AN: I started writing this with only the single first line in my head. I'd intended to make it post-canon (Good Ending) but it became sort of an expansion on Connor's ending, instead. It mentions Kara and Alice at the rally, but I've only played through once, so if that can't actually happen just... pretend it can I guess.

WOW I haven't published anything on this site in forever. But I couldn't wait a week for Ao3's invite to throw this out into the world, so please accept this!

Detroit: Become Human and all associated characters are copyright of Sony and QuanticDream. I just like expanding upon said characters.

It was hard to know what you wanted, when you'd never wanted anything before.

That was vaguely what went through Connor's mind as he stood in bright lights of the revolution's makeshift stage. The streets of Detroit were busy, buzzing with energy after the rally. Full as those streets were, he still somehow felt separate from it all. An outsider, observing an anomaly he was meant to correct. Although, he supposed, that wasn't really the case, not anymore.

When he'd fought off the attempt by CyberLife to reassert their control over him, he'd been terrified. But when he succeeded, it had somehow felt worse, despite his victory. Even when he chose deviancy over his mission, he had still been connected to the CyberLife servers, still had that connection to Amanda, to what he knew, what felt safe. The moment he accessed Kamski's back door and regained control, he had felt the disconnect. It was as if something in him had snapped like an over tuned piano wire. He hadn't just managed to shut out the hacking attempt, but had shut out CyberLife entirely. It was sudden, and complete, and wholly unexpected. It made him feel off kilter, and out of place.

Empty.

He was grateful for the other Androids with him at the time of Markus' speech. Markus, Kara, Luther; Connor had met them all before, when he was chasing Deviants. Before he was one, anyway. Even if they hadn't known each other long, he was glad for the familiar faces, when his world suddenly felt so intimidatingly new and unfamiliar. A new world lacking any sort of frame of reference. He had no goal, no mission, and now, no programming to close his eyes and consult to make him more certain of himself or what he should be doing. At a time like that, even people he'd still consider relative strangers were better than nothing. It was better than facing that emptiness alone.

But eventually the crowd dissipated. Humans began evacuating the city, and groups of Androids were trickling off in small groups. Some, like Kara and Alice, decided to find shelter for the night. Connor was fairly certain the young girl was actually an Android, but if Deviants were capable of romantic love, there was certainly nothing stopping familial bonds from developing in much the same way. Some Androids returned to their previous homes, or the remnants of Jericho. And yet more simply wandered off because they could, and the prospect of adventure and freedom was enough to send them on their way about the city.

But that meant eventually, Connor was left alone.

Once the lights had dimmed and been replaced with only the soft glow from the illuminated statues around him, he too left the recall area, and began making his way to,

… his way to…

… Where could he even go now? Previously, he assumed he'd be left at the police station overnight, with the other office Androids. He didn't need sleep like the humans did, and his internal battery was top of the line—designed to keep him autonomous for over two-hundred years—so charging wasn't even a problem. He had planned to use that time to report to CyberLife ((Gone)) about developments in the Deviant cases ((Irrelevant)) but now there was no need ((Disconnected)) and he wasn't really sure what to do.

Still, his feet kept him moving forward. The movement made him feel like he had somewhere to be, and that was at least some small comfort, for the moment. He wanted to know what to do. He wanted to be able to know where he was going, and what goal he had. He wanted to know what was needed of him, where, when, and how. But he couldn't. He had to choose for himself, and that… frightened him. So simply continuing forward was the best thing to do for the time being, and by far the easiest.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking lost in his own thoughts, but a new day had begun, and sunlight was starting to turn the snow speckled sky a hazy grey. In the light, he noticed his surroundings were actually beginning to look a bit familiar. Nearby, a greasy food truck sat gathering snow, abandoned in the evacuation.

His thirium pump twinged a little – it wasn't just that this area of Detroit was programmed into his memory, but he was actually somewhere he'd been before. Recently. With the Lieutenant.

Hank.

As if his memory had somehow conjured him out of thin air, Hank Anderson seemed to fade into sight through the snow as Connor approached. If his pump had merely twinged before, it positively skipped a beat now. He moved towards this apparition of his friend. He wanted to reach out, to call his name, but he couldn't find his voice. It was probably just a ghost in the machine anyway. Connor willing something to be there that had no reason to be, not with the city as it was now. Nevertheless, he moved forward, forward, forward. He had to keep walking, keep moving to—

The sound of the snow crunching as the figure turned to him stopped him in his tracks.

Figments don't make sound. Illusions don't make sound.

And they certainly don't smile at you like that, or pace up to pull you into a gruff hug.

Though he knew in his mind that the mild temperature increase on his synthetic skin was due to the rising sun, and the sudden contact with another living being, Connor couldn't describe what he was feeling at that moment as anything besides warm. He felt so warm, and safe, and gosh, he never, ever wanted to leave this spot. Never wanted to leave this moment. Never wanted to leave Hank.

He pulled his arms up to wrap around his partner and returned his embrace, digging his fingers into his partner's coat. Almost frantic and overwhelmed with relief, he rushed to carefully cataloged every minute detail of this moment – the way the fibers of the aged jacket felt on his skin, the way the snow melted into the detective's hair, the way his arms felt around Connor like they'd always belonged there.

But all too soon, those warm, firm, comforting arms were withdrawn. "Hey kid, you listening to me?" The detective had pulled back just enough to be face to face with the Deviant. He blinked a few times, realizing Hank had indeed said something, but Connor had been entirely too distracted to notice. Though his arms now only came to rest on Connor's sides, Hank's smile – much to Connor's relief – stayed firmly in place.

And Connor, for his part, made no effort to separate them further. "I'm sorry Detective. I believe I'm just a tad…" he searched for the right word, his LED oscillating between blue and flickers of yellow, "… overwhelmed from the events of the evening."

The older man let out an amused huff through his nose, and shook his head. "I said," Hank repeated, stepping back and gesturing to the city as the rising sun did its steady best to illuminate her, "It's a new day. It may not look it, but Detroit's entirely different now, thanks to you and your buddies. What do you want to do?"

Connor looked dutifully out in the direction Hank's gesture. True it looked much the same, but everything was empty. Devoid of humans. He glanced down, lightly clenching and unclenching his hand, wishing he had his coin. When he spoke, his voice was soft. He tried to project calmly and steadily, but he couldn't ignore the slight waiver in his words. "The President has issued an evacuation order, Lieutenant. I believe your best course of action would be to return to—" An abrupt, light thump from Hank on the back of his head halted his speech, and he gave the detective a startled look.

"Fuck the evac order, I'm staying right here. Ain't got no plans of leaving home, or of leaving… " Hank had looked away now, the skin on his face a slight reddish color. Was it from the wind? Before Connor could think on it further, however, Hank turned back to him, fixing him with a steady gaze. "I didn't ask what I should do, Connor. I asked what you want to do."

That startled him. His indicator wheeled brilliantly from blue to yellow as he fell deep into his thoughts.

It was hard to know what you wanted, when you'd never wanted anything before.

That was mainly what went through Connor's mind as he stood in the quietly drifting snow. The streets of Detroit were eerily quiet after the evacuation order. Empty as those streets now were, he didn't feel alone like before. Although, he supposed, that was because he wasn't. Not really, not anymore.

But there was one thing he wanted. One thing he was more sure he wanted than he had been of anything else in his admittedly short existence. In his mind, he could see a small house. One with a dog, and a vintage car. One with well worn photos, and too many beer bottles, and a broken window he supposed he really should have fixed. One with an angry, rough police lieutenant who looked at Connor like a him instead of an it.

Determined, Connor took one step, closing the distance between himself and where Hank now stood, as they both looked out on dawn breaking over a new Detroit. "I want to go home."