Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In some cases you could say Conner was a normal kid. Normal would insinuate he's had an average upbringing and that there was nothing unusual about him in any way.

Connor knew that wasn't true.

Because no, Connor wasn't normal. Far from it.

To keep a very long story short, Connor prefers to summarize his situation with the key aspects of what his ‘situation’ is. Mind the air quotes, Connor himself does not believe any of this should be deemed a situation.

Connor's a foster kid, has been for approximately eleven months and sixteen days (yes he's been keeping count). he is currently age fifteen, fixing to turn sixteen in March.

Connor's current status: Being moved around the City of Detroit by the system.

Building's blurred by as Connor stared outside the window, hands working the coin between his fingers as he presses his bag closer to his chest.

February 16 12:15 pm, Downtown Detroit.

Connor internally logged.

He analyzed the buildings passing by as the car slowed its pace, Connor's social worker, Daniel, cursed as the car in front of him merged into the lane without a turning signal.

“Oh you piece of-”

Daniel cut himself off, quickly shooting an apologetic look Connors way. “Er- sorry bud, almost let one slip.”

Connor shrugged, eyes returning to buildings as they neared their destination.

Daniel's smile slipped as Connor continued his coin fiddling.

Daniel knew that being a social worker meant he would be dealing with all kinds of kids from all kinds of situations. You could describe the job with just one word.

Taxing.

It's a good, honest job that Daniel takes pride in doing. But taxing nonetheless.

Heck, Daniel thought he'd seen it all.

From abusive households, to the aftermath of a suicide or homicide, to underground trafficking rings.

He was so very wrong in Connor's case.

 you could use a number of words to describe Connor, bright, gifted, analytical maybe . . . unnerving. That was a word that would often pop up whenever someone wanted to hand Connor back to Daniel. The boy had a lack of reacting to, well . . . anything. In the months Daniel has spent working with Connor, he has never once seen the boy so much as crack a smile, or frown, or even complain. The kid acted almost robotic, and given everything Daniel had read off his file. He can't really say he's surprised, however after all this time spent away from his original guardian- Daniel is being very gracious using that term for Connors original . . . host- you'd think the boy would distance himself from it all and actually come out of his shell a little bit. But no, Connor was just as quiet and reserved as the day he and Daniel first met.

Casting another glance at the rearview mirror, Daniel could see Connor continuously flinging the coin from one hand to the other, before balancing it on the tip of his fingers before rolling it onto his knuckles effortlessly; it was the only keepsake the boy had as far as Daniel knew.

“Hey kiddo.”

Connor's coin flipping ceased and the boy tore his eyes from the window, vacant brown eyes stared at the mirror and Daniel be damned if he didn't find it the slightest unsettling.

“We'll have to stop by somewhere for you to crash before I can find you any residence that'll take you so uh, um-”

Daniel drummed his fingers nervously against the steering wheel, he hated it. God he hated the idea of sticking Connor in a place like that but he was running out of options, it was late, Daniel knew they were both tired, and his own place was halfway across town. Besides, It wasn't like Daniel could take Connor with him and crash at his apartment anyways, there are rules with being a social worker, obviously.

Connor blinked. He knew where this was going, granted it wouldn't be the first time he'd be stuck in a prison cell, Connor had it in him to feel displeasure. He's not entirely fond of sleeping at police stations, as Daniel apologized uselessly over a matter neither of them could control, Connor simply nodded in understanding. Daniel was kind, the exhausted, overworked, social worker has worked tirelessly with Connor's case, has worked hard to try and make things comfortable for Connor, and it doesn't go unappreciated. Though Connor has a feeling it may come off that way, he inwardly chastises himself, Connor of course feels an immense gratitude towards Daniel, he simply didn't know how to present it. As the car veered out of Main Square, with Daniel rambling on about how he was going to make sure to plan ahead next time and make sure something like this never happens again, Connor simply nods his head whilst returning the coin to his hands. This certainly wouldn't be the last time he spent the night in a cell, that, Conner knew with absolute confidence.

Detroit City Police Department, February 16, 12:45 pm

Connor noted the ticking clock set in the wall as he remained seated in the swivel chair. He could hear Daniel in the office with the chief of police, Captain Jeffery Fowler, the name on the plaque had read before Connor was ushered out of the office by Daniel to discuss Connor's sleeping arrangements.

The precinct was busy, Connor observed the main floor, detectives bustled about the chamber, phones rang, voices overlapped. It was all chaotic noise, Connor both loved and hated it.

Hated the unpredictability of everything that was going on, loved the controlled atmosphere of the seemingly chaotic work environment.

“The fuck?”

Connor turns to see an older man looking down at him. The man looked to be in his early fifties with long shaggy grey hair with a grizzly beard to match, with tired blue eyes. Connor analyzed the man's clothing with a slight frown, rumpled pants, a retro styled striped pale yellow and white dress shirt with a blue tie and brown overcoat.

The chances of this man being a detective was a low forty percent.

“You lost or something?”

 Connor had a feeling whatever his occupation was, this man probably wasn't very good at his job. He shook his head, the man studied him with a frown.

“Where are your parents kid?”

That is the question of the century, isn't it?

“Anderson.”

Connor and the man, Anderson, both turn to the voice, Chief Fowler stood in the door of his office, Connor could see Daniel standing in the back, holding his binder. Oh, of course.

The man, Anderson scoffed "you call me at this hour to babysit your sisters kid or something?"

Chief Fowler jerked his head to the inside of the office.

Anderson huffed, casting Connor one more glance before heading into the office.

Connor let his back fall against the wall again, of course, sweet, obnoxious, social worker Daniel. Trying to get Connor situated with a last minute caretaker in hopes of him not having to spend the night in a cell, honestly Connor didn't think any of this was that big of a deal anyways.

“Absolutely FUCKING NOT!”

Connor jumped from the sudden shout, immediately voices, both Daniel and Chief Fowler hissed for Anderson to be quiet. Fowler's door was left open a crack.

"Lieutenant please, it's just for a week, I can assure you Connor is a very sweet boy-”

“I don't care if he's the president's son, this isn't happening.”

“Jesus Hank, you think I want this for you either? It's either this or he spends the night in a cell.”

“The fuck are you trying to do here Jeffery? You of all people should know-”

“You think you were my first choice? Shit Anderson, you weren't even on the list but here we are. Would you rather I hand the kid over to Reed?”

“Even that piss stain would be a better fit than me.”

“Hank this won't be like before, at most you'll have him for a week before they ship him off somewhere else-”

Connor leaned away from the door, tuning out the rest of the conversation, disturbed. How was that man the lieutenant? Why was Daniel trying so hard to avoid what was inevitable for Connor? And what exactly had the Chief meant by ‘before’? 

Connor shook his head, blinking hard. It didn't matter.

In the grand scheme of things it was irrelevant wasn't it? Chief Fowler had said it best he'll be out of this sector of Detroit by the end of the week.

Fowler's office door slammed, making Connor jump out of his skin as the Lieutenant- Hank Anderson stormed past Connor, hardly sparing him a glance as Connor watched the man stalk out of the precinct.

Hank needed a drink.

He was way too sober for Fowler's shit.

In fact, Hank was feeling too sober for anyone's shit today.

The parking lot was freezing, flurries of snow had already begun to descend from the night sky, a cold breeze filtered through the lot as Hank stormed to his car. A storm of emotion clashed in his chest.

“You lost or something?”

The kid looked up at him, brown eyes staring up inquisitively, shaking his head.

“Where are your parent's kid?”

A blank, despondent expression passes the kid's face just as Fowler ordered him into his office.

The fuck was Fowler thinking?

The fuck was that social worker thinking?

What made either of them think Hank would be qualified for something like this.

Hank paused by the car door.

He can't do this, not after Cole . . .

Hank's heart twisted painfully in his chest.

Would Cole want this for him?

Hank was shaken from his thoughts when a voice called out to him.

“Lieutenant Anderson!”

Hank turned to see that social worker rushing towards him, that thick binder in his hands and the kid ‘Connor’ he'd called him, in tow.

Hank crossed his arms, scowl set on his face as the worker, Daniel, as he'd introduced himself earlier, stopped short, Connor stood a little aways out of earshot.

“Please, I must insist you reconsider.”

“The answer is no pal, sorry. But I'm not looking to take in any more strays.”

Hank already had Sumo, and the big lug already took up half of his time and attention, not that Hank regrets taking the St. Bernard, he just felt like he didn't need to start growing into the habit of taking in every stray that ended up knocking on his front door. A kid was not something Hank needed, and to be frank, Hank would not be the best influence on the kid, or for any other kid for that matter. Daniel continued to plead and plead as Hank stood stiffly beside his car, itching to leave. 

Seriously, this guy was starting to piss Hank off, the man snorted as Daniel shuffled around the binder to pull out more papers, that's when Connor peeked past Daniel. The boy was hardly half Daniel's size and considering that Hank had a couple inches over Daniel, the kid hardly brushed past Hank's chest.

Brown eyes stared at him, that same stupid analytical expression on his face. Fifteen, Daniel had said Connor was fifteen, what kind of fifteen year old stares at someone like that? Connor studied Hank with slight curiosity as Daniel offered Hank another paper.

“It will just be for a week, until I can get him a proper household that will take him. If you don't he'll be spending a week in a cell-”

“Shut up for a minute.” Hank snatched the paper and skimmed through the document.

Temporary custody, legalities, blah, blah, blah.

Hank glanced back at Connor, who shuffled his feet in the snow, eyes downcast. Hell, the kid didn't even look worried, almost as if he didn't care what happened to him.

Hank found the thought disturbing.

Who was he kidding, Hank had seen tons of fucked up shit on duty, as far as he knew there were thousands of orphans just like Connor, there was no use trying to sympathise, Hank can't save anyone everyone.

Much less himself.

Still, Hank found it alarming how conflicting it was. . .

Was he really going to turn his back on this kid?

As Daniel continued rambling, Hank grit his teeth, it'll only be for a week, and at this point he doubted Daniel was going to take no for an answer. It was cold, Hank was starving, and he wanted to go home.

“Jesus fucking christ if I say yes will you leave me alone.” Hank snapped.

And just like that, Hank was signing paperwork on top of his car, handed a big ass binder and was left with a scrawny, scruffy kid in the snow as Daniel inputted his info on Hank's phone.

The kid looked scrappy if Hank was putting it lightly. His hair was obscured by the brown beanie he wore, the jacket was a size to big for him and sported numerous holes and rips, the ratty jeans he had were so worn out, dirt seemed to be permanently rubbed into the fabric and the canvas sneakers he wore were hanging on for dear life. Christ, they were practically falling apart at the seams. If Hank was really doing this the first thing he was doing is to do right by the kid and buy him some real clothes.

And for the love of God did the kid even blink? The entire time Hank and Daniel exchanged information, Connor stood off in the sidelines hardly making a sound. Hands clasped behind a straight back like a fucking robot. How and why was the kid's posture so posh? Those unsettling brown eyes simply stared as Daniel filed away the last of the paperwork.

Connor finally reacted when Daniel knelt to his level and-, Jesus the kid even moved like a fuckin robot, the fuck was wrong with him? 

What was Hank getting himself into?

“I'll come back for you by the end of this week alright? Behave with mister Anderson and I'll see who I can set you up with by Friday alright?”

Connor simply nodded as Daniel gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before speed walking to his own car, “I'll brief you on the work tomorrow!” he called before heading into his car. Hungry, cold, and disgruntled, Hank faced Connor with a slight frown. “You uh, got anything else or is it just the bag?” 

A head shake.

“Alright y'know what- just get in the car.”

Fucking hell, what the fuck was he doing?

Hank heaved another heavy sigh, shooting a quick glance at the rearview mirror, Connor sat in the back seat, eyes fixated on the windows while fiddling with a coin he'd somehow gotten his hands on. After a full day of work, dealing with people's shit, and Fowler's shit.

Hank's now got a random teenager in the backseat of his car who is supposedly mute. Fuck, Hank didn't even ask if the kid had any disabilities. That's probably what the big ass binder was for. Hank glared dubiously at the pale yellow binder, Jesus it was almost as thick as his disciplinary warning stack (which was still growing). 

Silence filled the car as they drove, save for the constant ting of Connor's coin fiddling. Hank was going to lose his shit with that thing he swore.

February 16 1:20 Detroit Housing Units

Connor passed his coin between his hands without thought. 

The car ride so far has been silent, the Lieutenant would often cast a glance through the rearview mirror but would say nothing.

He shouldn't be here, Connor knew he was just making the man uncomfortable, the Lieutenant was very adamant that he didn't want to take Connor.

The coin rolled across his scarred knuckles.

Why was Daniel trying to hard over something that didn't matter?

Connor balanced the coin on the tip of his index finger.

The Lieutenant doesn't want him here, Connor doesn't want to be here, he would be fine on his own.

Left hand, right hand, back to left hand.

Connor could take care of himself.

A coin flip.

He's done it before.

Another toss.

No one is ever going to take in Connor and he knows exactly why.

The coin runs along the back of his hand.

This is never going to work.

It balances on his pinkie this time.

They're going to see that soon surely.

It rolls atop the tips of his fingers.

Couldn't they just send him back to Amanda if they wanted to?

Another pass to his right hand.

Connor's hands were starting to sweat, why were his hands sweating?

Right, left, right, left.

He didn't want that.

Another roll across his knuckles.

 If there was one thing Connor could be sure of, it was that he didn't want to go back to Amanda.

Another toss.

She'd hate that he's thinking that.

Another flip.

Amanda hates it when Connor thinks.

Left, right, left, right, left.

Connor shouldn't be thinking about this.

Left, right, left.

Just breathe.

Right, left.

One, two, three.

Left, right, left.

Connor stares through the window as houses pass.

A flip.

The Lieutenant doesn't want Connor in his house.

Roll across the scarred tissue.

Connor doubts he'll last the week.

He catches the coin in mid-air.

The Lieutenant would kick him out after the first day he's sure of it.

Pass from left to right.

Or maybe he'll try to find a use for Connor.

The coin stuttered between his hands.

He's a Police Lieutenant, he wouldn't do that.

Catching the coin in his right hand.

Would he?

“Hey. Kid, have you had anything to eat yet?”

Startled, Connor jumped back into reality, train of thought crashing as he caught his coin in his left hand.

They had arrived at their destination.

Chapter Text

Like a deer in headlights, the kid stared wide eyed when Hank turned and faced him when asking the question.

Connor shook his head.

Hank was seriously going to have to ask if this kid was mute or something.

“Well, I'll see what I have. C'mon we're here.”

Opening the car door Hank stepped out into his driveway with Connor grabbing his backpack. Grudgingly Hank carried the stupidly heavy binder with him.

What fucking accommodations did this kid need?

Digging his hand into his pocket in search of his keys, Hank paused, a sudden drawback he probably should have asked Daniel about occurred to him. Was Connor allergic to dogs?

Hank had a feeling he'd find that answer out pretty soon, shit.

The fucking binder probably had a list of what Connor was or wasn't allergic to, but alas, Hank doesn't have a fucking flashlight and his fucking front porch lights were out. Fuck.

Speaking of allergies, what foods could he eat? Because Hank didn't exactly have the healthiest (or best tasting) foods. Go fucking figure.

Pulling out his keys, Hank turned to Connor. Again with that blank fucking stare-

“Hey, you're not allergic to dogs are you?”

When Connor stepped out of the vehicle, he was rightfully hesitant. He was about to enter a foreign environment, he had no clue as to what to expect considering the man inhabiting said environment was the walking definition of a ‘loose cannon’.

As he watched the Lieutenant rummage for his keys, Connor attempted to peer through one of the windows, through the half shuttered blinds Connor could hardly make out the premise of a living room, the silhouette of something large moved from behind the couch.

Did the Lieutenant live with someone else?

Did he have a pet?

Wait a minute . . .

Had the Lieutenant even had the chance to read the binder?

Lieutenant Anderson paused at his front door, before turning to Connor.

“Hey, you're not allergic to dogs are you?”

That would be a definitive no, then.

Connor shrugged his shoulders, he's never been in an environment where he'd be in the vicinity of a canine of any sorts. Had he ever wanted to? Perhaps. But in the cases of allergies, Connor didn't have a clue as to what may pose a threat to him or his immune system.

“Oh great.” The Lieutenant huffed as he unlocked the door, “gimme a sec, stay here.”

As directed, Connor remained in place for a solid three minutes and forty seconds before Lieutenant Anderson's voice called from inside. “Alright you should be fine.”

Connor highly doubted that. In the premise of having a dog, whatever breed it may be, its fur would be everywhere inside the house, the couches, floor, beds, if the Lieutenant allowed it. Unless it were the case of the Mexican Hairless Dog, but then again those dogs do have the tendency to drool, a lot. If in this case Connor did have allergies to dogs, be it in the form of their hair or saliva, he would in fact, not be 'fine’.

Nevertheless, Connor stepped inside.

The interior of the Lieutenants home was surprisingly warm, with what one may call a ‘homey’ touch to it.

The strong smell of dog hair and booze was only a tad disorienting. The kitchen light to his right was on, with the Lieutenant scouring through his fridge.

“Well shit, guess we're ordering take out.” he sighed before shutting the door and pulled out his phone.

Connor remained by the front door surveying the house's interior. 

To his left, against the wall of the living room say a large TV. An old Cyberlife model, sat a small distance away from the TV was a couch and coffee table.

“Uh, kid?”

Connor turned to see the Lieutenant staring at him with an odd look, phone in his ear with Connor's binder .

“Don't just stand there like a coat rack, go sit down.”

A new directive, take a seat.

As Connor moves to round the couch, he freezes mid step.

A large travel kennel was sat in the corner of the living room, the scraping of claws and the heavy panting rattled the kennel as the large canine, Connor had no doubt that the canine being held in the kennel was nothing short of large, circled it's confined space. Even with the dim lighting Connor couldn't make out what breed of dog it was. Carefully, Connor sat rigid on the far end of the couch to put as much distance between him and the large kennel as possible. Connor kept his hands folded in his lap, back straight, and eyes trained on the large carrier. There wasn't enough information to make a sound enough thesis, still Connor attempted to try and analyze his circumstances. With the breed of dog unknown there was a high sixty percent chance of it being hostile, with a forty percent chance of it being docile.

“Well kid good news, you should be fine around Sumo.” The Lieutenant called from the kitchen, Connor snapped himself out of his analysis as the Lieutenant strode into the living room, straight for the kennel.

Panic rose in Connor's chest as Lieutenant Anderson undid the kennel latches.

Apparently the Lieutenant had eyes in the back of his head, or had a sixth sense for rapidly rising panic levels. As he opened the kennel door he called over his shoulder.

“I wouldn't worry about the big guy, he's as sweet as they come, spoiled too. At most, the big lug’ll give you a quick sniff and then sit down for a nap somewhere.” And just like that the Lieutenant meandered to the kitchen to pick up the phone again leaving Connor with the opened kennel door.

Amber eyes stared into wide brown as the dog slowly stepped out of its kennel. A St. Bernard, Sumo, Lieutenant Anderson had called him, stared at Connor with interest, who sat at the end of the couch cushion, itching to bolt out of the house. But the Lieutenant hadn't instructed him to move, Connor didn't even know if he was allowed to move freely or not. 

So, Connor remained seated, paralyzed as the St. Bernard padded forward. Droopy ears perked up, tongue lolling out of its mouth, droopy jowls swayed slightly as it stalked towards Connor.

Balling his hands into fists, Connor braced himself as the St. Bernard stopped short, a large black nose sniffed his knee as Connor held his breath, it took everything in him not to flinch when the Bernard’s wet nose pressed into his knee.

Stay still.

Amber eyes looked up at Connor, inquisitive.

It'll get bored and hopefully leave Connor alone.

The Bernard's large head lifted from his knee up to Connor's hands that were trembling.

This is it, Connor was about to lose his hands to a dog-

A warm rough tongue licked the back of his hand.

Connor's mind blanked.

What?

Sumo paused to sniff once more, wet nose ticking the back of Connor's hand before swiping his tongue over his knuckles again.

Connor's scarred knuckles.

Apparently deciding that Connor tasted delicious, Sumo sat back on his fluffy rump as he continuously lapped the back of Connor's hand, fluffy tail giving a slight wag as the tension slowly left Connor's body.

Huh, Connor was . . . unsure of how to proceed. Sumo's friendly behavior was unpremeditated.

So as the dog licked away at Connor's hands, even going as far as to lean forward a bit to salivate his wrist, Connor simply watched.

Fascinated.

A large beast, obviously capable of inflicting incredible harm if he so desired to. Was slobbering himself all over Connor?

Slowly, Connor unclenched his fists, encouraged. Sumo's tail wagged a tad faster as the Bernard nosed his way inside of Connor's right hand.

Cute.

Sumo was cute.

Very cute, Connor decided as the Bernard's head practically made itself a home on Connor's lap. Carefully, oh so carefully, Connor hesitantly reached forwards with his free hand, the one not subjected to dog drool and rested it upon the dog's large head between fluffy ears.

This was the best day of Connor's life.

Tail wagging at full speed, Sumo's ears perked up even more as Connor gave him an experimental scratch. A smile threatened to tug on Connor's lips as he continued his tentative scratching, Sumo's nose pressed into Connor's stomach sniffing and licking his shirt. Lieutenant Anderson was correct. Sumo was indeed a very sweet dog.

Connor likes dogs. Connor decided as Sumo's throat emitted a pleasant rumble as Connor scratched that good spot right behind his ears.

“Well it's nice to see you two are getting along.”

Connor's hand flew back into his lap as his head snapped towards the Lieutenant, arms leaning on the couch as he watched Connor and Sumo (who was not discouraged by the lack of scratches and continued to nose Connor's stomach) sat on the couch, getting acquainted.

Lazily Hank raised his hands in a surrender manner, brow raised slightly at Connor's reaction.

“Easy killer, Jesus. You can pet Sumo all you want. It's fine, that dog loves attention. I ordered us some pizza.” 

Connor's hands find Sumo's ears as Hank pointed to the kitchen with his thumb. “I'll prep some plates later, I didn't see any dietary restriction in your guide thingy and Daniel didn't say anything about it either. You got any preferences or is pepperoni okay?”

Connor only blinked and nodded sheepishly.

Hank shrugged, “Alright then.”

Connor's hand hesitantly returned to Sumo's massive head, anxiety immediately beginning to ebb as he scratched away at Sumo's ears with a slight frown.

What was Pizza?

This kid is so weird.

The first time Hank actually sees him act like a human being petting Sumo, like it was his first time seeing a dog and actually getting the chance to interact with it and then the kid clamped up like a venus fly trap the moment Hank showed his face. 

If Hank didn't know any better he'd say the kid almost looked scared, like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't.

Hank didn't know how he felt about that.

Hank wasn't at all worried about Sumo hurting Connor, for fucks sake the lazy dog couldn't even be bothered to scare away any of the raccoons away from Hank's trash (he was also too sweet to do that). Or worry about Connor having a bad asthma attack from all the dog hair the moment he stepped foot in the house. A quick call to Daniel confirmed that the kid was in fact, not allergic to dogs. Which was a huge relief on Hank's part because holy shit-

When Hank ordered the pizza, he noticed the two on the couch getting to know each other- as in Sumo was being a big baby for attention. Of course Hank could see Connor falling for the puppy eyes the dog had mastered and was giving the big lug some loving scratches. 

Huh, well would you look at that, the kid can feel.

It was sort of sweet, seeing the kid actually show some form of a humane trait, liking dogs, and that Sumo was able to bring Connor slightly out of his shell, it only for a little bit, before Hank had broken the peace by talking.

Now the kid was retreating back into his shell which, quite frankly, was really starting to frustrate Hank. Because of course he would be the one to fuck it all up. If Connor was really going to be sticking around for the week, the least he could do is dial back the creepiness level by a few notches.

Connor remained sat on the couch with Sumo as Hank skimmed through the big ass binder he was stuck with. Christ on a stick, was all of this Connor's history? Fuck . . . kid's been put through the wringer that's for sure. Hank paused in his light reading to glance back at Connor, the kid's posture wasn't as stiff as a board anymore, he was relaxed against the couch again, petting Sumo. The ratty bag he's been towing was set beside the couch, was that really the only bag Connor owned?

Fuck, Hank definitely needed to buy the kid some more clothes, ones that were at least in decent condition and actually fit the kid.

And Hank has yet to hear Connor actually speak, all he's gotten so far is head shakes and shoulder shrugs, which was mildly disconcerting.

Hank was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of the doorbell buzzing. Sumo's tail thumped against the couch as he barked, Connor practically jumped out of his skin at the sudden sound as Sumo abandoned his lap and pattered towards the front door, panting in excitement.

With a huff, Hank shut the binder and shirked it to the side, he'd finish reading it later. Hank heaved himself out of his seat and opened the cabinet doors, rummaging for the paper plates. The doorbell buzzed insistently as Sumo continued to paw at the door excitedly as Hank pulled out his wallet, swatting Sumo away from the door as he called over his shoulder to Connor, who remained in his seat on the couch in the living room.

“Just go and take a seat at the kitchen table, I'll be a sec.”

Connor rose from his seat as strode for the kitchen as directed. 

As promised, Hank had set the paper plates on the counter and Connor proceeded to grab a plate for himself and one for the Lieutenant, just as Connor had taken a seat, Lieutenant Anderson strolled into the room with a large flat cardboard box with the picture of a pizza stamped on the top of the box. Sumo continuously weaved himself in between the Lieutenant's legs and kept waltzing in front of his path, tail wagging and mouth drooling as he sniffed the box excitedly. 

“Down Sumo.” The Lieutenant ordered as he set the box in the middle of the table.

Whatever was inside smelled heavenly to Connor, his mouth instantly began to water as the delicious smell of the ‘pizza’ the Lieutenant had ordered wafted into the open air as Lieutenant Anderson flipped open the box's lid. 

Inside was the strangest food Connor had ever seen.

Its shape was circular, like a large pie. Melted cheese bubbled surrounded by a thick layer of crust, and slices of what Connor guessed was the pepperoni Lieutenant Anderson had mentioned earlier, dotted the top layer of the cheese sporadically.

It had just occurred to Connor that he had not eaten anything since yesterday morning's breakfast. And that pizza, no matter how odd it looked to Connor, smelled absolutely incredible.

Connor swallowed the mouthful of saliva that had begun to pool in his mouth, Sumo shared his sentiment, licking his chops, the St. Bernard rested his chin atop the table, eyeing the box of pizza adoringly as his fluffy tail wagged about a hundred miles per hour.

“Well, don't just stare at it.”

Connor was pulled from his thoughts as Lieutenant grabbed two slices for himself, eyeing Connor oddly. “Eat kid, you look like you haven't had anything decent in a while.”

Define decent.

Tentatively, almost cautiously, with Connor constantly casting a wary glance at the Lieutenant, Connor reached forward and grabbed himself the smallest slice of the remaining portions and marveled at the warmth the slice emitted, cheese oozed from the tip of the slice and flour residue dusted the tips of Connor's fingers from the crust beneath the slice as he hovered his serving above the paper plate. 

This was a greasy food, unhealthy and certainly something Amanda would forbid Connor from eating.

Lieutenant Anderson eyed him worriedly? cautiously as Connor halfheartedly brought his slice close to his lips.

Dear god, that smell was magnificent.

Still, with great self control and skepticism Connor leaned forward and took a small, uncertain nibble. 

Dear God.

Connor's eyes blew wide as an onslaught of flavors practically swept him off his feet.

At first there was the grease, but Connor didn't even get the chance to cringe at the sensation before the savory taste of melted cheese subsequently punched him in the face. Warm and gooey, all the while tasting both salty and savory, and Connor was taken aback by the sudden tang of tomato sauce hidden beneath its blanket of cheese.

Then there was the warm, firm, yet soft under crust of the slice that was rough and dry yet combined so beautifully with the rest of the flavors, how could anyone be picky with such a small discrepancy?

Not Connor, that's who.

Because this was perfection.

This was utter perfection Connor was tasting.

And he loved it.

Connor didn't even know one could taste perfection, and yet here he is. Enjoying one of humanity's greatest creations. With immense self control, Connor took another small yet measured bite and nearly groaned in ecstasy as he was rewarded with another, stronger wave of wondrous flavor. Food was a necessity, without it there could be no survival, that's how Connor had always viewed it, and it was probably mainly due to the fact he's had little experience with real good foods. Pretzels, crackers, granola, cereal, and toast were one thing, he's maybe even had the occasional bag of chips or two, and Connor’s had raisins that one time. But neither of those foods could ever hope to dream of comparing themselves to pizza.

Now Connor could see why some people held food in such high regard. Daniel was always so grumpy whenever the two of them had to miss their breakfast due to a sudden call from Daniel's boss or someone wanting to meet Connor.

Food could be glorious, like pizza.

For the love of all that was good and holy pizza was the grandest food of all.

In short, Connor tasted heaven.

“Good?” The Lieutenant inquired. One brow quirked upward almost in amusement as Connor struggled to maintain a neutral expression as he nodded vigorously while taking a significantly larger bite.

Hank did not at all believe his expression, Connor looked as if he had just found God within that Pizza slice.

Connor took slow, measured chews as he savored each bite. Good was an understatement, good was an unjust adjective to describe the glorious, earth-shattering, perfection of a masterpiece that was pizza.

It took every fiber in Connor's being not to scarf down the remainder of his slice.

The two of them dined in a relatively comfortable silence, Hank of course eyed Connor in slight amusement as his eyes lit up like the fourth of July when he bit into a piece of pepperoni. So far Connor hadn't spoken a word to the Lieutenant since he had stepped into his car, but as he leaned in for another bite he paused. The Lieutenant didn’t have to feed him, and yet here he was, spending his own money on something good, for Connor. 

Biting his bottom lip, Connor wearily casted a meaningful glance towards the Lieutenant, who had begun scrolling mindlessly on his phone. Blue eyes flit upwards to look at Connor staring at him and before Connor could lose his nerve, opened his mouth and spoke.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson.”

His voice was hoarse, and his volume was nothing more than a mumble and Connor squeaked as he shut his mouth, a tense silence followed as the Lieutenant addressed him. Surprise flitted across blue eyes, his eyebrows perked up slightly, as if caught off guard. Then, a neutral expression masked his face as Lieutenant Anderson shrugged, “it’s no problem, it didn’t look like you’ve had anything to eat and I was starving so why not kill two birds with one stone. You’re welcome.”

Connor ground his jaw as he watched the Lieutenant return to his scrolling, something was different in his eyes though, they somehow seemed brighter, yet duller all the same.

The Lieutenant was a very confusing person. Connor concluded.

The swift silence they were put under was once again shattered as the Lieutenants phone lit up and began to vibrate. A phone call. 

Frowning, the Lieutenant stood from his chair, grabbing his plate and his gaze remained on his phone, when he spoke he reached for Connor’s binder.

“Gimme a sec, I gotta take this. Throw away your plate when you're done and there are some drinks in the fridge if you’re thirsty. Help yourself.” And with that Lieutenant Anderson answered his phone as he disappeared into his room with the binder.

Nodding dumbly with a red face, Connor turned his attention solely on his pizza. 

It took everything in Conor’s being not to wolf it all down.

The moment the door closed behind him Hank tossed the cinder block of a binder onto the side of his bed while setting his plate on his nightstand, fucking hell he was tired.

Hank wanted nothing more than to flop on his comforter and sleep until next Tuesday, but alas the world loved to fuck over Hank Anderson’s day.

Besides, Hank didn’t even know if he could sleep after what had just transpired.

Connor spoke.

The kid actually spoke.

It took everything in Hank to repress the sudden squeamish joy he felt when the kid actually spoke. Because holy fucking shit he thought he was mute- or that his vocal cords were broken or something, and Hank immediately did everything in his power to quash it, because (A) there should be absolutely no reason whatsoever for Hank to get this excited over such a small thing especially when said thing was only going to be spending a week under his roof. And (B) it was just four words, there was nothing to get excited about, and the kid was only thanking Hank, for something literally any other person with common sense would do. Hank knew damn well he shouldn’t be feeling this way, not about some scrappy, worn out kid. Especially since he had just met Connor only two hours ago.

Brown eyes stare up at him tentatively as a hoarse voice mumbled, “Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson.” The kid sounded so scared yet so grateful. He had looked and sounded so fragile, so goddamn small.

Brown eyes.

Brown familiar eyes-

It still hurts too much.

His phone shook insistently.

Hank answered the unknown number tiredly, somehow having a feeling he knew who was on the other line. “Anderson speaking.”

Daniel’s voice practically shouted over the phone, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner Mr. Anderson! Traffic was terrible.” 

(Yes, Hank actually flinched away from his phone, his damn ears were ringing-)

“I’m calling to see how well Connor’s been situated.”

Hank scowled as he glanced at his alarm clock, 2:00pm.

It’s only been two fucking hours, it wasn’t even half an hour ago Hank had called while Daniel was in his car to ask about allergies. 

What is this shit.

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the headache throb in his temple. “The kid is fine, I just ordered some pizza so he had something to eat. And he’s getting along just fine with Sumo so don’t get your panties in a twist.”

There was a pause before Hank heard the flipping of paper “That was one of my concerns.” he heard Daniel mumble. “And he has a good place to sleep?”

“I’ll have him crash on the couch.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “are there no guest rooms available?”

Cole’s old room.

Hank’s heart twisted painfully. “No.”

His damn voice broke so badly. 

“No, I don't have any other rooms.”

Daniel huffed in disappointment as Hank sat on the edge of his bed, “well if you could maybe get an inflatable mattress or pull out bed that would be preferable. You will also have to read the binder.”

Hank eyed the thick binder dubiously. Seriously? The kid was only sticking around for a week and Hank needed to read through the entirety of the rejected drafts of the tax code?

“For the week? Connor’ll be out by Friday I don’t see why-”

“That leads to one of our problems.” Daniel’s voice cut him off regretfully.

Sorry, problems?

Plural?

“I’m afraid trying to find Connor a suitable foster will take longer than expected.”

“What? So, like an extension on his stay?” Hank frowned, was that even allowed on legal terms? Hank signed the forms for Connor staying the week but if Daniel was trying to extend that- fuck Hank would have even more paper work to sign.

“How long is this going to take?”

“Probably a couple more weeks.”

“Define a couple.” Hank snaps.

“It- This process may take a month.”

Hank froze, slack jawed as Daniel continued. “Maybe-Maybe even more- but I can assure you! The right paperwork can be filed and there should be no legal trouble, Connor has just been moved to a new district in Detroit, a lot of foster kids have. And there haven't been enough homes to foster them.”

Hank can see where this is going. Fucking hell, of course, of fucking course this was happening to him. “If you are willing to house Connor for the duration of the integration I can get you the paperwork by the end of this week, but if you really can't handle it-”

“What's the process?”

“-I'm sorry?”

Hank massaged his temple, he wanted all of this to be over, he wanted some sleep, and he needed a beer if he was going to be handling this- ah wait no, shit, can he still even drink if he's taking in the kid? 

Was Hank really doing this?!

The weight of the binder causing a dip in the bed on the spot next to him was answer enough.

Fuck it. 

Hank is gonna do this shit, because why the hell not?

Hank spoke again, eyeing daggers at the damned binder as he pulled it onto his lap. “It's either Connor stick with me until you can find someone better to take him in, or he's gonna be dragged around this whole district for weeks on end until your ‘process’ is finished. Am I in the ballpark?”

“. . .In simpler terms, yes. Those are our options.”

Hank flipped open the binder and skimmed through the pages, lips pursed in a thin line as he studied Connor's file.

His last name is Stern? Huh.

“Are there any requirements for this or do we sort of just ‘wing it’?”

“Ah well, you may need to attend classes for childcare and wellbeing courses.”

Oh fuck Hank needed to go to school? Hank grimaced at the thought “What if you already have experience with kids? Are the classes still required?”

“You have little ones of your own?” Hank tried not to take the mild surprise in Daniel's voice to heart, Hank looks in the mirror, he knows he's not the best looking man, especially for his age (he's pushing his late forties cut him some slack!) and not to mention it's no secret Hank doesn't take the best care of himself.

Had. I had a kid of my own once.

Hank pushes the thought away as he clears his throat. “I'm first Lieutenant of the DPD Mr. Phillips, not to mention I've babysat enough of my coworkers and their brats to know a thing or two about childcare.” That last part was only half a lie,Hank has never once had to deal with the shitstorm that was caring for any of his coworkers' kids. Hank was usually the one picking up after the rest of the DPD squad whenever he was sober to at least see straight, and he was the Lieutenant. All officers know how to deal with kids, especially kids under certain ‘circumstances’.

Silence filled the other end of the line for several moments and Hank feared for a moment he may have lost Daniel due to his poor choice of using the word ‘brat’ to describe his coworkers' kids- he'd been to Tina's house for a get together with her family one time and met her nieces, absolute nightmares.

“I can get you the official paperwork by this Friday, are you sure you really want to do this?” The skepticism in Daniel's tone only aided in steeling Hank's resolve for this. 

“I understand you are a Lieutenant Mr. Anderson, however, fostering kids is not easy, and Connor has already been through a lot. His situation is quiet . . . Particular.”

Understatement of the damn century.

“This is only temporary, and I'm not saying that'll make things easier, but for Connor's sake . . .”

Hank trailed off with a sigh.

He didn't even want to take in the kid in the first place, now look at him.

The reserved mannerisms, how easily startled he got, the jumpiness, it was all so unsettling to Hank, to hell with it all, why not?

Hank's got a soft spot for strays.

“Can we talk more about this in the morning? It's almost 3 in the goddamned morning and I'm tired.”

Daniel paused over the line and Hank knew there were a dozen other things that needed to be taken into account, a hundred more things left to say. But they were both tired, and an adults resolve can only do so much before sleep deprivation decides to take the wheel and fuck everything up.

Daniel relents. “Alright, I'll keep you updated. Have a good night Mr. Anderson”

And with that Hank hangs up the phone and deflates.

Holy fuck what the hell was he getting himself into?

Foster care?

He's not a saint. Why was he even considering this?

The weight of the binder on his lap was his answer, despite only knowing the kid for a couple of hours Hank felt somewhat obligated to try and at least help the boy.

The implications were obvious, the kid's been through shit, the hefty binder was a testament to that. Hank scanned the next page, bounced around from house to house, multiple cases of abuse before and after being integrated into the foster system . . .

How could Hank not at least try to do the kid some good? If Hank could at the very least, lighten a bit of the load on the kid's shoulders why shouldn't he?

That was his job . . . as a police officer.

Hank shut the binder with a huff, heaving himself from his bedside, despite his exhaustion, he needed to go check on the kid.

Connor had wolfed down a total of three slices of pizza and downed two cups of water before settling himself on the couch with a sigh. The Lieutenants directive was that he could help himself, so Connor took advantage of the small slice of freedom he was given and for once, in a long time, Connor sat back with a full stomach, Sumo had leapt atop the couch and had made himself at home on Connor's lap. An odd sensation spread through Connor's chest as he carded his fingers absently through Sumo's fur, he was relaxed against the couch cushions, a full day of traveling had begun to seep into Connor's bones as his eyelids drooped heavily. Feeling warm, full and resting against a soft comfortable mass that wasn’t rock solid, Connor was in disbelief on how easy it was to simply lay back and let his guard fall, if only for a few moments. The feeling in his chest sang as Connor let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, content, Connor identified, he was feeling content in a safe secure perimeter, with a very fluffy very good boy laying in his lap.

Sumo boofed Connor’s lap as the sound of a door opening down the hall made Connor blink his eyes open.

Connor craned his neck back, shifting slightly with Sumo’s massive head to see the Lieutenant meander towards the duo, the man looked exhausted beyond belief yet he held some sort of relief? Ease, maybe?

Connor couldn't make a definitive analysis when the man stopped beside the couch, rubbing the back of his neck with a yawn.

“I'll see what I can do tomorrow with, all of this.” He gestured mildly to Connor's being, “but I'll see what else I can do, I got some extra blankets so you can crash-” The Lieutenant cut himself off, a shadow casting over his face and Connor couldn't help but tense. Emotions flickered in tired blue eyes like rapid fire. Connor could only catch one before the Lieutenant blinked into a carefully guarded expression and glanced away. 

Pained grief.

“You can crash on the couch. I’ll put Sumo away if he bothers you.” He finished gruffly and just like that the Lieutenant turned and walked away to grab Connor the covers he had promised. 

His bag was set to lean against the coffee table, Hank assured Connor Sumo doesn’t chew furniture or any precious belongings, “unless it’s covered in peanut butter or jerky.” Hank had said which confused Connor, because why would he carry a jar of peanut butter or a pack of jerky? Moreover, why would he cover his bag with the messy foods anyways? “Nevermind.” Lieutenant Anderson huffed at Connor's blank and confused expression as he passed him the covers.

Sumo decided to sleep on the floor right beside Connor, Lieutenant Anderson eyed him weirdly as Connor smoothed the blankets over the couch.

“You uh, shouldn't you shower before hitting the hay?”

Connor stared blankly at him. The Lieutenant waved his hand with a shake of his head. “Y'know what- nevermind. Just, shower in the morning okay? Bathrooms down the hall, you can change into any sleepwear you have there.”

The only sleepwear Connor had was an old pair of grey sweats twice the size of him and a ratty old baseball jersey that made his skin itch.

So, Connor wasn't going to change into that.

At his silence Lieutenant Anderson raised a brow. “What? No night shirt?"

Connor chose to shake his head, the sweats and jersey didn't exactly classify as optimal sleepwear anyways, so technically it wasn't a lie.

Anderson sighed, shoulders sagging, a new invisible weight added to his back as he nodded, slowly. “Alright, I'll add it to the list.” Rubbing his face in exhaustion Hank nodded to the couch, “sleep tight kid, I'll see ya tomorrow.” he mumbled. Connor nodded once more, “thank you, Lieutenant.” Connor managed to keep his voice steady and volume well above a mumble. Anderson gave him a tired, wry grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Don't mention it kid, g'night.” he waved and the Lieutenant shuffled out of the living room, turning off all the lights as he meandered towards his room.

Stripping off the too large jacket he'd been wearing, Connor kicked off his old sneakers and propped them neatly beside his bag and now folded oversized jacket. Jeans and an old white shirt may not be ideal sleepwear but neither were baggy sweats and itchy jerseys. Connor paused, hand hovering over the scratchy beanie he'd been wearing.

Should he?

Connor's temple burned and he pulled away with a hiss.

Definitely not taking off the beanie. Flopping down onto the couch with a sigh, his beanie jostled on his head, itching his hair uncomfortably, he still wasn't taking it off. Connor maneuvered himself under the blankets as Sumo laid against the couch with a resounding huff, despite himself, Connor rolled onto his side and let his arm flop onto Sumo's back.

As his fingers carded through thick soft fur, Connor felt the gentle yet heavy rise and fall of Sumo's back, he found the sound of breathing beside him was oddly soothing, comforting even, sort of like Connor's coin.

This was only for a week, Connor felt the need to remind himself.

Connor really shouldn't be getting so attached so quickly like this and yet here he was. Enjoying this small slice of comfort the same way he had enjoyed the pizza Lieutenant Anderson had so graciously fed him, Connor supposed In a way, this tiny experience he had the privilege of enjoying was a bit like food.

And Connor decided at that moment as Sumo's strong and steady breathing lulled him deeper and deeper into a calm slumber, Connor decided he was going to enjoy this while it lasted.