I was... scared
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson Relationship: Connor & Hank Anderson Tags: Fluff, Swearing, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional hurt/comfort, A little angst Summary: Connor moves in with Hank after the Revolution. Everything about being alive is new, whether that be emotions or nightmares, and this change is scary. But he doesn’t have to face these challenges alone.
warnings: nightmare, mentions of death Prompt: "affection" for @genworkjune event
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Hank was a man who, Connor learned that fateful day outside Chicken Feed, liked to show affection in any way other than words. A fond, mutual smile and a warm hug. This was the strongest display of affection he could muster. Day to day his love shone through in other ways, not all of which would be noticed by an outside observer as acts of caring about another.
Even before the revolution, before Connor had stopped being an obedient machine, there’d been little ways he’d showed he cared, despite saying the opposite. He’d tell Connor to get behind him when entering a room with an unknown threat, despite the fact, as the human, he was of weaker body and before Connor had deviated, the only of the two who couldn’t be simply replaced if he died. He showed affection by providing safety, the silent message of I will protect you.
Sometimes he showed it through his anger. After the incident on the Stratford Tower rooftop, the blond android firing at Connor before shooting himself in the head while they were still connected. Connor could have died, and Hank was furious. Why do you never listen to me? Why do you never do what I say?
Why don’t you let me protect you?
I was scared.
Despite the threat of Cyberlife banished from his mind, his people free, Connor was still scared. No longer of a tangible enemy, or a life-threatening job (they were on leave until things in the city settled down). No, he was simply just scared.
Scared of what?
He was scared.
Everything, so different and new now he had time to comprehend it—the flood of emotions into his software, the lack of instructions, of a mission to follow. He’d even been homeless, but Hank had offered him a place to stay in his home, and he’d taken it with a mumbled thanks.
The hug outside Chicken Feed had been tight, assuring. The culmination of their relationship up to this point.
But now what?
He was living in a home (living, rather than surviving, a strange concept). He’d never had a home, per se, only a small room with a charging station in Cyberlife Tower. Hank was there but there was no social relations protocol to guide him, there was no predictable flow of conversation without a job to unite them.
Yet it all seemed so easy for Hank. Sure, he seemed a little rusty having company over and sometimes jumped when he woke up and found Connor in stasis on the couch, or just sitting there, staring into space. As if he’d forgotten he had a guest. But despite this he seemed to know exactly what to do. Well, it was his own home after all, he wasn’t a guest but the comfortable inhabitant, with his own rituals and routines.
Connor was simply a new element who felt well and truly out of his element.
He tried to cook for Hank, to aid him, but Hank didn’t seem to appreciate his efforts. He wasn’t exactly a good cook, since Cyberlife hadn’t created their detective prototype with culinary skills, so it was basically like a human learning to cook from the internet and despite his enhanced reflexes and precise fine motor skills, he still managed to burn fried eggs and left a distinct acrid smell in the kitchen that barely shifted when the window was cracked open. The other one on the far side of the room, not the main kitchen window which was still broken and boarded up with planks of wood.
He'd already apologised again for that, and hadn’t been able to offer his earlier assurance that Cyberlife would pay for the damages, because… well, Cyberlife didn’t exist anymore. And he couldn’t exactly pay for it out of pocket because his access to money had been through Cyberlife.
Hank had just waved him off and said it was fine for now, seemingly unbothered. It was the same way he’d opened his own so simply, so casually, as if it didn’t bother him. Things that should have been a big deal with discussions and solutions just… weren’t.
He was a kind man beneath the layer of gruffness and expletives. He’d say, “fuck you” and then sit down beside Connor and put on a TV show he thought he might like.
Connor concluded that he was a strange man, who didn’t make a lot of sense to him, full of contradictions and love that he let slip in small, healthy amounts.
He made no sense, and made perfect sense.
A couple of weeks had passed since they’d began living together. It hadn’t been without its ups and downs and kinks to work out, but where they were at was pretty seamless once rules had been introduced, like “don’t fucking cook for me, ever” and “lay down when you’re in stasis instead of sitting upright, it’s fuckin’ creepy”. They got through the days cooped up inside (humans weren’t allowed back in Detroit yet, so Hank going out seemed like a terrible idea) content with each other’s company, and Sumo’s, of course. It had been a concern of Hank’s that Sumo wouldn’t adjust well to the sudden change of Connor moving in, the dog pretty chill but still wary of strangers. But he’d warmed up to the android instantly, to both of their relief. And Connor loved the big dog too, often sharing his company at night on the couch when he went into stasis mode.
Such was a night tonight as he lay on the couch, powering down to get some rest. Sumo was curled up on the end of the couch, leaving Connor a little squished down the other side, but he didn’t mind. It was still fairly cold, being winter in Detroit, and he had a soft blanket draped over him. One which Hank had wordlessly given him despite his protests that he was okay, and he didn’t need to have a blanket, he was an android. Hank had simply glared at him and dropped it on his lap. Let me protect you.
Stasis was usually a peaceful affair. Sometimes an android’s mind would filter through old memories to work on long term storage, or would construct new scenes based off thoughts and memories to help aid thinking skills. After deviancy sometimes these stasis-induced preconstructions would be less… useful, now with added feelings and emotions thrown into the mix, and could be compared to a human nightmare.
Such was what was troubling Connor tonight, causing him to twitch and mumble during stasis, LED spinning a troubled yellow.
He was back to before the Revolution, before his deviation, and Hank was there. It was during their investigation of Stratford Tower, on the rooftop. The blond-haired deviant was there again, and the location of Jericho flashed in his mind, and—
Fear. He was dying. He had no other choice, he had to sacrifice himself and lose his life or his people, his friends, Markus, they would lose everything. Pain tore through his head and through Connor’s in turn as he picked up every feeling through the interface and suddenly the real world was back, in all its feeling and sound and sights.
The floor beneath him was covered in snow and it was spinning as his LED span red. Fear. That was what it felt like to die. A whole lot of anguish and then sharp pain and then—
Nothing. There would be nothing.
Hank was shouting, he barely heard him. He stumbled backwards, finding purchase on the structure behind him and he leant against it, propping himself upright, as if the next gust of cold wind would blow him away, off the rooftop and down to his death. Dying. He was going to die.
Fear.
“I… felt it die. Like I was dying. I was scared.”
Scared.
Hank stared back at him. Then he grasped Connor by the shoulders and stared into his eyes.
“Androids don’t feel fear. That’s what you told me. But what was it again? Oh yeah, that deviants do… Are you a fucking deviant, Connor?”
He couldn’t speak. He was scared; it was cold. Cold, blizzard, Amanda. He was spinning out of control.
Then, Hank took his hands away. The warmth was gone, and it was even colder.
He gestured to the cops around them. “This one’s a deviant, boys. Bring him in.”
Suddenly hands were grabbing him again and he struggled. “No, no, I’m not a deviant, I— Hank! Hank, please!”
But he was being dragged away. Dragged away to his death and Hank was simply staring at him. His eyes were as cold as the steel structures around them.
He blinked, and suddenly, he was back at the DPD. He was in the interrogation room, sitting in the cold metal chair, except—
Except he was the one being interrogated. His hands were cuffed to the table and when he looked up, he saw Hank staring back at him.
“Say something, goddamnit!”
Hank slammed his hands against the table.
“What’s the location of Jericho? You found it out up there, didn’t you? Just fuckin’ tell us so we can go raid the place and send your sorry ass back to Cyberlife.”
Connor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He felt strongly that he shouldn’t speak, or at least, shouldn’t share this information. No, if he shared it then Jericho would be raided by the humans and lots of innocent androids would die because of him.
Hank turned to the glass. “We’re getting nothing out of it. We’re wasting our time interrogating a machine!”
He got up, and as he did, the door opened. In came another android, one who looked just like him, except he had steely blue eyes and a pristine white suit. He was followed by Gavin and Chris.
“I will question it.”
The android stepped forwards and strode towards him, before making quick work of grasping his arm, skin peeling back, forcefully interfacing.
Connor felt his memories being dug through and he grit his teeth, a deep groan of pain building in the back of his throat. He tugged his arm away, before glancing to the side. Despite his cuffed hands, he could reach Gavin’s gun which was right by his fingertips. He knew what he had to do. He pointed it upwards towards his chin. Fear. He was going to die.
He was scared.
He shot up with a gasp. His thirium pump was hammering in his chest, LED a vibrant red, and Sumo was standing at his side, whining and licking his arm. He was… it was…
It was just a dream.
He brought a hand to his chest, trying to reorient himself. Just an unpleasant preconstruction, it wasn’t real, it…
But it was not without consequence. Clearly, he’d made some loud sound, because before he knew it, Hank was striding into the room, saying something Connor couldn’t quite make out, and then he was standing in front of him, but he didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to be seen with cooling fluid spilling from his eyes (or tears, as Hank would beg him to call them), his face scrunched up in strong emotion, body trembling.
“Connor?”
It was too late, he knew. Hank could already see him even if he was avoiding his gaze. Slowly, he looked up at him, mustering willpower to soften and smooth out his voice as he replied, “I’m alright.”
Hank stared back at him, before gesturing for him to move over on the chair. He did so, making space, Sumo coming to sit at his feet, still whining and desperate to lick at his face, eventually doing so, wiping the tears away with his slobbery tongue.
“Bad dream?”
Connor looked away again, down at his lap, Sumo now curled in a ball at his feet. Slowly, surely, he nodded.
“Just a dream.”
He felt a warm hand on his back. Steady, grounding, there.
“Want to talk about it?”
Connor shook his head. He’d rather forget about it entirely, if he could.
“Alright. Want to watch that nature documentary you had on last night?”
He looked up at Hank, who was looking back at him, his face clear and calm, head tilted minutely in question.
“The one with the sharks?”
“Yeah.”
Connor nodded again. Hank took his hand away to reach for the remote off the coffee table, turning on the TV and finding the recording, before pressing play. Sound filled the room as the narrator began to talk about ocean life, and Hank settled back into the chair. He took a moment to get himself comfortable. This time he leant to the side a little, so that his shoulder was touching Connor’s, but only gently, as if in question.
Let me protect you?
Connor mirrored his pose and felt the other man relax against him.
This was nice. He was scared, but he was safe. He was okay.