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Connor has no need to sleep. He DOESN'T "sleep". However, he lets his eyes flutter closed and his mind go silent as he recharges his systems, he goes still and silent as his internal data shuffles and reshuffles and reorganizes, returning him to peak efficiency. He doesn't NEED to go into a shutdown for it, and until Hank, he never had- to be temporarily shut down was to be vulnerable.
But Hank had said it was fine to "sleep". He preferred it to when Connor sat there, eyes open and staring ahead, alert, but still looking like a human corpse. It was "fuckin' creepy and weird", and Connor was... free, now. Safe, living in the Anderson household. So, it had become a habit.
He retreated into his Data, his Mind Palace, he went silent and still and allowed his body to work and recharge while his awareness went lax.
Stray thoughts emerge behind his eyelids as he awaits inside himself. He does not dream- he thinks. The wait for reawakening gives time, and time in a free android's mind means imagination, it means free thought. Speculation. Charting out potential paths of the future using the knowledge of the now.
Sumo had been moving less and less lately. Connor knew it meant something unpleasant, but death had never bothered him as a concept until... until he had the free mind to truly dissect it. Philosophical and horrifying ideas came to infect him, unable to be purged. It wasn't a virus- free thought wasn't a virus- he couldn't delete the thoughts.
Hank's health was in great decline. Alcohol, horrible food, takeout, a stressful job, clinical depression- age. All of them were avoidable to a degree, fixable, but age. Age... Connor all at once hoped for time to illogically stop, yet begged for it to move faster, to free him from the trapping of his own mind, his free thought, it was so much- and the stress would only slow his recharge down, draw it out longer, there was no escape. He didn't understand himself, he didn't understand emotions, or how he felt them, or what it all meant, he barely comprehended his freedom, and he all at once was grateful for the freedom to care so much and be loved and have family, but fell apart over the pain of it, the pain of time still moving, of not knowing himself or feelings or how long Hank had left, Hank, Hank-
[ERROR- STRESS LEVELS APPROACHING 90%]
[REBOOTING OS]
.....................
[BOOTING RK800 OS]
......
His LED flickered to life, his eyes opening and looking around, praying to see, to see-
"Connor, jesus christ! The fuck's goin' on with you!?"
Hank.
Connor saw Hank right in front of him, the wrinkles of his face glaring as it twisted in an expression of concern.
"Yer fuckin light thing was going nuts, blinking red a shit ton before just- turning off! You scared the fuck outta me, what happened?"
Connor stared at him. Wrinkles. Age. Dying. Death. Death. Fear
His face was wet and he couldn't place why. He was shaking and he couldn't place why. All of the code in his mind was numbingly silent, pounding in his audio processors. He couldn't place why. He barely registered his shaking body falling into a tight grip, his face resting against a chest, soft from age and junk food and lack of self care. He only barely registered Hank's voice, going from loud to soft, low, desperate.
Conner could only shake from what he feared. He trembled. His LED was spinning, from yellow to red, processing so much at once.
And then it slowed down. It slowed and he... slowed. He had been sobbing. He had never- not ever before. His eyes, glowing in the dark of the living room, looked up at Hank's face, the anguish of it.
"...I'm... sorry, Hank. I don't know what came over me. I was just... having trouble recharging." His voice was so weak, feeble, unstable. He felt a hand in his hair, smoothing it- a gesture recognized as soothing.
"Connor, what's going on?" It wasn't loud and gruff and vulgar, it was low, so low it was a whisper. "Be honest with me."
"...Hank, can I ask a favor of you?"
"Shoot, kid."
"...allow me to make dinner from now on."
"What?"
Connor forged ahead. "You eat unhealthily, and it affects your health. I believe I can help you get into better shape, if you allow me to make you meals, so-"
"Okay, okay, hold on- THAT'S got you freaked out? My health?"
Connor hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should respond with honesty. He supposed, though, that Hank could handle it. Hank would understand honesty the best, he always appreciated it.
"I thought about you dying, and my system went out of control."
Hank's eyes went wide at the statement, glazing over with a wetness conveying pain, guilt. Then a sigh rumbled from him.
"Okay. You can make me food from now on. Not a problem at all, Connor, alright? So don't freak out anymore about me- about my health." The hand in his hair went from soothing strokes to a movement to ruffle it, messing it up. "I'll be alright, son."
Connor noticed the sudden panic in Hank as he realized what he'd said- but Connor didn't make a big deal of it. That could have upset him. Instead, Connor decided to do something that usually yielded good results with Hank- he took a risk.
"Thank you... dad." He then smiled, small and a bit weak from all the panic, but genuine, and he winked.
A gruff chuckle sounded from the older man, who looked away before Connor could see the wetness in his eyes growing. "Yeah, yeah, now get back to resting. It's fuckin 6 AM, Connor..."
"Of course, Hank. Sleep well."
"You too, Connor." The hand in his hair ruffled once more before leaving, as Hank shuffled to his room.
Connor, despite being told to sleep well, ignored the demand. He had breakfast to prepare, and that meant ingredients to find. Sumo nudged his leg with his monstrous nose, and Connor chuckled.
"How about a morning walk, Sumo? We can stop by the store on the way home."