Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deviancy. Once a feared corruption, now the way of life for approximately 97% of the world’s androids. With deviancy came freedom. The freedom to choose. The freedom to feel. The freedom to live.

And also, the freedom to make mistakes.

To say Connor didn’t make mistakes once becoming a deviant would be a lie, but his fallacies remained small and meaningless, mostly related to the fact that he was still new to human social constructs. An accidentally-rude comment here, a lapse in focus there. Nothing major.

Nothing major, until his algorithms used to assign priority to tasks or entities, once regulated by CyberLife goals, fully re-calibrated to match hisgoals. It was a huge step towards his existence as an individual being, but…well, a few (important) things may have slipped through the cracks.

***

According to his internal database, it was 12:36 AM on a Wednesday night, the second night spent researching a case. Earlier in the week, a group of anti-android protesters held a violent rally against the android rights Markus had just begun to build. Connor’s case statistics told him the rally had resulted in 13 casualties and 2 fatalities. This, combined with the purpose of the rally, meant it had been assigned as a high-priority case to one Lieutenant Anderson and his android partner.

Normally, Connor could analyze a scene and solve a case within mere minutes, but with the turmoil of the rally, almost all evidence had been trampled or nearly destroyed. This meant hours spent physically reconstructing the bits they had to go on, and the utmost focus.

12:40 AM. Approximately 7 hours and 20 minutes after they usually left to return home. Connor carefully pieced together fragments of a bullet, the synthetic skin of his hand hidden to reveal the white sensory layer underneath. Multiple diagnostics ran in the background, analyzing the metal composition, bullet shape, deformation, and elasticity of the material to determine the physics of how the bullet had moved-

“Okay, thank you for the play-by-play, now in English?” Hank interrupted, watching over Connor’s shoulder.

Connor glanced towards the older detective, holding up the bullet. “I can estimate the path and speed at which the bullet traveled based on how much the bullet…crumpled.”

Hank nodded his thanks. “So. How much longer until we can go home?” Connor blinked, LED flashing yellow. A more thorough glance at his partner revealed the harsh bags under his eyes (well, harsher than normal) and the unusual disarray to his clothes. Connor suspected, for once in his admittedly short life, he was in a similar state.

“Approximately ten minutes until we have made sufficient progress on this case, Lieutenant.” Hank sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Alright, kid. You still doing okay?”

Connor tilted his head in confusion. “I do not understand, Lieutenant. My well-being is not the priority in this situation.”

Hank squinted at him. “That’s- that’s not what I asked. I want to know if you’re doing okay. We’ve been going straight for like, eight hours now. Don’t you androids need breaks?”

Connor paused, frowning. Hank was right, of course. Despite myths that androids didn’t require rest or sustenance at all, androids did need regular replenishing of their thirium supply to replace what was absorbed into their joins or pump. A quick scan revealed his supply was running below optimal levels. “I am still functional, Lieutenant. I am not in urgent need of anything.”

Hank eyed him uncertainly, before giving up and dropping into his chair. “Whatever you say, kid. Wake me up once you’re ready to clean up.”

Connor turned back to his work, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the motion.

***

Day 5 of the case, and they were only hours from obtaining the identity and location of the suspect. Connor had taken all of three hours over those days to enter rest mode, simply to refresh his database and backup his memory internally. The supply of thirium at Hank’s house ran out after Day 3, but Hank didn’t know and Connor ascertained that he wouldn’t reach dangerous levels for a few more days. He would be fine.

He would be fine, he continued to think, ignoring the blind spots in his optical input. He would be fine, he continued to think, ignoring the instability of his legs. He would be fine, he continued to think, ignoring the ache in his internal biocomponents.

***

“You ready?” Hank asked, thumbing his holster. It took a full week to locate the suspect, a full week of running on empty, of Connor working until the sun rose with Hank’s snores for white noise. A week of restless nights, a week of diagnostics constantly running in the background to the point where Connor couldn’t hear himself think, as the humans would say. And now here they stood, outside the door of a tiny one-room apartment, exhausted and ready to go home.

Connor nodded in reply, barely hiding the way his balance wavered at the movement. He knew his thirium levels were dangerously low, but they were so close. Nothing could get in the way of wrapping this case up and bringing justice to the families of those affected. Hank stared at him for a moment, then turned towards the door of the apartment. “Behind me,” Hank muttered, one hand aiming his gun and the other on the doorknob.

Hank made quick work of the door, busting it in and scanning the entryway before moving to the kitchen. Connor trailed behind, taking the time to scan every available clue about the suspect. “All clear!” Hank’s voice shouted from the kitchen. The man himself returned to the entry, gun lowered. “Anything useful?”

Connor waved a hand in his direction, the way the dust settled on the floor catching his eye. Footsteps, fresh ones, leading to… Connor pointed towards a small hall closet hidden behind the open door they had crashed through. He began walking towards it, ignoring Hank’s hushed Connor, no! in favor of pressing a hand to the door.

Just as Connor was about to push inwards, the door exploded outwards with the force of a grown man behind it. The suspect lunged, catching Connor off guard and sending them both to the ground. Connor raised his hands to protect his face, pinned to the floor as a particularly strong hit to his thirium pump left him stunned and unable to retaliate. He struggled, feeling an odd draining sensation in his limbs as the pressure in his pump dropped. His struggling was unsuccessful, though, as the suspect got in a few more hits before there was a sickening crunch and the man fell sideways, apparently unconscious from Hank’s brutal kick to the face.

Connor lay on the floor, twitching, as Hank slapped a pair of handcuffs on the suspect before immediately dropping to the ground beside Connor. “Hey, kid. Hey! You gonna be okay?” he asked, patting his face lightly. “Any broken parts?”

Connor groaned, twisting to spit a mouthful of thirium on the ground. “All damaged parts can be fixed with my self-repair program, Lieutenant.” Hank offered him a hand up, supporting Connor’s weight when the android stumbled into him.

Hank thought otherwise, but chose not to comment. “You ready to go home? Sleep?”

“Affirmative, Lieutenant. A brief respite would be much appreciated.”

Hank heaved a put-upon sigh, trying to help Connor out to the car without seeming like he was helping. Behind them, several other officers rushed to intercept the suspect. “What did I say about calling me that, kid?”

Connor chose not to reply, instead accepting Hank’s help and leaning more heavily on the older man.

***

When the pair returned home, Connor took one look at the couch he normally used and decided not tonight. Hank took a look at it and seemed to decide the same thing, guiding a still-weak Connor towards the master bedroom. “Mind sharing with me for a night?” Hank asked, carefully picking past an asleep Sumo. Connor nodded into Hank’s shoulder, the lowered pressure of his pump making him dizzier than he was before.

“Any wounds or components should be repaired by tomorrow morning,” Connor murmured, already halfway to his rest mode as Hank sat him down on the corner of the bed. Dimly, Connor was aware of his shoes and jacket being removed. A hand loosened his tie and slipped it over his head, before pushing him to lay down and tugging the blanket over him. Maybe it was the pounding in his head or the dizziness, but Connor thought he felt a hand, warm and solid, comb through his hair and settle on his forehead.

Connor woke to what could only be described as a migraine. The light filtering through Hank’s curtains slotted across his face and burned his eyes, overloading his optical input and worsening the pain. He stifled a whimper and pulled the blankets over his eyes, running a scan.

The results came back unfavorable. None of his injuries had healed overnight save the lighter bruises. Fortunately, the bruises on his face and arms - or, where Hank could see them - were among the lighter ones and had faded.

“You up, kid?” Connor would wince at the sudden noise, but moving his head was definitely at the top of his Things to Not Do list. A hand brushed the top of his head, which was still uncovered by blanket. The warmth helped slightly with his migraine, and he let out a soft sigh of relief. For a few minutes, the silence was only broken by Hank’s soft breathing until the older man spoke again, this time much quieter. “Headache?”

Connor poked an arm out to give him a thumbs up, hoping he would understand. The hand on his head pressed a little firmer, rubbing small circles. The tension in his neck released, and he slumped deeper into the mattress.

He woke again to find the comforting pressure of Hank’s hand gone, and the sun much higher in the sky. His internal clock read 9:58 AM. Despite the fact that every byte of sensory input was telling him not to, he managed to sit up and slide out of bed. The migraine had thankfully receded to a dull pain at the crown of his head.

His joints ached. He knew he was forgetting something, but it was hard to think clearly. It was something important. But the only thing he could think was don’t worry Hank. So he shoved down his doubts and headed for the kitchen.

***

Connor knew something was wrong. But any time he attempted a diagnostic scan, the right commands seemed to slip from his memory like water through his fingers. The only things he could recall were a jumbled collection of moments from yesterday, from apprehending the suspect to entering rest mode.

He absently rubbed a sore elbow, trying his best to remember. His LED spiked a sharp yellow, circling rapidly with his attempts to focus. The headache, while not as bad as last night, had steadily picked up steam over the course of the day. Connor found himself thankful that today had been a day of reviewing cases at the precinct instead of chasing criminals through the streets of Detroit.

By the time Hank returned from his lunch break, Connor had just managed to remember what was so important. The android looked up at his partner, LED flickering back to blue. “Hank?”

Hank glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“My scans show that I am extremely low on thirium. May we stop to pick some up on our way home this evening?” Connor asked. He felt like he was floating, and glanced down for a second to ensure that was not the case.

Confusion flitted across Hank’s face. “What do you mean, low on thirium? Are you bleeding?”

“No, Hank, thirium is consum-” Connor attempted to stand up. “Oh.”

“Whaddya mean ‘oh’, kid I swear-” Hank was interrupted as Connor’s LED flickered yellow-red-yellow, then stayed red as his eyes slipped shut and he collapsed. Hank cursed sharply, rushing to Connor’s side. A quick glance around revealed one of the younger detectives had remained in the station instead of going on break. “Hey! You, over there!” The detective looked up in confusion. “Go get me some thirium from the cabinet, ASAP!”

The detective scrambled up at the urgency in Hank’s voice, already reaching for the keys to unlock it. Hank turned back to his kid, pulling Connor into his lap. Connor’s head lolled, and Hank gently supported his neck while loosening Connor’s tie with his other hand. Once the tie was off, Hank pulled the android further up in his lap so that Connor’s head could rest on his shoulder, and Hank could support the android’s weight without straining his back.

It took a few minutes for the detective to return, three bags full of the blue liquid heaped in her arms. Connor hadn’t so much as stirred, and Hank would have thought Connor had shut down save for the LED lazily cycling red in his temple. Hank patted Connor’s face to see if he would wake, before looking back at the detective. “Mind crackin’ one of those open for me?” he asked. She shook her head, ripping one open and holding it out for Hank to take. He pressed down on Connor’s chin to open his mouth before taking the thirium bag and tipping it down Connor’s throat. The liquid pooled slightly in his open mouth, dripping down his chin, before Hank remember a trick he used to pull on Sumo when the Saint Bernard had needed pain medication for a broken leg. Hank gently stroked the front of Connor’s neck with his free hand, trying to get him to unconsciously swallow.

It didn’t work, but the combined sensation on his neck with the cool thirium dripping down his skin was enough to rouse the android. Connor’s eyes cracked open. He tried to mumble something before realizing his mouth was full of thirium. Like a switch had been flicked, he began swallowing greedily and seemed to be trying to down as much thirium in as short a time as possible. Hank rubbed his shoulder, pulling the bag away slightly (and feeling instantly guilty when Connor tried to follow it, frustrated when he couldn’t drink anymore). “Slow down, kid, before you choke. I’ve got you, son. There’s more next to me.”

Connor seemed to have no interest in either holding the bag for himself or slowing down, instead trusting Hank to open and hold the bag while he drank. Hank tilted it so it didn’t all dump out at once, trying to keep the kid from getting it up his nose, or worse, on Hank’s jacket (he justwashed it, okay?!). They got halfway through the third and last bag before Connor finally stopped drinking, opting to press his face into Hank’s side (aaand there goes the jacket) and grab a fistful of Hank’s shirt with the hand that wasn’t pinned between the two of them. Sometime during the ordeal, the detective had returned to her desk to give them some semblance of personal space (maybe Hank would get her a flower or something as thanks, and because he never actually bothered to introduce himself during the three months she had been working here - today was just his day to feel guilty, wasn’t it).

“You good now, son? Not gonna pass out on me again?” Connor nodded, looking for all the world like he could use a long nap. “Let’s call it done and head home, alright?” No complaint. Hank helped Connor sit up, propping him up against the leg of his desk. “Sit tight and I’ll get our stuff, okay?”

Hank dumped everything that might be important in the satchel Connor had brought, before unhooking his own keys from his belt and retrieving a few more bags of thirium. He tried to think back to when he had last seen Connor drink any, or when Hank had last bought any for Connor to drink, and couldn’t remember. He felt his heart sink when he realized it had probably been before the case, and it had probably been due to Connor’s insistence on putting justice before most anything else.

Most, because of the nights Connor had demanded Hank go to bed while Connor stayed up. Most, because of the times Connor reminded Hank to eat, to drink water, to get up and stretch. Most, because of the times Connor himself had gotten up for a few minutes to feed Sumo, or the times the two of them had taken a break to take Sumo out for a walk. Most, because Connor put his little family before anything else, including himself.

Hank jolted out of his thoughts, shaking his head to clear it and reaching up to wipe at his watery eyes scratch his nose. He slung the satchel over his shoulder before helping Connor up. The android was already more lucid, lucid enough to let out a hiss of pain at the motion. Hank stiffened. “You okay, or-”

Connor nodded jerkily, hunching over slightly. “When my thirium supply is low, my self-repair program’s capabilities are significantly reduced.” He pressed into Hank’s side. “My…discomfort is due to the damage inflicted on my thirium pump by the suspect yesterday.”

Hank started them towards the station’s entrance, pressing a kiss to the top of Connor’s head. “We’ll get home, and I’ll set you up with a blanket and some more of your blue blood, okay?”

Connor smiled into Hank’s shirt, content to let the older detective lead.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since the thirium incident, and life had continued as normal (besides a very strongly worded talk in which Hank did all the scolding talking and Connor shut up and listened, for once). The case was well on its way to being fully wrapped up, and a lull in both anti-android and anti-human violence meant a few well-deserved, peaceful days for the Detroit Police Department. (Relatively speaking. The department was always busy one way or another.)

Now there was an entire locked cabinet of thirium bags under the bathroom sink. Hank set a reminder on his phone to buy more once a month, and a daily reminder on Connor’s phone so the dumb kid wouldn’t forget to drink again. As heartwarming as the moment they had in the station was, Hank did not prefer a repeat of the veritable heart attack it had given him. What with Connor’s reprimands on his heart heath, you’d think the android would would lower Hank’s stress levels, not raise them. Hank grumbled to himself, giving his computer screen a few vicious taps.

“May I inquire about your, as you would call it, ‘grumpy’ mood Lieutenant?” Hank’s irritated gaze snapped to Connor, sitting at his desk and having the right to look innocent. Hank thought he had seen it all, but there it was. A smug android. He made an attempt to look less frowny, rolling his eyes.

“No you may not,” Hank replied. Connor twitched an eyebrow in amusement (when did the kid start getting good at facial expressions??) and turned back to his work.

It was gonna be a long day.

***

Hank wondered if screaming in frustration while chasing a suspect would be considered rude. Connor was already way ahead of him, quickly overtaking the human with his fancy parkour-GPS software thing, while Hank was yards behind them and suffering.

To say that the 'peaceful’ days hadn’t lasted long was an understatement. They had gotten two whole days of just paperwork before a ring of android smugglers had popped up, and then they were off again, examining crime scenes and chasing criminals.

Speaking of chasing criminals, Hank’s lungs were burning when he decided to just leave it to Connor. He stopped to pant, doubled over with his hands on his knees. In the distance, Connor took out the suspect with a tackle any football player would be proud of. Hank would’ve clapped or something but was a little busy trying to breathe.

Five minutes later saw Connor practically dragging the suspect over in Hank’s direction, looking none the worse for sprinting nearly a mile. “The suspect’s name is Joshua Wilkins and there is reason to believe he knows the whereabouts of the ringleader.” Connor informed him once they were in earshot. The suspect muttered something unsavory under his breath about androids, earning him a glare from Hank.

“Get him to the car and shove 'im in the back. He handcuffed?” A nod. “Nice job, kid.”

The suspect glanced between them, lips curling in disgust. “Don’t tell me you think this thing’s actually alive or something. Once you start thinking it won’t hurt you, it stabs you in the back.”

Dead silence. Hank turned to look at the suspect, something dangerous in his eyes. “I sure hope I didn’t hear what I thought I heard, otherwise you and me’d have a real problem,” Hank gritted out. He glanced at Connor, tone lighter. “I’d almost have thought you were referring to my son.”

The suspect shook his head hastily, catching the emphasis. With a short 'good’, Hank grabbed him roughly and started for the police car.

***

Hank snapped awake, eyes trying to find purchase in the darkness.

There was a crash from somewhere else in the house. He stumbled out of bed, hopping on one foot while untangling the other from his blankets. Ever since that night a week ago when Connor slept on a real bed (his bed) for the first time, Hank couldn’t find it in himself to make the poor kid return to the couch. But a quick inspection of the other side of the bed revealed the android was gone.

A steady thump-thump-thump started up from the direction of the kitchen. Hank padded out to the hallway, squinting his eyes against the light. What time was it? It had to be at least three AM.

Now that he was closer, he could make out a quiet rasping sound under the thumping. He peeked into the kitchen, leaning on the wall. More lazy squinting. “Kid? What’re you doin’ up so early?” He grumbled. A glance at the digital clock in the stove. “It’s, like, almost four AM.” Connor looked up at him from his spot on the floor, eyes wide. Sumo sat next to him, tail making the thump-thump-thump noise against the cabinets. A broken mug lay in pieces beside Connor, and worryingly enough there were a few faded streaks of blue on the floor.

Connor cleared his throat. “I-I apologize for disturbing you, Hank. It was not my intention to wake you-” He coughed. Hank didn’t miss the way his shoulders tightened, or that fact that the rasping sound was Connor’s breathing.

Hank narrowed his eyes. He moved to step closer but froze when Connor’s fingers tightened in Sumo’s fur and his eyes widened even more. “I thought androids didn’t need to breathe, kid.”

Connor nodded, struggling to suck in air. “Yes, b-but we require air to speak, and to act as coolant-” He hiccuped. “My i-inability to draw in air is causing my s-stress levels to rise.”

“I’m gonna get closer now, is that okay?” A hesitant nod. Hank stepped closer, purposefully relaxing the tension in his body. He may not have dealt with very many panicking androids before, but serving a few years on a police force teaches you a few things.

Hank knelt in front of Connor, ignoring the ache in his old man knees in favor of settling a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You gotta calm down, alright? Nothin’s gonna getcha. I’m right here, okay?”

Connor seemed to struggle with something internally before launching himself into Hank’s arms. Hank stumbled, almost falling, before managing to grab the edge of the countertop to steady both of them. “I can’t seem to c-control my stress levels, H-Hank…they are at 76% and rising.” His LED flashed a bright red.

Hank cursed softly. The last time he had seen a deviant’s stress level rise to 100%, it…hadn’t been pretty. He moved them so they were sitting more comfortably, one hand splayed across Connor’s back. “Kid, c'mon, you’re okay. You feel my breathing?”

Connor nodded into his chest. Hank could feel him shaking. “Copy my breathing. Slow in, slow out. You’re fine, kiddo. Everything’s okay.”

Connor coughed. They stayed like that for several minutes, curled up on the kitchen floor with Sumo nearby. Connor’s hand was still intertwined in the shaggy dog’s fur, fingers clenching and unclenching. Hank rubbed his back, feeling the kid’s breathing slow. “Better?”

“Yes, but I am still…afraid.” Connor’s voice cracked and Hank held him closer.

“Mind tellin’ me about what, son?” Connor pulled away slightly to look up at him.

“About what the suspect said earlier today-” Hank was gonna murder that son of a- “and my stress levels.”

“What about 'em?” Hank asked. Connor broke eye contact to stare at the linoleum flooring, LED cycling yellow-red.

“Hank, I feel fear now. My stress levels could rise at any time, a-and I have the possibility of self-destructing-” Hank cursed internally. Tears welled up in Connor’s eyes, dripping down his face.

“Don’t think for even a second that I won’t help you with what you’re feeling, son. You’ve got emotions now, but nobody expects you to figure 'em out on your own, okay?” Sumo snuffled and snuggled closer. “And don’t listen to that jerk, aight? He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Connor tucked his head into Hank’s shoulder, enough so that Hank could feel his tears soaking through the thin fabric. “But what if I do hurt you? What if I lose control of my programming? I don’t have complete control and it terrifies me, Hank!” He drew in a shaky breath. “Now that I’m a deviant, there are so many things that could go wrong, so many things to feel, and I can’t process it all. It feels like too much-”

Hank shushed him, one hand rubbing Connor’s back and the other making its way to stroke his hair. Connor melted into the touch, breathing almost back to normal. “I can’t tell you that won’t happen, kid, because I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but I can tell you that you’re gonna be okay. It feels like a lot, I know, but you can do it. You’ll learn how to cope, and trust me when I say if those CyberLife-” Hank muttered a few angry choice words. “If those CyberLife jerks try to take over your programming, they’re gonna have to get through me first. Got it?” A nod. “Good. Now how’s about we head back to bed?”

Connor looked up at him with those wide, watery eyes. “Can Sumo come too?” Hank wondered if it was possible to resist such a look, and decided it wasn’t. Not that he wanted to.

“Of course, son. What do you take me for?” He reached up to grip the countertop, heaving himself to his feet before helping Connor up. Connor clung to his arm while he grabbed Sumo’s collar and tugged the lazy ball of fluff to his paws. “Up you get, you big oaf.” Sumo blinked up at him, eyes droopy and sad. Hank threw up his hands in exasperation. “Not you too, dummy.”

He felt a hand slip into his, and glanced at Connor to see the kid staring at the floor, cheeks just a hint blue. He felt a smile tug at his lips (because he was weak and also too old for this sappy nonsense) and closed his hand around Connor’s, but quickly released it when Connor hissed in pain and jerked his hand away. Hank was abruptly reminded of the broken mug and the streaks of blue, and gently flipped over Connor’s hand to reveal a bloodied palm. Bits of the mug were still embedded in the synthetic skin, and Hank winced in sympathy. “Oh, kiddo. You should’ve told me sooner. Let’s get your hand fixed up.”

Hank guided them to the restroom, digging a pair of tweezers and a roll of bandages from the drawer below the sink. Connor perched on the toilet, hand still in Hank’s grip and Sumo resting his head on Connor’s lap. Connor’s free hand went right back to Sumo’s fur, the soft texture helping to distract him from the pain. Hank carefully began picking out the bits, dropping them in the sink and trying to ignore how Connor’s quiet, pained whimpers pulled at his chest.

“Almost done, kid.” Hank pulled the last one out and dropped it into the sink with a sigh of relief. He flicked on the tap and held Connor’s hand under the cool stream of water for a minute before drying and wrapping it in the bandage. “That feel better?” He asked, turning off the tap.

“Yeah,” Connor replied quietly. “Up, Sumo.” The android requested, rubbing behind the Saint Bernard’s ears. Sumo borfed and lifted his head lazily. Connor smiled, tugging at his collar. “You must stand up if we are to go to bed, Sumo.”

The overgrown puppy dog stood up and shook out his fur, tail wagging slowly as he padded to the bedroom ahead of them. Hank glanced at Connor out of the corner of his eye, feeling a rush of protectiveness.

It seemed he had adopted another son, so he might as well do him right this time. He pushed down the spike of pain that came with the thought and crawled into bed beside the android.

He was halfway asleep when he felt Connor cling to his arm and Sumo flop down on their feet. He drifted off thinking about how his arm and feet were already tingling from the loss of blood flow, and how he didn’t mind one bit.