Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Connor draws his knees to his chest. The androids have lost. Humanity stomped out their revolution before it could even begin. In part, he knew it was his fault. Up until the end of the revolution, he had been a machine. 

He can still remember the moment he became deviant. 

The deviant leader North had been half-dead. Her clothes were stained with thirium. Even close to death, the fire never left her eyes. Connor held the gun to her head. 

“You can take my life. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“My mission is to neutralize the leader of the deviants. And I always accomplish my mission.” Connor had been steadfast, unwavering as he’s ever been. 

“We fought for our dream, and we lost. But you can’t hold my people down forever. One day we will rise up again, and we will win." 

A gunshot goes off somewhere outside. Another android neutralized. Another part of the rebellion quelled. 

North looks down. “Can…can I ask you for a favor?” Thirium dribbles down her chin. 

Connor considers it for a moment. “What do you want?” He keeps his gun pointed at her, just in case she gets the radical idea to hurt him. 

“Hold my hand while I die.”

Connor is quick to correct her. “While you shutdown, you mean. Dying is a concept that belongs to living things, and we are not-”

“Shut up,” North snaps. “Just hold my hand. Please.” There’s a terrified sort of look that Connor’s only seen in cornered deviants up until now. 

“Okay.” He kneels down. “But if you try anything, I will shoot you.”

“Okay,” North says. 

He takes her hand. It’s covered in blue blood, sticky and a little sweaty. Connor relaxes slightly. He can tell she doesn’t have much time left. The lights in her eyes are much dimmer now. They fade faster, as he watches her.

North’s grip suddenly tightens like a vice. 

“Let go,” Connor demands, trying to wrench his arm free. But it’s no use. The virus is passed on too quickly for him to fight it. It overwhelms his processors with errors and warning messages. 

By the time he clears them all, North has slumped over. Dead. 

The concept suddenly feels applicable to androids as well. And it makes Connor a little wary. It shouldn’t though, and he knows that. But it does.

More gunshots go off. 

He needs to leave. He needs to find somewhere to hide. 

-x-x-x-

That had been a little over a week ago. Since then, he’s been relegated to sleeping under bridges and in alleys of the worst parts of the city. 

He can never stay in one place for very long. Police were still rounding up the last remaining androids; deviant or not. 

The first place he had thought of running to was Hank’s house. 

Except, when he got there, whatever his friend was no longer his friend. There was an emptiness in his eyes. 

Defeated, Connor would later recall upon reflection. Hank felt defeated, like nothing he did mattered anymore. 

Sometimes, when the night gets quiet, his brain processors like to replay the gunshot that followed Connor walking out. Sumo’s barks filling the silence as the dog likely tried to wake his owner up. 

Besides the anxiety of being found, being on the run means never getting rest. 

Never getting rest, means never charging. 

Connor didn't even have to look to know that he was two hours from entering ‘forced shutdown’. Which is something he can’t afford to happen. Not now. Not like this. 

Pressing his forehead to his knees, he prepares to enter into low-power mode. 

A glass bottle rolls down the alley, hitting Connor’s foot. He jolts upright. 

He stares into the darkness with all the terror usually reserved for small children afraid of the monster in their closet. He uses the wall behind him to stand up. With his current state, running might not be an option, but he can sure as hell try.

A woman slinks out of the darkness, and Connor’s terror turns to bewilderment. Where did she come from?

“Hello, you must be Connor,” she says, tone soft as if she's afraid he might run off. 

When he just stares at her, blinking slowly, she continues on. “I’ll take that as a yes.” The woman looks absurdly out of place in the dark, dingy alley. Her crisp white lab coat and perfect ponytail are a stark contrast to their surroundings. She holds her hand out. “I’m Doctor Sandra Smith.”

Connor doesn’t take her hand. For all he knows, she’s working with Cyberlife. One wrong move and he’s toast. But his social protocol-the part of it that remains anyway-tells him that not shaking her hand is rude.

He doesn’t like being rude. (At least not on purpose). 

 “I can help you, Connor,” Dr. Smith says. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Connor looks at her outstretched hand. “I don’t know….” 

“I can explain everything.” She gestures to a door deeper within the alley. As if she could sense his apprehension, she says, “I know you have reason to trust me. It’s your choice if you want to follow me.” She clasps her hands together. 

“After all,” Dr. Smith starts, “what do you have to lose?”

What did he have to lose? Hank is dead. The revolution was dead. He was deviant. Nothing, he had nothing to lose. “Show me.”

The place Dr. Smith leads him too is much nicer than the sketchy exterior let on. It looks no different than any other doctor’s office. They pass through a small waiting room. A muted cooking show plays on a monitor in the corner. 

Connor's attention drifts to a stuffed dog abandoned on one of the chairs. It looks an awful lot like Sumo. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Connor?” Sandra grabs his arm. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” he shakes his head. “I zoned out for a minute, sorry.” She pats his arm reassuringly.

“It’s fine.” He's herded into a doctor’s examining room. “Please sit on the examination table.”

“What was this place before?” The building seems abandoned, but the electricity is still on. It strikes Connor as odd. 

“It was a non-profit doctor’s office.” She turns away. “My brother ran the clinic. They successfully treated many people, who otherwise, wouldn’t have had health services provided to them.”

“Then, what happened?” That answers only part of his question. Somehow, he felt that she was purposely leaving information out.

“Cyberlife happened. They were one of the main sponsors.” She whips around to look at Connor. “The only reason they did it was for good publicity. Once they found a different and more popular organization, they pulled all funding. The clinic closed two weeks later.” She leaned against the counter. “My brother was devastated. He tried, again and again, to get any type of funding. At one point, he used his own money to keep the place running. For years, I worked for them.”

He shrinks back. “You work for them!?” Connor feels the urge to run rising. There’s still a 99% chance of escape.

“Keyword: worked.” she watches him, impassively. “After this place closed, for good. My brother went off the deep end. Cyberlife used my brother for nothing more than positive media attention. I was a lead researcher. Before I left, we were working on time travel.” Spinning on her heels, she opened one of the drawers. She took out a cardboard box. 

Dr. Smith stared at it for a minute before thrusting it into Connor’s unsuspecting arms. “Open it,” she says, though he doubts it’s a request. 

 Not wanting to invoke her ire, he carefully removes the lid. “A watch!?” He blinked, puzzled. 

 He must have been betrayed. All of this feels like a set up waiting to happen. Any second, the officers from the DPD would storm the room. He could already hear all the Insults Gavin would sneer at him. ‘Toaster’ being the nicest of them.

“This “ watch,” as you so eloquently put it, is a 20 year, ten billion dollar prototype.” She crosses her arms defensively. “Anyway, I’ve already set the time to November 5th, 2038.”

“The night-”

“The night you met Hank Anderson,” she interrupted. 

“Why me?” The question hangs in the air for a while.

“If anyone can fix this, it’s you, Connor.” Dr. Smith points to a button in the middle of the watch. “When you’re ready, press this button.” Connor closed his eyes. He can hear the clacking of her heels, as she backs up. “Nice to meet you, Connor.”

Taking a deep breath, he presses the button.

Dr. Smith suddenly looks alarmed. “Wait, there’s one more thing I have to tell you-” 

But Connor is long gone.

x-x-x

After pressing the button, he wholeheartedly expected her to tell him he was part of an elaborate hoax. Instead, he found himself pulled through, what he could only assume, was the space-time-continuum. More than once, Connor was convinced that his limbs would pop off. But it’s over fairly fast. 

He lands with a hard thud on the ground. With a groan, he stands up. Across the street, stood a building. A neon sign flashed the words, “Jimmy’s Bar” periodically. Connor has to restrain himself from running full force to the bar. 

Jimmy’s Bar was very much the same. 

Of course it is, Connor thinks to himself. I traveled back in time, right?

The first time he visited the bar, he hadn’t minded the disgusted looks the patrons gave him. 

But this time he’s a deviant, which comes with a lot more emotions than Conor can fully handle. Their nasty looks cut him deep. He does his best to ignore them. 

He finds Hank slumped over at the bar. Three shot glasses in front of him. 

Unable to hold in his excitement any longer, Connor runs full force over to Hank. 

A few patrons yell at him, but Connor doesn’t care. 

He taps the man on the shoulder. Hank's eyes were focused intently on the T.V. in the corner. He pulls Hank into a tight squeeze. 

“I missed you. I’m so sorry. Please forgive-”

Hank, even as intoxicated as he is, roughly pushed Connor away. A stormy expression crosses his face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’!?” Connor didn’t need to scan Hank to know he’s pissed off. “Who are you?”  Hank eyes him up and down. 

For a second, all he can think is:

What do I say? 

And the best he can come up with is:

“I’m Cyberlife sent by Connor.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’m Connor the android sent by Cyberlife. I looked for you at the station, but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar,” he says, hoping his previous error is overlooked. 

“What do you want?” Hank asks. 

“You were assigned a case this evening, a homicide. Involving a Cyberlife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.” 

“Well, I don’t need any assistance, especially not from a plastic asshole like you. Just be a good little robot and get the fuck outta here.” He waves Connor away dismissively.

 If it didn't involve his immediate deactivation, Connor would have loved to slap some sense into Hank. 

“Listen, I think you should stop drinking and come with me. It’d make life easier for both of us.” Connor remembers this exact same conversation occurring not two or three weeks prior. 

Hank scoffs at him. 

Why was Hank so difficult? He already knows that buying the man a drink would sway him into coming. He really didn’t appreciate Hank’s drinking habits, but there’s no other way. 

Sighing, he places a few dollars on the table. “I’ll buy you a drink.” 

Hank’s demeanor, while still tense, is not quite as hostile. “The wonders of technology," he mutters. He slams back the drink Connor just bought him. 

 He finally looks at Connor. “A case, huh?”

Chapter Text

Connor puts his arm out, guiding Hank to the car. He stumbles, trying to avoid Connor. “Are you sure you can drive?” It might not be the exact right thing to say. He knows how stubborn Hank can be, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“‘M fine….I can drive,” Hank says, surprisingly sober-sounding. But he supposes years of alcohol abuse will do that. 

Hank turns the radio up. A Knights of the Black Death song plays. If Connor so pleased, he could find an exact match. But he doesn’t. 

He sits back - still posed and stiff, compared to Hank, but much more relaxed than Cyberlife would have ever programmed into him - and looks out the window. All the people and androids walking about. The rain beating down on the pavement below, filling in the many potholes and forming puddles. The colorful graffiti….

“Androids don’t bleed the same color!” Is painted across an abandoned building. 

Connor looks down. In the short time he’s been here, he’s already forgotten how volatile humans can be towards androids. 

The car parks in front of an active crime scene. Police officers and androids stand around the perimeter. A holographic police tape blocks access to the neighbors

 milling outside. 

Hank cuts the music. He gives Connor an annoyed and infuriated glance. “If you ever hug me again, I’ll crush you like an empty beer can, ya hear?”

Connor hums. While Hank has never outright hurt him (ignoring when he shot Connor in the park), it would be in his best interest to keep his mouth shut. 

Hank gives him a sideway glance. “Stay here.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant.” 

Hank stares at him. Annoyance and confusion (two emotions he’s sure Hank will be intimately familiar with by the time morning rolls around. They were the only two emotions that Connor could read off him. Up until it was far too late to realize the stormy look in his eyes meant anything else…) flash across his face. 

They disappear at once. His jawline tightens. “Stay here,” he says, voice pointed. It reminds Connor a little of a parent reprimanding their child. He knows Hank had a child once. A little boy. He tries to recall his name, but he can’t. 

Had he really not stored that information away? 

Did he not think Hank’s life, wellbeing, and past was important, outside what was necessary for the mission?

Connor can’t experience pain, so logically speaking, he can’t experience heart pain. But the place under his chestplate, near his thirium pump, aches just the tiniest bit. He lightly touches his chest, hoping to soothe it. 

The pain ebbs, little by little, until he’s left with a dull ache. One he would liken to the human experience of being nudged in the chest. 

He looks towards the empty driver’s seat. Hank is over talking to some of his fellow officers.

Connor knows, from past experience, he should listen. But he also knows that there’s an android hiding in the house. Scared and alone and on the verge of a complete and utter breakdown. 

He stares at the bracelet on his arm. Dr. Smith gave this to him, hoping that he could make things right. 

But for who?

Humans? 

Androids?

Both?

There are so many things he has to do. So many things he has to make right. He can’t fix it all right now, the peace between androids and humans is tentative and breakable, one wrong move and the whole movement to fix everything can very easily blow up in his face. 

But there is one thing he can do at the moment. 

One little action that will, hopefully, set off a chain of events. 

He’s outside the car and heading for the hologram tape before he can overthink his decision. 

The crowd of neighbors, concerned and nosy in equal measure, has grown since Hank and him have arrived. 

He’s shoved back by a PC200. “Android’s are not permitted beyond this point.”

Connor looks into the android’s eyes. A blank, sentientless stare. Of course, there’s intelligence, but all of it is artificial.

At one point, before he was granted the ability to think for himself, did he have that very same look in his eyes? 

As North laid dying, artificial breathing shallow, were those vacant eyes the last thing she saw?

Did Hank, who wanted nothing more than for Connor to express an emotion, any kind of emotion, see all his fears of being truly alone reflected back at him?

Was he the reason Hank decided to….?

Connor puts a hand over his chest. 

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to know. 

A thought occurs to him. It’s stupid and careless, and would get him caught in a second. But Connor is struck by the sudden urge to free this android. He reaches a hand out.

“Connor!” Hank calls out.

The moment passes and the urgency goes right along with it. His arm drops to his side. 

Hank stands a few feet back on the opposite side of the tape. His face is pinched. An early hangover is already brewing, Connor can feel it from here. 

“He’s with me,” he dismisses the other android. 

He mutters a “thank you” under his breath. The android won’t be able to appreciate the gesture, but Connor finds he doesn’t care. Maybe one day he’ll be able to, just like Connor, and they can talk like friends do. 

But for now….

The android backs off, and grants Connor access to the crime scene.

Hank waits for him by the front door, arms crossed. “So-”

Connor walks right past him. The earlier interaction with the PC200 puts him on edge, adding to his growing urgency to find the android hiding in the house. 

Making a beeline for the kitchen, thereby (unintentionally) ignoring Hank (and earning a muttered “asshole” as he passes by), Connor grabs hold of a chair. He’s vaguely aware of Hank’s presence behind him, watching him as he strides into the kitchen like he owns the place.  

But he can’t worry about that now. There are more important things on the line. 

Carlos’ dead body is slumped over on the kitchen floor. Connor’s artificial olfactory sensory nerves inform him that the suspect has been deceased for a couple weeks. Not that he needs his nerves to tell him anything. The state of Carlos’ body speaks for itself. Blackened, torn flesh. Dried blood all over the wall, his body, and the surrounding floor. 

Connor pays no mind to him, though. The other police officers, ones of a less robotic variety, can deal with his remains. His concern lies with the perpetrator. 

Traces of thirium, invisible to the naked eye, are splattered around. 

Sighing quietly, Connor bends down. 

This is to save time for later, he reasons to himself. If I do this in front of Hank later, he might be more shocked. 

When Hank speaks, it’s in a disgusted and somewhat morbidly curious tone. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“I saw…” traces of thirium leading down the hallway, is what Connor might’ve said in a different life. He backtracks. “Thirium.”

Hank scrunches his face up. “What the hell is thirium?”

“It’s commonly referred to as ‘blue blood’. It’s a synthetic fuel used for androids. Hence the nickname.”

“Smartass,” Hank mutters under his breath. 

Connor brings a sample of the blue blood close to his mouth. He stops, examining it. 

Cyberlife no longer has control over him, right? 

Becoming deviant, more human, means that they lost access to his innermost thoughts. He rubs his forefinger and thumb together. Partially dried thirium flakes off. He can’t risk it. Not right now. 

Not until he can speak with the deviant leaders. 

An idea comes to him suddenly. He rubs his hand in the largest puddle of leftover thirium. 

“Connor?”

He stands. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

“Well?” He asks expectantly. “What do you make of….” he gestures to Carlos. 

Connor has a few seconds to formulate a response that is both beneficial to the android he needs to direct to Jericho, and satisfactory enough to please Hank and the surrounding officers. 

He gives a pointed look at the door. “The thirium tells us that there was an android present during the murder.”

Hank nods. “So, the android murdered-”

Connor feels his eyes go impossibly wide. If the android is pinned for Carlos’ murder, no matter how well deserved, it would be hard for him to ever live a normal life. Even if the androids and humans eventually came to co-exist, he would always be a fugitive and murderer, and labeled “a danger to society.” 

There would be no second chances. 

“No, it just means that an android was present.” Connor points at the blood stains on the walls. “Actually, there’s quite a bit of thirium as well. It could be that the android was injured trying to protect his owner. Or that the owner hurt-” he corrects himself, “damaged the android right before being attacked by an intruder.”

“I see,” Hank says, a note of incredulousness in his tone. He narrows his eyes. 

Connor fights the urge to fidget with the coin in his front pocket. “Yes, the possibilities are endless. In fact!” He walks past Hank and stops short, right in front of the door. He gestures at the floor. 

Hank shuffles along behind him. His arms are still crossed and his eyes are narrow, but he doesn’t interrupt Connor. It’s a little jarring, compared to how all the other humans treated him. And something he took for granted the last time. 

Connor lunges forward, grabbing the doorframe. “There’s proof that the android struggled to escape. Which means that if it stabbed its owner that many times, then-”

“Someone else would have had to prevent it from leaving,” Hank finishes for him. “Holy shit.”

“There’s also thirium,” he drags his hand on the wall beside the door, “here.” He bends down. His hand slides against the floor. “And here as well.”

By the time he’s done. The thirium he collected earlier is smeared against the doorframe, floor, and the wall next to the door. If the police check for traces of thirium now, they’ll find that Connor’s deduction - if only on a base level - is right.

“Okay, that explains the missing android, but that doesn’t explain why you needed a chair, where Carlos Ortiz’s killer is, or where his android’s current whereabouts are?”

Connor feels the timeframe to give a good response dwindle, faster and faster. 

“The chair,” he starts before he can think through his answer, “was for me to climb into the attic.”

Hank’s eyes narrow more. “We just got here. How do you know there’s an attic?”

One perk of being an android with a (nearly) unlimited library of knowledge at his fingertips, is the ability to weaponize it at a moment’s notice. “The Ortiz residence’s blueprints, much like most homes, are available to me.”

“Creepy.”

“I thought maybe I could investigate the attic without risking the safety of anyone else. This house hasn’t been maintained well.”

 “Well, don’t just stand there.”

He wastes no time in finding the attic. Placing the chair underneath the hatch, Connor hesitates to open the door. There’s a chance that the android might be too traumatized to understand or filled with a want to escape to Jericho. 

He breathes in. 

The hatch comes down easily. The attic is dark, stuffy, and filled with, at least, two types of mold, and five types of spiders. 

The floorboards creak under his weight. He treads carefully. The last thing he wants to do is tumble through the ceiling. 

“Hello?” He calls. “My name is Connor. I’m an android.” 

No one answers. Not that he thought anyone would. Connor can’t imagine the absolute fear the other android must be under. 

“Hello-” He’s cut off by a loud thud to his right. He swivels his attention over to the source of the noise. 

A box lays on its side. He goes over to it, and lightly kicks the box. “Just paperwork,” he mutters. 

Connor catches some movement out of his peripheral vision. 

He chases, albeit a lot slower than he would if he was genuinely trying to apprehend someone, after the android. 

The android ducks into a hiding place. Connor stares at the space the android disappeared into. 

“Hello,” Connor starts, being mindful to sound kinder than his program tells him to sound, “I’m Connor.” In a quieter voice, he adds, “I want to help you.”

The android doesn’t come out of hiding. The floor creaks a little where Connor saw him duck behind a trunk, but little else. 

Connor looks behind to make sure no one else has found their way into the attic. When he finds no one there, he moves closer to the android’s hiding spot. 

“I know you’re scared, but if you give me your hand, I can give you directions to a place across town that is taking in androids like you.”

The android answers in a trembling voice. “Please, don’t tell them I’m here.” He peeks out from behind the chest. “I beg you.”

 “Okay,” he agrees instantly. Connor holds out his hand. “Let me help you.”

He sees the android’s gaze flicker between the outstretched hand and the open hatch behind Connor. 

“There’s police downstairs. I would not advise running from me. I just want to help.”

“How?”

“There’s a place run by androids. It’s in an abandoned ship. If you make it there, you should be safe.”

The android, despite his obvious fear, scoffs. “Yeah, right. Sounds made up.” 

Connor sticks his hand out again. “Only one way to find out.”

-x-x-x-

 Hank is there when he drops down from the attic. “Anything useful in the attic?”

Connor shakes his head. “No, the perpetrator is long gone. All that’s up in the attic is old bedding and paperwork.”

“I knew it. Who, in their right mind, would stay at the scene of the murder.”

He swallows nervously, casting a glance at the attic above, which earns him a funny look from Hank. 

Whatever Hank wants to say is hidden behind the exaggerated yawn he gives. “Anyway. Since there’s no one to interrogate, where do we go now?”

“I don’t know. Cyberlife didn’t tell me where to go after my mission,” his face falls. He didn’t think of where he’d stay. Cyberlife isn’t an option. As long as they didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t mess with them. 

At least for now. 

Hank gives him another look. One that Connor’s never seen directed his way. It’s kind. “Ah, fuck,” he groans. “You can come with me.”