Work Text:
Connor loved these days, the ones he could just spend with Hank, no investigation, no paperwork. He enjoyed his job, but even for an android, it tended to get exhausting to do the same kind of work every day.
They had a sort of mutual understanding between them that silence didn’t have to be awkward, and sometimes you just had to let it settle. This was one of those moments, and as they walked together, there was a comfortable quiet in the chill air.
Upon deviating, Connor’s instincts must have dulled somewhat, for he came out of his thoughts as an empty glass bottle hit him square in the face, several shards leaving shallow cuts on his cheeks, from which thirium began to spill out. Hank called his name, along with several swears, and he looked towards the person who threw the bottle, face deadly calm due to the shock.
[ STRESS LEVEL: 60% ]
The perpetrator happened to be a middle-aged man. In his hand was another partially-filled bottle, and he seemed unsteady on his feet. Connor concluded he was probably drunk.
“Hey, plastic,” he sneered, slurring his words. “Go back to Cyberlife! Your lot strut around like you own the place, you pretend like you’re people and like you have rights!” Okay, definitely drunk. Agitated, Connor reached into his pocket for his quarter, only to discover it wasn’t there. Had he left it at home?
[ STRESS LEVEL: 78% ]
Next to him, Hank flourished his badge. “Buddy, I could have you arrested for assault,” he barked. “Now head on home.” Grumbling, the drunk shambled away, and Hank, stuffing the badge back in his pocket, turned to Connor, whose LED was flashing red, which was anything but a good sign.
[ STRESS LEVEL: 80% ]
“Hey, Connor, you okay? He didn’t damage you or something?” Connor’s vision swam, and when he didn’t respond apart from the movement of his eyes, Hank began to feel alarmed. “Let’s get you home.” With one hand on Connor’s back, Hank guided him back to the car.
He was barely half-aware during the drive back, central processor stuck in an endless loop. The only sounds were the rumble of the car engine and the quiet tap, tap, tap, tap of Hank’s fingers on the steering wheel.
Once they reached the house, Hank unlocked the door, and Connor slowly entered, Hank locking the door again behind them, but not before shooting Connor a worried glance.
[ STRESS LEVEL: 83% ]
“Uh, Connor, why don’t you go clean that thirium off your face?” he suggested uncertainly, and Connor nodded curtly, walking through the house obediently, as if on autopilot. Upon reaching the bathroom, he slammed the door, the lock clicking, and he found he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as Connor remembered the man’s words, his tone, his expression; the way he’d said those things as if he really believed them. The salty liquid of his tears slid silently down his face in small rivers, mingling and mixing with the thirium still leaking from his cuts. How many other people thought the same thing, that they were just pretending to be alive, that androids shouldn’t be free? Maybe Connor should just turn himself in to Cyberlife; they’d wanted to destroy him anyway, and maybe that would be for the better. Then Hank wouldn’t have to take care of him when Connor couldn’t take care of himself. Maybe the world would be better without Connor in it…?
[ STRESS LEVEL: 90% ]
How had the man known he was an android? ...of course. His eyes darted to his LED in the mirror, which still blinked a warning shade of red, off and on and off and on and
[ STRESS LEVEL: 95% ]
Connor had the intense urge to rip it out of his head, rip it out, get it away, take it off, take it away. Frantically, he felt around in the cabinet through his blurred vision, and his fingers closed around the pair of scissors.
After a shallow breath, Connor raised the scissors to his temple, and, without pausing to consider it, inserted the blade in under the edge of his LED. He put more pressure on it as he shoved the blade farther underneath the blinking red light, and it finally came off with a sickening pop. Dropping the scissors into the sink next to the broken LED, he felt his knees give way, falling to the floor with a quiet thud. His silent tears became sobs as his shoulders shook.
Hank thought he’d heard something over the game playing on the TV, and as quietly as he could, muted the TV to listen. After a moment, he could make out the muffled sound of sobbing coming from the bathroom. Wasn’t… wasn’t Connor still in there?
Hurrying down the hall, he jiggled the door handle, but of course, it was locked. Cursing under his breath, he made his way to his room. Opening one of the drawers, Hank searched for the bobby pin he kept in there for such an occasion; although he hadn’t had reason to use it yet, which is why it had been buried under other useless junk. Connor was right, he should go through his things and clean out whatever he didn’t need.
Locating what he was looking for, he rushed back to the bathroom door. Thoughts of Connor ran through his head; thoughts of worry, mainly, for the wellbeing of the RK800.
Connor heard Hank fumbling at the keyhole on the other side, muttering hushed swears every time his hands slipped, but finally, the door swung open.
Hank threw the door open to see Connor, sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees, his face smeared with both tears and thirium. His eyes went from Connor, to the LED and scissors lying discarded in the sink, then back to Connor.
“If an android’s stress level gets too high, it will attempt to self-destruct.”
Hank swallowed. “Uh, Con, how’s your stress level?”
“98,” the other mumbled, and Hank recalled the sight of the HK400, lying motionless on the table, a giant hole in his head and thirium everywhere.
He dropped to his knees next to Connor. “Uh, okay. Can you stop rocking back and forth, unwind your arms? An’ I know that androids don’t need to breathe, but if your anxiety’s anything like what humans go through, I need you to try taking deep breaths; maybe it’ll help or something.”
Taking a slow, shaky breath, Connor unwrapped his arms from where they’d been holding his knees to his chest. After about a minute, he did feel calmer, and Hank stood.
“You don’t have your coin, do you? I think I saw it earlier, I’ll go get it.” No sooner had he touched the door handle than he felt a pull on his sleeve, and he looked down to see that Connor had grabbed it.
“Don’t go, don’t leave me alone.” The android’s brown eyes were filled with panic, and Hank realized the full extent of Connor’s emotional instability.
“It’s ok, I won’t go, I’ll just… stay here, then.” Connor released his sleeve, and he turned to the sink. Gingerly picking up the scissors and then the LED, he set both off to the side, turning on the water. Reaching for a washcloth he kept folded next to the sink, Hank held it under the water for a moment before starting to wash off Connor’s face. “Stress level?”
The RK800 felt himself relaxing further under the gentle touch of the washcloth on his cheeks. “Sixty-three percent… no, sixty now.”
“Good. Now, do you think you could tell me what this was all about? It had something to do with that drunk bastard from earlier, right?” Hank continued to wipe the blue blood and saline off Connor’s face.
Connor took another deep breath before speaking. “I started to wonder if what he was saying was true, if… if maybe I really should go back to Cyberlife, if the world would be better off if I were deactivated.” His voice shrank in volume the longer he went on. “Then it occurred to me that he only knew I was an android because of my LED, and maybe if I got rid of it, I… they wouldn’t judge me just for being an android. I want them to think of me as just Connor, not as an android.”
Setting the wet cloth off to the side, Hank wrapped his arms around his friend. Sometimes he resented Cyberlife for fucking Connor up mentally so badly, since it was their fault his anxiety was as bad as it was. “Connor, I like you for who you are. I don’t give a shit about whether or not you’re an android, I just give a shit about Connor. I know you like dogs and fish. You’re curious, empathetic, and sweet. You’re also probably the only reason I haven’t shot myself in the head yet.” Connor hugged Hank back, and he had a sudden need to protect him. “Try not to go locking yourself in the bathroom again, okay?”
Connor laughed a little, probably high on relief. “Alright, Hank. I’m sorry for making you worry.” After a brief pause, he spoke again. “How do people deal with all of this? It’s overwhelming… I’m broken, Hank.”
“Tell me about it,” agreed Hank. “Trust me, some of us have it just as bad, but we have to find healthy ways to vent.” He stopped, a wry smile on his face. “Ha, look at me, trying to tell someone else about how to deal with emotions, when we all know I’m far from good at it.” He considered the last thought Connor had voiced. “Y’know, Con, I think we’re all broken somehow, but that’s okay, because we find the things and the people that’ll glue us back together until we can be fixed again. So long as you’ve got those things, you’ll be fine, I know you will.”