What are your fave whump tropes to write? Could you pick one of them and give us some self indulgent Connor whump because hell we wouldn’t mind one bit ;)
YEET here we go! I hope you like this! I sure enjoyed writing Detroit: Become Human for the first time! :)
Connor stumbled into the agency and had to use a wall to steady himself. Hank glanced up over a cup of coffee but didn’t say anything, choosing to instead just observe as Connor slowly made his way to his desk, subtly using the tops of other people’s chairs to guide himself before sitting heavily down in his own chair.
He was squinting, Hank noticed, barely opening his eyes past slits as he gazed at his computer. Hank set his coffee down and crossed the room to sit at his own desk next to Connor.
“The hell’s goin’ on with you today?” Hank asked. Connor shook his head, his LED shifting to yellow.
“Nothing that will affect the investigation,” he replied, and while that wasn’t really what Hank was asking, it was enough to remind him that Connor was an android, not a human, and maybe that level of concern just wasn’t necessary.
“Alright, well,” Hank said, “if you’re sure, we’ve got a crime scene to investigate.”
When he stood to leave, Connor nearly toppled over, tripping over his own feet with a glazed-over look to his eyes. Hank turned around at the sound of the racket and Connor’s hand gripped Hank’s wrist to steady himself. Hank jerked his hand away reflexively.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed. “You’re freezing!”
Connor was still tilting, and Hank reached out for him, easing him to the ground.
“Easy, kid,” he said gently, “what’s the matter with you?”
Connor shifted uncomfortably, debating for a long moment what answer Hank might want to hear but unable to determine the most favorable outcome.
“Connor?” Hank prompted after a moment, his eyes softening from annoyed to concerned.
“A non-fatal system failure,” Connor supplied. “My thermoregulator lowers my core temperature to optimize internal repair components.”
Hank blinked. “Well, sunnovabitch,” he muttered. “You’re tellin’ me you’ve got some kind of fuckin’ fever?”
Connor shook his head. “I’m not,” he denied. “Androids cannot–”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hank cut him off, “you can’t get sick; you can’t get fevers; I get it.”
Connor managed to get to his feet despite wavering slightly once more.
“You good?” Hank asked skeptically, steadying Connor by the elbow.
Connor just nodded, not saying anything more. Hank could tell that he wasn’t quite 100%. He also knew that if he really insisted, that he could push Connor into answering straight, into telling him anything he asked, into absolute truthfulness. He was an android, programmed to do whatever made the investigation run smoother, and all Hank would have to do to get anything he wanted from Connor was refuse to continue working until he gave it.
But Hank wasn’t the type for taking a man’s sense of dignity, and if pretending he was fine and composed was what Connor needed to do, then Hank would let him. He could handle himself, and if he couldn’t, well–that was Cyberlife’s problem, not his.
Connor was silent through most of the car ride. It was unusual, and Hank hated that he found himself missing the kid’s chatter.
“So,” Hank began, “think this deviant’s got any connection to the human remains they found in the dumpster last weekend?”
Connor opened his eyes to make eye contact with Hank, who noticed when it took a moment for his eyes to focus.
“I’m not sure,” he said. His head was resting against the window, and if Hank didn’t know better, he’d say he looked tired. “I will need more information to make further deductions.”
Hank put his hands up in mock surrender. “Just makin’ conversation, kid,” he caved, “not asking for your official statement.”
“Ah,” Connor agreed, “I see.” After a brief pause, he closed his eyes once more, his head bobbing against the window as the car hit minor bumps in the road.
Hank crossed his arms and resigned himself to an uncomfortably boring car ride, but in the silence, he became aware of a soft whirring sound.
“What the hell…” he trailed off, looking around the car and then down at his phone for what was making the sound. “Do you hear–Connor?”
When he looked over at Connor again, he could see exactly where the machine sound was coming from. Connor’s shoulders were shaking, and his hands were trembling by his side.
“Yes, Hank?” he asked, sounding almost irritable.
Connor sighed. “As my core temperature is lowered, my system is simply agitating the thirium so it doesn’t freeze.”
“Are you sure all this is normal?” Hank asked. With a frown, he pressed a hand to Connor’s cold forehead and then the back of his neck. “If you were a human, I’m pretty sure I’d be sending you home sick.”
“But I’m not,” Connor said simply.
Hank sighed. “Yeah,” he replied, “you’re not.”
He still wasn’t completely convinced, but if Connor didn’t want to talk, he sure as hell wasn’t gonna make him.
The car stopped outside a drug den. Though the area had been evacuated, evidence of that was clear from the scattered drug paraphernalia and mattresses. People lived here, if only barely.
Connor stepped out of the vehicle and followed Hank inside. His head throbbed as messages assaulted his vision, evidence flags and biohazard warnings overtaking his focus. He couldn’t keep his eyes open, feeling his thermoregulator struggling to cool his body down enough to accommodate the rapid new intake.
“Hank, your android’s freakin’ out,” a voice said, someone else at the crime scene but a voice that Connor didn’t recognize. He was trying to collect himself, pressed against the wall to stay upright, when he felt his thermoregulator give up completely and the heat of his overworking systems making his head spin even more.
“He’s what?” Hank griped, touchy about anyone bitching about Connor. His stomach dropped when he turned around and saw him. “Connor,” he breathed, rushing to kneel in front of him just as he collapsed.
“This has gone far enough,” Hank said decisively, “you’ve gotta tell me what’s really going on.”
“There’s just–a system error,” Connor replied.
“What kind of error?” Hank asked, his eyes widening slightly as he looked Connor over. “Something bad?”
Connor shook his head, then hesitated. “My gyroscope began malfunctioning after a direct hit in our fight with the deviant last night,” he explained. “It’s responsible for leveling my visual input with my environment. It keeps my balance, a similar function to your human inner ear fluid.”
Hank’s jaw dropped. “So… you’re… dizzy?” he asked. Connor nodded.
“I imagine the sensation is similar,” he agreed.
“Well, shit,” Hank sighed, “that sucks. How do you fix it?”
“I’ve been running a…” he trailed off for a few seconds, his eyes unfocusing and then refocusing again, “running a self-scan since this morning. It’s overloading my other systems.”
Hank frowned. “English, kid. What does that mean?”
“It’s… like trying to run too many programs at once,” Connor explained. “It’s producing some unpleasant side effects.”
“Side effects like what?”
Connor’s head bobbed forward and his LED flickered, but didn’t go out. His forehead ended up pressed against Hank’s shoulder, where he could feel a burning heat rather than the icy cold from earlier.
“Connor,” Hank called, “come on, son; don’t pull this shit. Stay awake.”
“I am awake,” Connor maintained, his voice quiet and weak.
“You’re fuckin’ burning up,” he told him softly. “I thought you were supposed to be cold?”
Connor nodded. “The overload has surpassed the power of my thermoregulator. I am at risk for overheating.”
Hank shifted him to look him in the eyes. “What happens if you overheat?”
“I may–” Connor began, hesitating for a very long moment and then looking once more at Hank.
“Connor? Answer my question.”
Connor looked confused. “What was the question?”
Hank sighed. “What happens if you overheat?”
“I may shut down,” he replied anxiously.
“Oh,” Hank breathed, sounding relieved. “Just like–powering down until Cyberlife gets to ya?”
Connor shook his head. “This type of reset would be… different…” he explained. “Memory systems may be… damaged. Perhaps irreparably.”
Hank paled. “Fuck,” he cursed, “okay, so we–we’ve gotta get you cooled down.”
He reached under Connor’s arm and snaked it under his back, lifting with his legs but knowing that he’d feel this in his back tomorrow, regardless.
“Can you fuckin’ help me?” he strained against Connor’s weight. “You’re heavier than you look.”
Connor wanted to help, but it was difficult to determine which way was up, and his joints felt stiff and weak.
“I am trying,” he defended. When Hank finally got him up, he faltered again, leaning all his weight into Hank and nearly dragging him down again.
“Shit, shit shit,” Hank exclaimed, fighting against Connor’s collapse, finally managing to steady him enough that he could get his feet underneath him.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor apologized, and Hank squeezed his shoulder.
“Come on, kid,” he said softly, dragging Connor outside.
While most of the snow from the day before had melted, pockets of it remained in the places where the sun hadn’t shone bright enough, so Hank led Connor behind the building and propped him up against the wall in the snow drift. The snow was melting as fast as Hank could press it to his forehead, but he stayed determined, piling on snow until Connor began to come round.
“Lieutenant?” he asked weakly, squinting against the sun.
Hank breathed a sigh of relief. “Glad to see you’re back with me,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
Connor looked, for just a fleeting moment, sincerely miserable. “I, uh,” he faltered, “am experiencing moderate discomfort.”
“In–my head,” he explained. “It is… distracting.”
Hank nodded. “What else?”
“My systems are overloaded,” he said. “It’s hard to focus, and I’m…” he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes hard and shook his head. It broke something in Hank’s heart.
“Alright, alright,” Hank calmed, “you’re okay. Cyberlife is sending an agent. They’re gonna do some on-site repairs so they can transport you, then take you to the center. They’ll be here to patch you up in no time.”
Connor nodded, closing his eyes against the snow Hank pressed to his temples.
“So, uh, Connor,” Hank began, and Connor hummed affirmatively without looking up, “tell me something.”
“You, uh. You know you can tell me shit, right?”
Connor hesitated. “I do not wish to bother you with irrelevant information,” he said.
Hank scoffed. “Bullshit,” he growled, “if you’re feelin’ like ass, that’s not something you keep from me, got it?”
“I’m sorry,” Connor apologized dutifully, opening his eyes and struggling to sit up, “I wasn’t aware–”
Hank pushed against his chest to keep him lying down. “Stop that,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m not mad at ya. Just. For the future, kay?”
Connor nodded. “In the future,” he promised.
“Good,” Hank said. He glanced at his phone. “Cyberlife is almost here,” he said, “so just relax, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”
That didn’t seem to calm Connor’s nerves; instead, it only made him anxious.
“Don’t–when we get there, don’t–alone,” he struggled, his speech suffering as he got more riled up. Hank could feel the heat returning to Connor’s body.
“Hey, cut that out,” he scolded, “you’re gettin’ yourself all worked up. I won’t let you out of my sight until you tell me to, alright? Just calm down.”
He wasn’t sure what Connor was so afraid Cyberlife would do to him if he were left alone, but he wasn’t going to upset Connor by pressing for further details. He gripped his hand tight until Connor relaxed again.
“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, you know that?” he muttered, still pressing snow with one hand to Connor’s hairline and smiling lightly at the relief evident in his face. Connor gave him a small smile before the Cyberlife agent arrived and he went into rest mode.
