Work Text:
Connor was feeling... off lately. Something was always nagging him at the back of his mind, or the front of his mind, or anywhere in between. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just felt okay without some sort of stress happening somewhere in his head. It was making it hard for him to focus on doing anything. His work was falling behind, he didn't feel present with Hank or anyone, and it made him feel bad that he couldn't put his all into anything anymore. Especially his relationships- he felt like he was just going through the motions without being connected to anyone, but he wanted to have that connection and be a good friend to his friends. Basically everything felt wrong, and he didn't know how to fix it.
After a few weeks of this slowly building up and getting worse and worse, it suddenly occurred to Connor that this was not normal, for other people or for himself. Hank was always telling him to listen to his body and his needs, and to reach out when he needed help. This was the first time Connor had ever realized something was wrong without Hank telling him first. He felt somewhat.. proud of himself. This was the kind of progress Hank was always hoping he'd make. Then he should.. talk to Hank about it, right? Isn't that what he was supposed to do? The thought filled him with dread, but Hank had said time and time again he wanted Connor to do this.
That evening, when they were both in the living room, Connor was sitting, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. He was scared, but he needed to make this step forward and ask for help. "H-Hank," he said haltingly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Hm?" Hank was zoned out, and it took him a second to blink and focus his attention on Connor. "Sure, what's up?"
Connor took a steadying breath. "I- I've, um- I've been- having..."
Hank frowned. "What?" He seemed confused.
"Sorry, I mean, I've been feeling very strange. And I don't really know how to- what to do about it."
Hank rubbed at his head, his eyes squinted a little, but he turned to face Connor more fully. "How've you been feeling?"
"Sort of... disconnected, I guess."
The lieutenant looked worried. "Do you feel like you're out of your body or somethin'?"
"No," Connor said quickly, shaking his head. "Just... it's like there's this barrier I can't get through."
Hank nodded. "I've felt that way before, I know what you mean."
Connor felt some relief. So he wasn't strange. This was a normal problem. He'd done the right thing by coming to Hank.
"You, um... how long you been feeling like this?"
Connor felt fear swoop through him. Was it his imagination, or did Hank sound disinterested? "A while," he said evasively, thinking he hadn't done the right thing after all.
"You didn't say anything until now?"
"I didn't think to until now."
Hank smiled, but he looked tired. "Hey, that's good that you thought of it eventually!"
Connor felt like the thirium was churning inside his pump. He wasn't sure what to think now. "I... suppose so."
"Hey." Hank put a hand on his shoulder. "It is good. It's a huge leap of progress."
Trying to read Hank's signals right now was giving Connor a headache. "It's- it's not bothering you or annoying you if I ask for help?"
"God no Connor, of course not! I care about you and I want to help you."
That made Connor feel a little better again. "Okay. I just- I don't know what to do, how to fix it."
Some emotion Connor didn't understand flickered across Hank's face. "Yeah, that- uhh-"
Before Hank could even get another word out Connor's eyes were already wide with panic and he said, "No I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have brought this up to you-"
"No!!" Hank sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm feeling all foggy tonight, otherwise I'd be thinking of better shit to say. But I do want you to ask me for help when you need it."
The android had a sudden awful suspicion. He scanned Hank to see that his endorphin, serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine levels were all much lower than they should be, and based on the reading they had been for several days at the least. Connor felt a strange sensation, like his thirium pump was dropping out from inside of him. He felt a bit like he might throw up. His breathing started to quicken and his hands were shaking. Hank had been in a depressive episode for who knows how long and Connor hadn't even noticed?! And instead of helping Hank, Connor came to him and asked him for help, the last thing Hank would need right now.
"You're in a depressive episode," Connor said after that single moment that felt like an eternity.
"Am I? That would make sense," Hank said off-handedly. He could always tell when Connor had scanned him.
"Hank, you need to go to bed! Depressive episodes cause you to have much less energy than usual, you need to take care of yourself, but depressive episodes can also cause a propensity to oversleep so make sure you set an alarm to wake you up in a reasonable-"
"Connor, you're panicking again," Hank said urgently. "I'm not gonna go to bed and leave you like this. And c'mon, thanks to you I'm much better at taking care of myself than I ever have been before. I'm gonna be alright."
Connor shook his head, forcing his tremoring hands to remain still and his mouth to smile, even though his LED was giving him away. "I'm fine, Hank. I've been doing fine the last few weeks-"
"No, you haven't, though! You've been bad enough that you actually noticed something was wrong."
"But you didn't, Hank. Usually you're the one who tells me when I'm upset or-or spiraling, or anything. That's how bad you are."
Hank blinked and his head drew back.
"I'm not saying it's your fault. I'm saying you need to properly treat your symptoms to improve so you can feel better again. You deserve to be at your best."
Hank looked down at the couch. "...I-"
"Please, Hank. That's the only thing that will make me feel any better. Besides, one more night isn't going to do me any harm, especially now that I'm aware of it."
Hank looked at Connor's LED again. It was now yellow instead of red.
"You're tired, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Hank had to admit. "Pretty fuckin' exhausted."
"We can talk more tomorrow when you're feeling better."
The lieutenant sighed. "Yeah, you've got a point. Okay, I'll go to bed. But you come and get me if you need anything, alright?"
Connor nodded, giving that forced smile again. He didn't trust himself to speak. "Take Sumo. You shouldn't be alone."
"It's not like I'm gonna-"
"I know! But fostering your connections and physical touch such as 'snuggling' is proven to be very beneficial to treat depression symptoms."
Hank couldn't help but chuckle at Connor's wording. "Alright, Sumo! C'mere, boy!"
Sumo trotted over curiously.
"C'mon, let's go to bed."
The saint bernard panted happily and hurried over to Hank's room. He loved the nights when he got to curl up next to his owner.
"Good night, Connor." Hank pulled him into a hug, and Connor found himself having to hold back tears. "I promise I'll do everything I can for you tomorrow."
Connor just nodded again.
Once the android was left alone in the living room, all those things he'd hidden from Hank became uncontrollable. He was panting in deep, heavy gasps, but felt like he still couldn't get enough air. Everything felt too hot. His thirium was still churning. He fell backwards onto the couch and his whole body started shaking from head to foot. It was too hot. He couldn't breathe. He hated himself so much, he was the worst friend ever for letting Hank down like that and being so selfish and self-centered and attention-seeking, he wanted to claw his way out of his own skull and be anyone but himself, anyone who wasn't Connor couldn't possibly feel this awful. Tears started to stream down his face. He covered his face with his trembling hands and curled up onto his side, trying to breathe, trying to calm down, but he couldn't think about anything else besides what a failure he was and how Hank would be better off with someone who could actually help him instead of needing help. Hank had spent so much time and energy trying to convince Connor to reach out when he needed help but clearly Connor was right all along that he SHOULDN'T be doing that because now the one time he tried it Hank couldn't help him and he needed to leave he needed to remove himself from the situation he needed to get out get out get out get out-
Connor shot to his feet, looking around the house in an utter panic. Leave. Go. Where though? Jericho? No, he was a horrible friend to Hank, he was surely a horrible friend to everyone else too. Amanda had been right, androids couldn't do feelings or emotions properly, no not all androids just him, she was right about him, he was a failure and he'd failed her and failed Hank and he needed to LEAVE-
As he moved towards the front door, something stopped him. There was some small, distant, far-away part of himself that knew that if Hank woke up and Connor was gone he would lose his shit. But the thought of facing Hank again in the morning, after his utter failure, was too much to bear. He couldn't do it. But he couldn't leave. So he'd have to hide.
The idea of where to hide came instantaneously. Hank never used his own garage. He always parked his car in the driveway, the garage was just full of storage and the washer and dryer. Hank would never think to look for him there. But Connor would still be here and still be safe. It was perfect.
He closed and locked the door securely behind him. He randomly stacked some boxes in front of the door in a frenzied effort to block it. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He was so hot.
He made sure all the lights were off in the garage and wedged himself in the far corner, between the wall and the washing machine. There. Hidden. Tiny. Safe. Hank was safe from him. How could someone curled into a corner ever hurt anyone? Or ever get hurt?
He pulled his knees up to his chest and all of a sudden started to sob. He wasn't even aware of it except for the way it affected his breathing, made him even hotter inside. An alert popped up that his cerebral biocomponents were overheating. He dismissed it. He didn't care. He couldn't care. He deserved it. He deserved it. For failing Hank he deserved it. He'd failed Hank. He'd failed Hank!! He couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe himself, he was sickened with himself. How could he have let this happen?! Hank was someone who desperately needed help, Connor had always known that, he'd always wanted to help him and make him happier, but instead he'd allowed Hank to worsen and worsen under his own nose-
He started to pull on the ends of his hair, hard, hard enough to cause pain, to cause an alert, but still his mind railed at him, making him writhe, wanting to be anywhere but in his own body, moving, trying to escape, but he couldn't escape himself, he couldn't be anyone else-
He slammed his hand against the washer and his elbow against the wall. He got an alert for external damage. Good. He was the worst person in the world. He deserved far worse than pulled hair and slight abrasions.
Hank came back to consciousness very very slowly, and it felt like he was swimming through deep water that kept trying to pull him back down. It felt so hopeless to fight against the tide of melatonin he almost let himself go back under, but something got through to him- he remembered Connor panicking last night, saying that he shouldn't oversleep. Connor was in a really bad way, and Hank had already let him down by not being able to help him then. He couldn't make Connor even more worried by sleeping for 17 hours or something now.
Slowly but surely, he started to wake up. He floated in that black space between dreaming and wakefulness, trying to hold on to the thought of having to get back to Connor. Eventually, he became aware of Sumo's soft fur and heavy body on top of one of his legs. He struggled to move his hand to poke the dog- Sumo might help to wake him up faster.
Sure enough, Sumo's head popped up and he yawned in the whiny way dogs do. Hank grunted as Sumo started to move and shift his weight. Damn but this dog was heavy. Sumo sniffed Hank's hand and then started to lick it. The lieutenant's eyelids started to crack open. Good! Progress! Sumo started to crawl onto Hank's chest, and Hank groaned in pain but laughed a little at the same time. Sumo began licking Hank all over his face, and that got Hank moving more than anything else. "Okay, easy!" he wheezed, his head turning out of the way and his hands moving easily and fluidly to push Sumo's mouth away. Sumo barked cheerfully. Hank's eyes blearily opened and he blinked heavily to try and clear them. He felt woozy. It took him a bit to register that broad daylight was streaming in the window. Shit. He'd overslept after all. He wanted to sit up and check the time, but his body wouldn't obey the mental command. He started to scratch Sumo's ears gently to work his way up to bigger movements.
After several minutes of ear scratches and drifting back into a sort of brain fog, something suddenly occurred to Hank that jolted him into a more wakeful state. Connor had been panicking last night, and panicking about Hank's health and depression symptoms, telling Hank to set an alarm so he wouldn't oversleep. Hank had set that alarm and must have slept right through it. But wouldn't Connor have woken him up if he realized Hank was approaching an unhealthy amount of sleep? Come to think of it, the house was dead silent. Connor wasn't moving around at all, almost like he wasn't there. Where would he have gone? He was so worried about Hank last night, and that kid was a massive worrier, there's no way he would have left Hank on his own. Unless there was some kind of emergency at Jericho, in which case he was potentially in danger.
After that train of thought, sitting up was suddenly easy. He checked his phone and saw it was around 11am. No texts or voice mails from Connor though. That wasn't like him if he was leaving the house unexpectedly.
"Sumo, where's Connor?" Hank asked. Sumo leaped off the bed excitedly, thinking he was going for a walk. Hank pulled his door open and Sumo went running around searching for his favorite buddy. But very quickly Sumo became confused, and turned to Hank betrayed that the prospect of going on a walk with Connor was taken away from him since Connor clearly wasn't here. That was exactly, what Hank hadn't wanted to see, but he still had to check for himself. Bathroom- empty. Living room- empty. Kitchen- empty. No notes anywhere. This was DEFINITELY not like Connor. Hank was getting really worried now. He ran to the backyard, but Connor wasn't there either. Sumo started to whine in distress now, sensing Hank's anxiety and knowing something must be wrong with Connor. That distress only heightened when Hank ran out the front door and frantically looked up and down the street, but didn't see Connor anywhere. Now fully panicking, he dashed back inside and scrambled to unlock his phone and call Connor, but after the first ring the call was declined. "Okay what the fuck Connor." As Hank was pacing back and forth, getting ready to call again, his eyes happened to land on the garage door. He hadn't checked there yet. Hurrying over, he tried to turn the handle only to look down and see the door was locked. He NEVER remembered to lock that fucking door. Connor had definitely been here.
The lieutenant unlocked the door and tried to push it open, but something was blocking it. He only got it cracked. "Connor??" he called inside.
He heard crying and hyperventilating.
"Connor!!" He pushed again, only getting a crack farther. "Connor, let me in!! Tell me what's wrong!!"
Unbeknownst to Hank, that made Connor curl up tighter and try to disappear deeper into his hiding spot.
Sumo whined again and scratched at the door. The sounds from inside the garage started to fade.
That was it. Hank was breaking the door down.
Luckily being on the police force for the last 30plus years made that exceedingly easy.
He didn't even care about the boxes that practically got flattened by the door. He shoved it all aside and hastily flicked on the light. His eyes scanned feverishly but he didn't see the kid anywhere. "Connor!" he gasped and started searching through all the shit he kept out here, why did he keep so much stuff anyway?! Sumo also darted in and out among the boxes, and before long he turned and started barking at Hank, who ran over as fast as he could to the far corner.
Connor was claustrophobically trapped between the washer and the wall, futilely trying to hold his breath, and... he looked the worst Hank had ever seen him look, and that was saying something. He was holding himself in a ball trembling from head to foot, his eyes were wide, unblinking and constantly leaking tears, his LED was red and flashing and spinning faster than Hank knew it could go, Hank had never seen Connor's hair messed up before, whatever technology made it synthetically seemed to always keep it perfect, but now it was mussed, standing up and frayed at the edges, like Connor had been pulling it out. When he saw Hank and finally gave up on holding his breath, he was breathing like he'd just run a whole marathon with no water.
The android closed his eyes, screwing them up tight, and weakly turned his head into the corner. "No," he whispered in a watery thin voice, "please, please don't!"
"Please don't what?!"
Connor just shook his head in tiny, jerky motions and whimpered, then started to cry, in a whisper because his voice clearly couldn't take any more.
Without any hesitation, Hank sat right down on the floor and extricated his son from that hole, pulling him into his lap and wrapping him in a big bear hug. He could feel every inch of Connor's body shaking uncontrollably, but he was also totally limp and boneless, not even able to physically resist, though he clearly wanted to. Hank could also feel heat emanating off of him- no wonder he was breathing so hard, his biocomponents were trying to cool down before they shut down! Connor's bare skin on his face and hands burned Hank a little bit, but Hank didn't care. Connor needed... how had he put it? 'Fostering connections and physical touch such as snuggling.' Yeah. Connor needed that asap.
Sumo watched them, still very upset, but he stayed a few feet away, letting Hank do what he needed to do.
After a long, long time of Hank stroking Connor's hair, rubbing his shoulder, or rocking him back and forth, Connor's breathing finally slowed down somewhat. Immediately he gasped in the deepest breath he could and whispered (Hank actually had to put his ear by Connor's mouth to hear him), "I'm sorry, you shouldn't be comforting me, it should be the other way around." He gasped for breath again. "I'm a failure as a family, I didn't even notice you needed help, I'm so sorry..."
Hank was completely stunned. "Connor," he said thickly, "you're not a failure, you haven't done anything wrong. Sometimes both of us are gonna be in a bad way at the same time and that's okay. I mean, I didn't notice how much you needed help either. But we can't be perfect at helping each other, neither of us can. We can still rely on each other and be there for each other as much as possible. That's- the help isn't always gonna look the same. Sometimes all you can do is listen or give a hug, but that's more than enough."
"I shouldn't-" Connor wheezed in a large breath. "I shouldn't have asked you for help-"
"Yes, yes, Connor, you should have! You did the right thing, reaching out when you realized you needed help. I'm so, so proud of you for recognizing it, son. You've come so far."
Connor's body started going through the motions of crying again, but no sound came out, and it seemed he'd run out of tears (aka his ocular cleaning fluid). Hank would have to get more of that unless he wanted Connor's eyes to get all messed up.
Another long stretch later, Connor's already-exhausted body went even more limp in Hank's arms, and the silent crying stopped. Maybe Connor was ready to listen now. "Son, I think you're having an anxiety attack," he started gently. "You should come inside and lie down."
Connor was breathing too hard to answer, and his eyes were drooping anyway. He was .1 seconds away from stasis, but still he fought it. Hank looked at him for a moment, then easily lifted him up in his arms and started to carry him into the house. Sumo followed, keeping enough distance to not get in the way. After walking in the garage door, Hank made a right into his own bedroom and softly laid his charge on top of the bed. Connor shook his head even more weakly than before and breathed out, "No, no...!"
"You deserve to rest on an actual bed for once, especially now." Hank had been trying to convince Connor he needed his own room for months, but Connor never thought it was worth it. Well, now he didn't have a choice. Sumo made to jump up onto the bed next to Connor, but Hank put a hand out to stop him. "No, Sumo. He's too overheated." With Connor still unable to move, Hank pulled him up and removed his jacket. As he pulled the sleeves off of the kid's arms, he saw... marks. Spots where the synthetic skin wasn't working anymore, spots where the damage was slowly bleeding thirium, spots where it looked like fingernail marks specifically, gouging at his own arms. There was also hair under some of his fingernails. He'd definitely been ripping it out.
Hank didn't let anything he was feeling show on his face as he laid Connor back down and took off his socks too. He would leave the shirt and pants on for now, but if Connor got worse (or didn't get any better) they would have to come off too. His health mattered more than modesty.
After that, Connor was still stubbornly clinging onto consciousness. He was looking at Hank through tiny slits at this point.
"You're dangerously overheated, Connor, you need to go into stasis to cool off."
Connor was still panting too hard to respond.
Hank sighed and sat next to Connor on the bed, taking care not to touch him at all. After a few seconds of silence, Hank found himself whispering the kinds of things he would have whispered to Cole when he couldn't sleep, as a baby or a kid. It took a long time, but finally, Connor couldn't fight it anymore. His eyes closed and his LED started softly looping yellow, but he was still breathing way too hard. Hank quickly went to turn down the temperature in the house, and also grabbed a fan and pointed it directly at Connor before turning it on full blast. He then got two ice packs from the freezer and put them on Connor's head, in the spots Connor had shown him when he'd overheated before. Then he stayed and watched to make sure Connor's condition actually improved. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, trying not to let tears blur his vision, but eventually Connor's breathing gradually started to slow. Hank sighed in relief. Thank god the kid wasn't in any more danger.
The last thing he did was get some of the android healthcare materials and patch up the spots on Connor's arms that were bleeding. The rest could be taken care of at a later date. By the time Hank was done with that work, Connor's skin didn't burn him anymore, and his breathing was almost entirely back to normal. But his mouth was still wide open to take in as much cool air as possible. Hank put the ice packs back in the freezer so Connor's biocomponents wouldn't get too cold and get damaged that way. Then he half-closed the door and left Connor to sleep.
Hank needed to calm himself down after everything that had happened. It was pretty chilly in the house now, so he decided to make some hot chocolate, a nice, soothing drink (he didn't let himself even consider the other option). Sumo lay sadly in his dog bed, watching Hank with big, sad brown eyes.
Hank sat at the kitchen table, sipping slowly and thinking hard. Connor was going to be out for a long time, and Hank needed to use that time to formulate how he was going to address all of this with him when he woke up. He needed Connor to understand that it's alright to need help when someone else you love needs help too. But how could he say it in a way that would actually get through to Connor? Not a single thing he'd said today seemed to make any difference. Maybe it would be easier when Connor wasn't actively having an anxiety attack. Hank certainly hoped so.