A/N: Something I wrote to fix my heart after writing Little soldier boy, comes marching home :'v
Once again, I'm still figuring out how to write Hank. Hope you enjoy!
Things start and things end
And isn't it lovely in theory but
I could never be
I could never be
I could never be ready...
- I Could Never Be (Ready), Tom Scharpling (Steven Universe OST)
Sometimes, it surprises him just how often he leaves the present.
Despite everything, despite the actual revolution that changed everything, from his views to the whole of Detroit, it's as if Hank disses everything aside like it's all a fever dream; and he's suddenly drinking all by himself in the freezing winter outside, right after work. It snows, and the town is empty, lifeless. Not anywhere different from what he's grown used to in the past few years.
So, when Hank returns home, throat burning from the good ol' bitterness of beer, he's already taken aback by the light coming out of the windows. The soft, yellow aura from the lamp, and the television illuminating it all, too.
Opening the door, Hank gapes at the sight that should have become familiar… and yet, finding Connor fast asleep on the couch is never going to stop catching him off guard.
Mostly, because Connor is always boasting, androids don't need sleep. At least, not every day; they go in standby mode once a week, if he's not mistaken. And here he is clinging to the dark red blanket Hank got him, LED ringing calm blue.
The TV is low, showcasing fishes of all species. Hank can't help the weird noise that was supposed to be a snort. Never in a million years is he going to admit it, but damn, if Connor looks adorable.
Sumo has been lying by the android's feet, yet the Saint Bernard is soon awakened by Hank's arrival and comes all the way to him, tail wagging in joy.
"Hey, there, boy," The lieutenant whispers. "You took good care of him, yeah?" He ruffles Sumo's head, and behind the dog's ears. "Good job, Sumo."
The big, sleepy head that he is, the Saint Bernard immediately lies down by the corner near the TV. Hank shakes his head, a stupid ass smile cracking in his face.
While knowing he shouldn't bother the android, given Connor is yet to get used to sleeping without any commitments or plans, the man ends up approaching the couch, to take a closer look at him. The android doesn't seem to even bat an eye.
This is probably creepy as fuck, but Hank… watches him, for a while. Connor is a grown man, and sure, even if he's a few months old, he sure knows a lot of stuff.
And yet, he looks so small, asleep and protected by his blanket. This entire situation, of Connor falling asleep in front of the TV, is something that Hank never expected to see again.
His smile quivers, and besides his throat, his eyes start burning, too.
Drying them with his sleeve, Hank sighs quietly. He then focuses on adjusting the covers, and before he can turn off whatever fish documentary Connor was captivated by, he approaches a hand towards the android's head.
(Hesitant. He fears Connor is going to break with one touch.)
He feels the brown locks, no longer styled. They've turned into messy curls, ones that Hank loves teasing the young man with. Connor pretends to be annoyed, but he knows he secretly enjoys it, always finding an amused smirk hidden in midst of his seriousness.
Hank is slow with it, so as not to startle him. His LED turns yellow for a moment, but it returns to blue, and suddenly the android releases pleased mumbling. He even seems to relax more.
Goddammit.
All too soon, the lieutenant stops. Connor looks unsatisfied; that's when he grunts and blinks his eyes many times, taking a while to recognize the older man.
"Hank…?"
"Hey, Con. Sorry for waking you up."
For reasons beyond him, Connor actually yawns. "'S fine…"
The android frowns, appearing to be more awake now. "I have… detected alcohol in your exhalation. Is everything alright, Hank?"
The wording causes Hank to snort. He's still the supercomputer nerd he knows, except he can yawn and take naps now. Fucking android.
"Yeah," He mutters. "Couldn't be better."
Just from his eyes, he can tell Connor doesn't believe in that bullshit. The android can be a self-sacrificial bastard, but he's not stupid. He's more of a rational idiot, basically.
The detective scoots over, expecting Hank to join him. He also asks, "How was work today?"
At this point, the lieutenant doesn't reject it. He practically falls on the couch.
"Same old shit."
Connor hums.
"Do you think Captain Fowler will still reassign me to the DPD?" He wonders.
"I'm sure he will, Con. But we gotta wait the stupid politics to be solved."
"Right."
Silence.
"You must've had a better day than I did, yeah?" The man guesses.
Connor shrugs. "I suppose so. I cleaned the house, took Sumo outside, then I spent the rest of the day watching television."
"God, I wish that were me. Minus the cleaning."
"It can get… monotone, sometimes," He remarks. "It's perhaps why I went into standby so quickly. It felt… nice, though."
Hank smirks. "It sure does, kid."
Connor returns it with a tired smile, and he relies on the lieutenant's shoulder after. Hank almost tenses, but soon enough, he steadies the android with a grip on his arm.
Far away from them, the vivid colors of the ocean are still showcased by the TV. Somehow, Hank feels as though they're only this vibrant because of the sleepy android next to him.
In spite of the effects of this particularly bad day, caused by no concrete reasons (or no recent ones, as far as he's concerned), Hank can't let him go. He can't stand up and head to his bedroom on his own, to be swallowed by the cold and the dark.
Right now, he senses Connor's… heart thing beating, simultaneously following Hank's. It reminds the man that he does have a heart.
He doesn't want this to be gone. Not yet. It's selfish, he knows.
Either way, Hank shakes the android lightly.
"Connor," He mumbles, receiving a confused hum from the android. "Hey, uh, what do ya say about… sleeping in my room tonight?"
The other frowns again. "I am perfectly suited here—"
Hank rolls his eyes. "Ugh, Connor, it's just so ya don't have to live on my goddamn couch every night. 'Sides, Sumo misses having somewhere to take over."
(This is far from the truth. A half-assed lie.)
(Connor definitely knows it.)
The RK800 considers. "Are you sure?"
"'Course."
At that, he no longer rejects it. "Alright, then."
It's only a matter of what, thirty minutes or more for Hank to change into his pajamas. Connor was already warmed by an old DPD hoodie of his, as well as baggy pants and socks.
They're both occupying the bed. Hank is sober enough not to instantly fall asleep. Ironically, he hasn't drunk as much like so many other times. There are days like this, which have become more recurrent after Connor moved in, but they're still somewhat uncommon.
Hank is certainly not fine. He hasn't been in a while. Things changed, sure… but sometimes, it feels like they didn't. And even with Connor's calm breaths near him, he can't help fearing none of this is happening. He's afraid he will wake up and the android will be gone, and Hank will be left alone in this empty house.
The burning sensation returns in his vision.
So does the comforting pressure on his arm.
Thanks to the yellow LED peeking in the darkness, aside from distant streetlights, he finds Connor's concerned expression.
"Hank, your heart levels are rising," He observes. "What's wrong?"
The usually stoic, trademark tone of his is gone. Connor is really worried. Regardless, Hank doesn't answer, because he's once again in shock.
"Is…" The RK800 pauses. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Out of his control, the dam slowly cracks, breaks.
Hank yanks him toward his chest, crushing the android in his arms.
"Just—" He hiccups, somehow tightening his hold even more. "Stay. Please."
Connor takes a moment, soon returning the hug.
"Okay."
Eventually, the lieutenant calms down, as he pays attention to Connor's beating pump, his breathing and his synthetic fingers against the fabric of his shirt. Hank refuses to let him go, nonetheless, and Connor doesn't complain.
(Distantly, he knows this isn't like when he held Cole in the dark of night. It could never be. Still, Hank is not letting his guard down. He won't let anyone take Connor away from him. Not again.)
Although he's the one needing this, because Connor is fast, skilled and smart, and a great person on top of it, Hank protects him, with everything he has left. He protects him with a hand cradling the back of his head, and the other clenching and unclenching his hoodie. That, and tears he has not released in such a long, long time.
Connor buries deeper in his chest, brown curls against his grizzly, careless beard.
"I'm here, Hank," He whispers. "I'm here."
As if needing yet another reminder of that, Hank lets out a deep breath, soon giving in to the outside world, while grounded by the body in his embrace.
Right now, they're both here.
They're alive.