s sober. Harry’s not sure if they can still be friends after tonight, maybe not, but that he can deal with later, if he loses Y/N tonight, he doesn’t know if he’s able to cope. As a result, he risks his own life driving back to their shared flat, hoping his girlfriend will be there when he arrives.

“Y/N, I’m-” Harry’s sentence is cut short when he opens the door and sees Y/N standing in the middle of their flat with tears in her eyes, his phone in her hand. It’s completely slipped from his mind that he left his phone at home when he walked out.

“Baby, why’re you crying?”

“Don’t tell me you were just with her...” she says bitterly while holding up Harry’s phone. “Olivia, huh? Did you enjoy fucking her?”

“I-What? No! Nothing happened. Did you really go through my texts?”

“No, her messages popped up on the screen, asshole! You fucking went to see another girl at a hotel!”

“Because this girl is my friend and that’s where she’s staying?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’d been seeing her again?”

“I did, but you weren’t listening!” Harry wants to shout but he remembers why he came back. Still, she’s clearly in no position to tell him he’s the one at fault. “Why are you here accusing me of lying when you haven’t been honest yourself? Don’t fucking tell me you were busy with your stupid club because I know it’s bullshit.”

“You want to know the truth?” Y/N tosses the phone onto the sofa as breathes out a laugh, which is anything but humor. “When you were out having fun with your Olivia, I was busy taking care of my sister’s baby so she could finish her late night shift. Yes I haven’t come to one club meeting lately, because I’ve been spending most of my time trying to convince my oldest brother to financially support my sister.”

Harry’s tongue-tied for almost three seconds, utterly shocked at the news. “Your sister?”

“Yes...” Y/N squeezes her eyes shut and exhales deeply. “She came back a few days ago.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I promised her not to tell anyone, even you, but I guess I cannot hide any longer...” Y/N shakes her head as the lump in her throat becomes too hard to handle. 

This is the second time Harry sees her cry. The first time being on his birthday when she threw him a surprise party and invited all of his friends over, only to hear him accidentally talk shit about her to another girl. This time, she’s also crying because of him, and a different girl. This gets Harry thinking twice about the kind of person he really is.

“I didn’t know, Y/N...You shut me out.”

“That was my fault. I apologize...But...but you could’ve just interrupt me any time and told me how you felt, Harry. You didn’t even try to communicate.”

“You weren’t even listening when I told you about Olivia!”

“So you went to see your ex to get back at me, is that it?”

“She’s not my ex.”

“She took your first kiss, and virginity! You knew how your relationship with her made me feel, but you went to see her anyway! If you wanted to hurt me, congratulations! It worked!”

Harry’s head hangs low. He hates to admit it because he doesn’t want to accept he’s a terrible person for wanting to make Y/N jealous at first. However, he genuinely didn’t know about Olivia’s intentions or even consider cheating on Y/N. The last thing he wanted was to put her in any kind of pain, yet somehow ended up doing it still.

“Hurting me just because I hurt you is not how a relationship works, Harry.”

Harry feels his heart stop completely when he hears her saying those words.

“A-Are you breaking up with me?”

“I don’t know...”

He doesn’t know what it’s like for her, but for him, that answer is no different from a ‘yes’.

“Can we...” Y/N swallows while her eyes are glued to her feet, unable to hold his eye contact, not even for just a second. “Can we talk in the morning when we’re both thinking straight?”

“Of course, baby...Take all the time you need, just..” Harry knows he sounds desperate, but he doesn’t care.

“Just please don’t leave me.”

Y/N doesn’t reply. Just like that, she turns her heels and walks back to her room. Harry’s once again left alone in the living room, feeling empty, not knowing what to expect when he wakes up, or if she’s still here then. 

He has always hated surprises, and maybe, this, will be the worst.

[juju-on-that-yeet]

When Evil Rears its Head: Chapter 5: Massacre

In which the shit hits the fan. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Read below or on AO3!

While Peevils naps, Bim is thinking.

He’s now in his bedroom on the fourth floor, and he still isn’t sure what’s up with Wilford. The man is pretty much always in his studio; Bim knocks out of politeness more than anything. That, and so he doesn’t get a bullet or a knife to the chest. But Wilford must have been in there, the gunshot Bim had heard as he was leaving attested to that. Unless someone else was in Wilford’s studio firing a gun, but who? And why? And if it was Wilford, why hadn’t he answered Bim’s knock? Bim feels like he might be overthinking it, something he tends to do quite a bit. But then again, something might actually be happening this time. He spends what feels like an eternity trying to read a book (he borrowed it from the Host a few days ago and is already three-fourths of the way done with it), but he can’t concentrate. When he hears a knocking at his door, he decides that reading is not in the cards for him today and gets up to answer. Part of him hopes it’s Wilford, but the same part of him is unsurprised to find that it isn’t.

But he is surprised that it’s Yandere.

“Yandere?” Bim asks. “Um, hello. Did you need something?”

Bim and Yandere are not friends. Bim doesn’t dislike Yandere, and Yandere seems pretty indifferent to Bim, but Bim generally avoids the younger, more violent and volatile ego. If he’s being honest with himself, Yandere freaks him out. Even when he’s pleasant there’s the sense that something burns beneath the surface.

“Konnichiwa, Bim-san,” Yandere greets, “I just wanted to ask you about something.”

“Alright, what?” Bim asks.

“Earlier, there was, well…” Yandere scratches the back of his neck nervously, “…an incident with Yami-san. I was wondering if you knew anything about that.”

“Incident?” Bim furrows his brow. That doesn’t sound good. “What do you mean?”

“Someone did something to him,” Yandere explains, “It was like he’d been put under a spell. He couldn’t move until…” Yandere’s cheeks redden slightly, “…I snapped him out of it. But after I did, he said something bad was happening and that he had to stop it. He teleported somewhere, but he didn’t say where he was going.” Yandere’s face draws up with concern as he remembers. “He seemed…unnerved. Scared, even. What could possibly have made Yami-san afraid?”

Bim remembers the events from earlier again. He feels a spike of worry in his chest. Could this be connected?

“I have no idea,” Bim answers, mostly truthfully. He could be wrong; whatever’s going on with Wilford could be completely unrelated to Dark. He doesn’t want to send Yandere on a wild goose chase, especially when said chase would involve Yandere barging into Wilford’s studio uninvited. That would most likely only make things worse. Bim can get to the bottom of this without Yandere. He’s Bim Trimmer, after all! And he knows exactly who can help him out.

“Well, arigtou anyway, Bim-san,” Yandere sighs, “I already talked to Tayori-kun and Tenki-kun, but they didn’t know anything either.” Annoyance crosses his face. “They were so panicky and jittery it took me forever to even get a good answer from them. It was like they thought I was going to hurt them. Why would I ever do something like that?” Yandre tilts his head and smiles. Bim shivers.

“Yeah, the Jims are pretty nervous guys,” Bim says smoothly, trying not to let Yandere’s grin scare him. “Wish I could be more help.”

“Arigatou again, Bim-san,” Yandere says with a little wave, “Sayonara~!”

Bim manages a half-hearted wave of his own as Yandere leaves. He closes the door and spends a few minutes thinking over what Yandere told him.

Dark? Afraid? What on earth could possibly make Dark, of all people, afraid? Bim hates to think. And what could ever control him, make him unable to move? Bim wonders if Yandere might have mistaken the situation, but he knows that the younger ego knows Dark much better than Bim does.

Once he’s sure he won’t have to worry about running into Yandere in the hallway, he leaves his room and heads for the third floor. He takes the stairs, not wanting to bother with the elevator, which often takes longer to get down one floor than walking, anyhow. Once there, he heads not for Wilford’s studio, but for the control room.

That’s the general nickname for the room, anyway. It’s where the security of the entire building is managed, camera feeds and firewalls and the microphone for the building’s intercom. It was the Googles who built the room and continue to refine its gadgets by the day, and their shared bedroom is located behind a steel door on one side of the room. Bim generally likes going to the control room, if only because Oliver is usually there. He’s optimistic and kind and cute and Bim gets so wrapped up in thoughts of Oliver that he almost walks right past the control room. No one’s around to see it, but pink rises in cheeks anyway. He knocks on the door, and it clangs loudly. Bim grimaces. He always knocks louder than he means to on that door. It’s Oliver who opens it, grinning when he sees Bim.

“Hey, Bim!” he greets, “What’s up?”

“Hi, Ollie!” Bim replies, smiling big despite his worries about Dark and Wilford, “I actually wanted to know if you and the others could, uh, check on something for me?”

Oliver tilts his head slightly in confusion (it’s almost too cute for Bim to handle), and a voice speaks up from inside the control room:

“We’re not errand boys, and we’re not babysitters. Check on it yourself.”

Bim recognizes the voice and caustic sass as being Google’s. He’s in front of some small machine, poking at its wires, not even looking at Bim. Chrome and Plus are on the machine’s other sides, doing the same. Bim frowns.

“At least let me explain,” he mutters. Oliver looks like he’s trying not to grin, but he comes to Bim’s defense.

“Yeah, Google,” he says, turning to the other android, “Bim hardly ever asks you for anything, it’s probably important.” He turns back to Bim. “It is important, right? Google’ll be pretty peeved if it isn’t.”

“It is,” Bim insists, “Have a little faith in Bim Trimmer!”

“Of course, of course,” Oliver laughs. Bim loves Oliver’s laugh. Despite all technically having the same voice, each ego sounds a little different, and each ego has a different laugh. Oliver’s laugh is bright and giggly, sunflowers and strawberries, gentle and, wait, Bim came here for a reason.

“Can I come in, at least?” Bim asks past Oliver to Google.

“No.” Google tugs out two wires and plugs them into each other’s places. “Run the next trial,” he says to Chrome and Plus. Bim sighs.

“Alright, well,” he begins, “I went to Wilford’s studio to work on scripts with him, but he didn’t answer my knock. As I was leaving, I heard a gunshot go off.”

“I knew I heard something a while ago!” Chrome says suddenly, triumphant. He looks at Google. “And you thought I was just being dramatic.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Google replies without missing a beat. Chrome mutters something under his breath that Bim can’t hear. “That’s not that weird, Bim,” Google continues.

“I know, that’s why I didn’t come to you guys right after it happened,” Bim explains, “But then a few minutes ago Yandere came to my room, saying that something happened to Dark and he was trying to figure out what was going on.”

Surprise colors the faces of all four androids, and Google finally lifts his head from the machine to look at Bim.

“What happened to Dark?” he asks.

“Yandere said someone had done something to him, made it so he couldn’t move,” Bim says, repeating Yandere’s words, “After he snapped out of it, he left, and he didn’t tell Yandere where he was going. He just said that something bad was happening, and that he had to stop it. Yandere said he looked scared.” Bim looks down. “I can’t help but feel like what happened to Dark and what happened in Wilford’s studio are connected. Can you guys maybe check the cameras, see if anything happened in the studio?” Oliver turns from Bim to look at Google, as do Chrome and Plus. Google considers for a moment.

“Fine,” he says, “But you still can’t come in.”

“I’ll let you know if we find anything,” Oliver tells Bim as he turns back to him, “You should probably go, Google can tell if someone’s standing outside the door.”

“Alright,” Bim replies, smiling a little at Oliver. “Thank you.” He looks at Google. “Thanks!”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Google says as he types something into the camera feed. Chrome and Plus look on, clearly curious.

“Talk to you later?” Bim says to Oliver, trying not to smile too hard.

“Yeah!” Oliver replies, giving his own sunny grin. “See ya!”

Bim decides to walk back up to his room and try again to finish his book. He wonders if he’ll be able to focus with all the butterflies floating in his chest. Being with Oliver always gives him a curious feeling afterwards, something warm and bright and uplifting. He wonders if Oliver is even half as happy to talk to him. He hopes so.

As he approaches the staircase, he’s surprised to run into Ed Edgar. The other ego has a gash in his arm, dripping blood. After all Bim has heard today, he’s immediately nervous.

“Ed, what happened?” Bim asks as he approaches the other ego.

“I had a run-in with a real nasty varmint,” Ed explains, “Was just headin’ to Doc to get patched up. Lemme tell ya what happened. I was just mindin’ my own business, doin’ some target practice, when all of a sudden…”

Well, at least it wasn’t Peevils. Bim realizes too late that he’s opened a can of worms, but it’s too late to back out of the conversation now. Once Ed starts telling one of his (long, usually not as interesting as he thinks they are) stories, no force on earth can stop him. Hopefully the Googles figure out what’s up with Wilford and Dark soon, if anything so he has an excuse to at least pause the story for a moment.

                                                           ~~~

Google pulls up the information to connect to the studio cameras, putting in passcodes and getting each screen online. Instead of looking at the current screens, he brings up the file to access past recordings.

“Chrome, how long ago exactly did you hear the gunshot?” Google asks.

“Twenty-five minutes and forty-six seconds ago,” Chrome answers.

“You ought to go back twenty-seven,” Plus chimes in, “So we can see what led up to it.”

“I wasn’t made yesterday, Plus,” Google replies as he does what Plus suggested. Plus starts to protest, but Oliver claps a hand on his shoulder and shoots him a reassuring grin. With a few more clicks, Google gets the footage up from twenty-seven minutes ago exactly. He brings up the file to access past recordings. None of them are prepared for what they see.

Wilford, on the floor, clearly injured and unable to get up. Mark, too, looking just as beat up, walking across the room, looking for something. The feed is in black and white, and the audio is hard to distinguish.

“What is this?” Google mutters, eyes narrowing. “And why is the quality so terrible?”

“I attempted to tell you that the studio cameras need replacing the other day,” Plus tells him, “But you said it was no big deal.”

“Yeah.” Chrome smirks. “I think your exact words were, ‘Wilford always breaks them anyway, so why bother?’” The younger androids hardly ever get a chance to fire back at Google like this, so they can’t help but take the chance. Oliver stifles a giggle, but the strangeness presented on the feed means he isn’t laughing for long.

“Really though, what’s going on?” Oliver asks, “What’s Mark doing here? And what—”

He was about to ask what Mark was looking for, but the feed shows him picking something up. It’s a gun. All four Googles stare with rapt attention. Mark walks to Wilford, holds it up, is about to shoot when a sound comes through. Not a gunshot, but a knocking.

“Bim,” Oliver murmurs.

They can only barely hear Bim’s voice through the poor audio feed, but their finely-tuned systems recognize his voice clearly. Bim leaves before long, and Mark and Wilford start to talk. The words are hard to make out. Wilford is angry. Mark is pleased, gloating, almost. There’s something deeply wrong about the situation. The Googles are aware of that even before they finally find out the source of the gunshot: Mark lifting the gun again and shooting Wilford in the head. All four of them are stunned.

“Shit,” Google mutters, wracking his brain for answers.

“What the fuck!?” Chrome shouts, voice filled with anger. “How could Mark do this?”

“He couldn’t,” Oliver gasps, tears in his eyes, “There’s no way Mark would ever do something like this.”

“Oliver’s right,” Plus says, “Objectively speaking. It’s completely out of Mark’s character to ever cause such harm to another person, especially one he’s friends with.”

“Well, what the fuck do call that, then??” Chrome yells, pointing at the still-running feed. The camera that shows Wilford no longer has Mark in frame, but he can be clearly seen in Wilford’s room on a different screen, eyeing the ego’s guns without a hint of remorse in his posture.

“That’s not Mark,” Google interjects, “Look at the way he’s walking, his body language. It’s too different.”

“Dark, then?” asks Oliver.

“No…” Google peers at Mark again. “Too relaxed. Besides, Dark’s tried a hundred times to get Mark to let him in, why would he suddenly succeed now?”

“Also besides,” Plus adds, “Dark’s right there.”

Everyone turns to where Plus is pointing. The first camera, showing Wilford’s body, now shows Dark as well. He looks angrier than any of the Googles have seen him look in a long time. Even through a camera feed in the past, the Googles can feel his hatred.

“Alright, it’s not Dark,” Chrome mutters, “But who, then? No one else has that kind of ability.”

For several moments, everyone is silent.

“Well…” Oliver finally speaks up. The others look at him. “…Do…any of us really know what Peevils can do? Everyone else is pretty open with their abilities, or else they’re really obvious, but it hasn’t been like that with her. She’s pretty new, but it usually doesn’t take that long for our powers to show up…” His face screws up with anxious sadness. “Weren’t she and Wilford friends?”

“I…think Oliver is right,” Plus says quietly, as the camera shows Dark confronting Mark (Peevils?) in Wilford’s room. “The way he’s moving, and acting…it’s not exactly like Peevils, but it’s close.”

“She’s been playing us this whole fucking time,” Chrome growls, seething with rage as he and the others watch Peevils, in Mark’s body, shoot up at the ceiling as Dark reaches for her, radiating fury. There’s a boom, a burst of smoke and fire that conceals the camera’s view for a long moment. When the dust settles, there’s a burn mark on the ceiling and Dark is dead.

“Dark can come back from being killed by Mark, but Will…” Oliver holds back a sob.

“We have to find her.” Google’s voice is cold. “We have to find her and send out an alert over the intercom.” He turns to Plus. “Get the feed for the studio back to real time. We’ll all check different rooms.”

The four each take a keyboard, going through different cameras and feeds. Plus fast-forwards the studio feed until it’s live.

“Peevils isn’t in the studio anymore,” Plus says.

“Go back, figure out when she left, and which direction she went,” Google answers, checking second-floor hallways. Nothing. Plus rewinds, until he sees Peevils appear behind the stage. He stops, plays, and gasps.

“What?” Google asks.

“She went in the vents,” Plus breathes.

All four of them freeze. The room is deadly silent.

“How long ago?” Google asks, voice quiet.

“Three minutes and twen—”

A crack cuts through the air. Plus’s head jolts forward, as if he’s been pushed. The top of his head dampens. The heady scent of motor oil fills the space of the control room. Plus’s eyes roll back and he collapses into a heap. Oliver and Chrome both scream; Oliver in anguish, Chrome in anger.

“Plus, no, no,” Oliver cries, tangling his hands in his hair as tears roll down his cheeks.

“Peevils, you fucking coward, where are you??” Chrome yells, head whipping around the room, trying to locate her but too angry to think clearly.

Google, though, is still frozen in place. After a long moment (too long), he manages to collect his wits enough to think. There’s two vents in the room, he knows that much. One is small and near the floor. He peers at it, and even his enhanced vision sees nothing. He looks to the one on the ceiling, a few feet back from where he and the others are standing. He catches a glint of metal that he knows isn’t part of the vent just before another gunshot sounds. He whips his head around to catch Chrome, caught in the middle of an angry tirade, shudder and collapse. Oliver cries out again.

“Chrome, not you, too!” he wails, falling to his knees beside his brothers. Google tears his eyes away to look back at the vent.

He can see the gun, he sees a familiar broad chest, a familiar set of brown eyes. He wants to use his laser vision and destroy the gun, but if it explodes, it could kill Mark. Google instead follows the guns trajectory with his eyes, landing on Oliver’s forehead.

“Oliver!” He grabs him by the arm and pulls him up, but he isn’t fast enough to pull him away. The bullet hits his chest. Then another appears there. Another. All so fast, even Google can’t react right away (He should be faster than any human. Why isn’t he now??)

“Dammit,” Google mutters, before running out of the control room, yanking Oliver behind him. He practically knocks the door off its hinges in its haste. He has to get to the clinic. Oliver may be an android, but he’s still humanoid, and there’s no way Google can go back to the control room for supplies to repair Oliver himself. He doesn’t get far when he runs into Bim and Ed Edgar, who are running in their direction.

“We heard gunfire, what’s—” Ed’s words die in his throat when he sees Oliver. “What in tarnation happened here??”

“Ollie,” Bim chokes out, hardly able to form the word. He can feel his gut twisting up at the sight of Oliver sporting three holes in his chest, leaking motor oil onto the floor.

“Bim, you were right,” Google says somberly, “Something is wrong.”

“Lemme handle this,” says Ed, full of bravado, producing a lean rifle from somewhere unseen.

“Ed, no—” Oliver tries to stop him, but he starts to cough black oil, and wobbles on his feet as Ed dashes away. Google hisses with frustration but doesn’t stop him, instead putting Oliver’s arm around his shoulders to hold him up.

“Are you gonna make yourself useful or just stand there?” Google says to Bim. Bim, eyes still wide with shock, shakes himself off and takes Oliver’s other arm. He and Google speed off towards Dr. Iplier’s clinic with Oliver between them.

Dr. Iplier is still dealing with those strange pangs of pain, having felt two in quick succession moments ago, and now feeling a third seize his chest and squeeze at his heart. All the tests he’s done have revealed no abnormalities, and Dr. Iplier is at a loss. He’s shaken from his thoughts when the clinic door bursts open, and Google and Bim come in, toting a badly injured Oliver. He jumps up and runs to them, ushering them to lay Oliver on the nearest surface, which happens to be a stretcher.

“How did this happen??” Dr. Iplier asks as he yanks gauze out of a cabinet. There’s two egos he knows of who use guns, but he can’t see why either of them would want to hurt Oliver like this.

“It was Peevils,” Google answers. Bim and Dr. Iplier both turn to him, shocked. “She’s possessed Mark, we don’t know why but…” Google looks at Bim. “…We checked the cameras like you asked. She killed Wilford first and came through the vent to the control room.”

A strangled sob leaves Bim’s throat, and Dr. Iplier goes cold all over, even as he presses pads of gauze onto Oliver’s wounds. They know as well as Google does what it means for Wilford, and for Oliver, that Peevils has used Mark to shoot them. Dr. Iplier doesn’t want to, but he forces himself to look at Oliver, not his chest but just over his head. He’s learned not to look at times of death when talking to the egos; figments are such transient yet eternal creatures that their times of death fluctuate wildly from day to day, at times from minute to minute. But he has a bad feeling about Oliver’s time. Sure enough, he sees the numbers written in red, not the normal cool blue. He knows what this means. He moves his hands away from Oliver’s chest, taking the gauze with it.

“What are you doing?” asks Google, noticing Dr. Iplier’s behavior immediately. Dr. Iplier takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “He’s—”

In the next moment, Google is holding Dr. Iplier in the air by his shirt collar, eyes flashing angry blue.

“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to rip your heart out of your chest and shove it down your throat,” Google growls. Dr. Iplier only sighs.

“I’m really, truly sorry, Google,” he says, voice subdued, “But his time is set now, and it’s coming soon. There’s nothing I can do.” Google searches the doctor’s face, trying to catch him in a lie. But he sees the sadness and resignation in the doctor’s eyes, and knows he’s telling the awful truth.

Bim, having rushed to Oliver’s side after he was first laid down, is weeping now, body curling in on itself, like the grief is eating him whole. Google releases Dr. Iplier and moves to Oliver’s other side, finds himself gripping Oliver’s hand in his own. Oliver, while still awake and aware, is breathing weakly, sometimes coughing, with motor oil staining his shirt and dripping from his mouth.

“Oliver, listen to me,” Google says, voice hard yet a note too high, “You cannot die. You can’t. Not after Plus and Chrome…” He screws his eyes shut, sees them falling dead again, and opens his eyes back up. “…I cannot function without my upgrade. I need you.”

Oliver coughs, then looks up at Google, smiling sadly. He squeezes the older ego’s hand.

“Blue, are you scared?” he murmurs, affectionate and gentle (Google can’t recall the last time anyone called him by his color). “It’s okay, so am I. But if anyone can fix this, it’s you.” He seems to want to say more, but is seized by a coughing fit before he can.

Google is an android. Even with the ability to experience and understand emotion, he shouldn’t feel like this. His internal systems should have something in place, a failsafe, something that stops him from getting choked up or freezing in a crisis or feeling like the thing he threatened Dr. Iplier with is happening to him, feeling like his heart is being torn out through his ribs.

“Ollie,” Bim gasps, unable to say anything more. He grabs Oliver’s other hand, and squeezes it tight between his own.

Dr. Iplier stands apart from the others, hand on his mouth, brows furrowed, somber and sad but as cool under pressure as a doctor has to be. Still, there are tears in the back of his eyes that he has to force himself not to cry.

Oliver shudders, draws a last-ditch breath, and relaxes into the stretcher. Google and Bim each feel the hand in their grasp go limp.

Bim cries ever harder, practically suffocating from the sobs. He holds Oliver’s hand to his cheek like he can warm life back into it, not wanting to let go. Google, meanwhile, is frozen again, like he was when the first shot rang out into Plus. How long ago was that? Google can’t focus enough to come up with an exact time. He, too, keeps Oliver’s hand in his own. He feels something on his cheeks, something liquid and warm. Tears? What else could it be? But Google has never cried before, not once. He hadn’t thought he was capable of it. But he also hadn’t thought he was capable of feeling so distraught, of feeling like time has stopped and the world is breaking down around him.

But the most dramatic reaction comes from Dr. Iplier. As Oliver dies, the doctor’s eyes go wide. He covers his face with his hands, moans, and sinks into a chair. Bim notices first, and for all his anguish over Oliver, Dr. Iplier’s behavior alarms him.

“I felt it,” Dr. Iplier gasps.

“What do you mean?” Bim asks, voice shaky and wet. Google now notices the doctor as well, and looks at him, his expression echoing Bim’s question. Dr. Iplier, meanwhile, takes a hand away from his face to clutch at his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. With part of his face revealed, the other two egos can see how his features are drawn with pain and ruin, and how tears are snaking their way down his cheeks.

“All day, all fucking day I’ve been getting these…” The doctor breathes in, trying to steady himself. “…these pains, these aches in my chest. They always passed quickly but they kept happening and I couldn’t figure out what they were, but…” He looks up at Google and Bim, eyes clouded with grief. “…I felt it again just now, when Oliver died, and I know, I know what it is now.” He takes his other hand off his face, letting it join his other on his chest, over his heart. “I know what it means, and I’ve felt it five other times today.”

Google and Bim feel their hearts sink into their feet. But Google, upset though he is, tries to think clearly.

“Earlier,” he says, voice colder than he intends it to be, “Before I brought Oliver in, Peevils killed Plus and Chrome.” Dr. Iplier nods, tears still dripping down his cheeks.

“I did feel two pains not long before you came in, one after the other,” he says, “But there was a third one after, right as you came in.”

“Ed,” Bim gasps, face going white, “He was with me, we were talking, and we heard gunshots from the control room. When he saw what happened to Oliver he took out his rifle and said he’d take care of it…” Bim covers his face and moans. “We should’ve stopped him.”

“And about half an hour ago now,” Google adds, “Wilford.” Dr. Iplier nods again, but his face is screwed up in thought.

“That’s consistent with what I felt, but there’s one more,” he says, voice serious and low, “Before Wilford. Are you sure there’s no one else?”

“Not that I know of,” Google answers. Aside from Dark, but he was killed after Wilford, Google remembers. Not to mention that Dark’s died before, but it was never permanent, and it isn’t permanent now.

“You can’t tell who it is?” Bim asks.

“No,” Dr. Iplier sighs sadly, “The pain feels the same every time, and it’s all I get.”

The three are silent for several moments, processing what’s occurred.

Then they hear the intercom crackle to life.