Can we all just please accept my writing is shit ty

Hank was pretty sure the last time he walked Sumo was when he was still potty training him, but if Connor wanted to do it, then all the more power to him. Meanwhile, he was running out of dog food and biscuits faster than a snow cone melts in hell. So yeah, he went out and bought the forty-pound dry dog food and a pound of biscuits. And yeah, he dragged them inside and almost threw out his back for the third time that week.

And of course Connor was standing in front of the couch with Sumo, a smug expression ghosting his face when Hank finished almost throwing out his back, already done with the walk.

"Did you want some help, Lieutenant?" He said, his voice feigning innocence.

Without a doubt, the look on Hank's face was worth any amount of brooding he'd give, in Connor's humble opinion. And god damn it, Hank was going to throttle this kid one day, he just knew it. Hank opened the dog treats and pulled one out, because at least Sumo went for a walk. Hell, Hank wants a "treat" of his own and he barely did any walking.

"Sit!" Hank raised his voice from across the room, putting one foot forward as he began to walk toward the Saint Bernard.

What he did not expect, however, was for Connor to sit instead of their dog. Connor sits on the couch, hands locked together, resting on his legs. Maybe he'd pushed Hanks buttons too far, he thought. He was a little nervous and didn't want to upset him.

Bowing his head, Hank slightly hunches his shoulders forward, wrapping his right hand around his middle and rubbing the space between his eyes with his left hand, "I was talking to the DOG, Connor."

That little shit was doing it on purpose. Before, Hank didn't really think on it; just make your disgust apparent, tell Connor to knock it off, and move the hell on. But now? Oh, Connor was absolutely doing it on purpose, Hank knows it. Whether it's because Connor wants to piss him off or he's just doing it out of boredom, that's still up for debate.

Hank leans forward, shifting his body so that he's sitting on the edge of the couch and slightly bends over the coffee table, moving his eyes back to the apple and knife that sits in his hands. Hank glances at Connor, sitting beside him. If Connor feels better because he eats an apple, so fuckin' be it, but the kid is delusional if he thinks they're not stopping by Kim's Donuts on the way to the station. Of course, because it's just his fuckin' luck, Hank misses the apple and slices his hand open.

"Fuckin' A!" Hank grimaces at the sting of his injury, dropping the apple and knife back onto the coffee table. Getting up from the couch, he runs into the kitchen so he doesn't bleed all over his damn house. Sumo raises his eyes in alert at the commotion, but goes back to grooming himself.

"Lieutenant, would you like me t-" Connor calls after him worryingly, starting to rise from his seat, but is cut off before he finishes, "I'm fine, god damn it," so he sits back down.

Connor calculates that it is very unlikely Hank will need to visit a hospital for his injury, but reviews what to look for if an infection happens to develop. That is, unless Hank is on blood thinning medications, he might be prone to excessive bleeding... No. Unlikely. Hank drinks far too much and too often to be on blood thinners. It would have killed him or at the very least made him obviously incapacitated. But then again, Hank's blood is all over the coffee table in front of him. He could very well sample it when Hank comes back into the room… "just in case," he could very well say.

Smirking to himself as the kitchen faucet turns off, Connor gathers some blood on his index and middle fingers and raises it to his mouth to lick..sample.

Hank turns the corner, stopping mid-stride when he sees Connor licking his fingers. His fingers with Hanks blood on it. "STOP LICKING THAT!" Hank yells to Connor, his voice inflicting disgust and frustration into his words.

God damn it. Because of fucking course, Sumo stops licking himself, looking up at Hank in alarm, while Connor continues to lick his fingers. Bowing his head, Hank slightly hunches his shoulders forward, wrapping his right hand around his middle and rubbing the space between his eyes with his left hand, "I was talking to YOU, Connor."

Jesus Christ, this kid is going to kill me.

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check out the amazing artwork, idea and inspiration of this: post/175205287476/rip-lt-hank-anderson-1985-2038