Secondary Objective: Googleplierxchild!reader

Chapter 3: Bandages can't heal scars

The drive home was quiet. You were never this quiet, especially on road trips. Making silly comments and laughing at the video Google set up for you to watch would be the only thing blocking out the radio.

The pain still stung in your arm, but what hurt more was the fact that your own father attempted to murder a child. Something was wrong with Google and you knew it. You remember seeing pictures on the walls of people that look very similar to Google. Maybe they could help you.

Google occasionally looks through the front view mirror to see if your bandaged wound was coming undone. He knew he had to apologize at some point. But, he still had to figure out why Google was glitching so much.

Could it be a cold?
No. Robots don't get sick.

Perhaps a virus?
Maybe...but as the latest model for Artificial Intelligence, it is unlikely to have such a thing in my system.

Google pulls into the driveway and puts the car on park. He takes the keys out of the car and watches (y/n) hold her/his arm in her/his grasp and walk inside the front door.

Google looks over at the neighbors yard and sees another household A.I mowing the lawn with a fake expression of happiness. The neighbors must have been pretty harsh on them yesterday, since he woke up hearing  shouting from across the street.

You quickly sprint to your (f/c) bedroom with a variety of miniature stuffed animals and put your pajamas on. Google slowly walks upstairs and turns off your lights.

"Sorry-y." He mumbles, then walks off.

It pained you to see him so sympathetic.

It would all be fixed soon...and with a little help.

You jumped out of bed and dialed the number from the fidge's emergency numbers. Very weird names it had on there.

The phone rang for what seems like forever, until a very deep pitched voice spoke.

"What the heck do you want now, little screwdriver.." You could tell the person wasn't very happy right now. They must be very tired.

"Hi! Ummm....I'm (y/n) (m/n) (l/n).."

"Who gave you this number?! I swear if you're calling to arrest me then you won't live to see tomorrow!" The person's voice was full of mixed emotions. It sounded as if two people were speaking.

"I would never call the police on somebody I haven't met yet..."
You continued.

"I saw a picture of you by my dad and I wanted to know if you could help figure out what's wrong with him." You fidgeted with your hair as you wait anxiously for a reply.

The man thought for a second.

"Does he wear a blue shirt with a 'G' on it?" He asked.

"Yeah. He does."

"Meet me outside your house tomorrow morning. I'd like to meet you."

"Ok!" You ended the call and placed the home phone on the kitchen countertop.

"W-who we-ere you c-calling?" Google asked with his arms crossed.

"The...pizza guy." You lied.

"It's 9:34 p.m, (y/n). Go back to bed please." Google gently pushed you towards the stairs and led you to your bedroom.

He tucked you in and turned off the lights once more.