etrayalogs | Tied Under a String } Closed

I can’t be confident they’re alive.

[Connor’s mind his spinning.]

Robert, Ithaqua, and Max.

[Or did he only kick Max? It all happened so fast.]

I shot them in the leg.

[He lifts the wedge he took from Aurora.]

I need to put this back. This is from Aurora.

Yeah. You do that, Connor.

[Hank watches him. Not that he doesn’t trust him to put it back — whatever the hell it is, exactly — but because everything’s happened so fast.

Connor is... deviant. Or so he thinks. And Hank is still alive. They both are.]

It’ll be okay, Connor. [Eventually, right? Hank hopes.] We’ll get them to the hospital, yeah? Tell Aurora, the little RoboCops, whatever.

[Connor nods as he hurries to slot the wedge back where he got it from. Then he turns back to Hank and worry is written all over his face.

How can Hank trust him ever again? How can Robert? Or Ithaqua? Or Catdog?

His mechanical insides churn as emotions pour over him. Regret. Self-hatred. Doubt.

It’s overwhelming to feel all of this at once.]

I’m not sure they would trust me again.

[Hank’s not going to lie and say they will trust him again, but...]

You forgave me for shoving my gun in your face, didn’t you?

[Among other things. Among many other horribles things.]

You look good, Connor.

[It’s a stupid thing to say. And maybe it’s silly to pull him into a hug now, too, but Hank’s trying to live without regrets. Want to hug someone? Do it. Want to risk his life, staring down the barrel of a gun, hoping the most important person to him makes the right choice? Been there, done that — again.]

You did the right thing. [Now Hank doesn’t have to worry about hurting Connor with his hugs, although as his arms slip around him, he falls into familiar motions.] I’m real proud of you, Connor.

[Connor shakes his head through all of it and the weight of all he's done comes crashing down around his shoulders. It isn't right. He's shot three friends, he nearly shot Hank.

With another shake of his head, Connor holds the gun out to Hank.

You should shoot me, Hank.

Now why the fuck would I go and do that?

[Hank steps back. Eyes darting down to the gun.]

You finally deviate, and you just... what? Want to check out?

[He has no intention of shooting Connor, but Hank still reaches for the gun. Slowly. Easing it out of his hand. Breathing a sigh of relief, because what the fuck kind of request is that?]

Because I hurt them. And I hurt you. [Connor's raises his eyes to look at Hank and there's so much uncertainty, hurt, and fear written across his face.]

You should shoot me.

I’m not gonna shoot you, Connor. The fuck would that solve? Who would that help?

[The weight of the gun in his hand feels familiar.

Unpleasant.]

We’ll get your friends help. And you didn’t shoot me. Just like I didn’t shoot you back in Detroit. [Or so Hank hopes, anyway.] You fucked up. Whatever. It was your programming, Connor. I know that. And your friends — we’ll explain. So don’t talk like that. Starting to sound a lot like...

[Me.]

[Connor takes the few steps to cross the distance between him and Hank. He reaches for the hand Hank is using to hold the gun and tries to raise it, to center it in his forehead. The bite on Connor's arm is still dripping thirium onto the ground between them.]

Please, Hank.

[The guilt is overwhelming with no programming to deny his feelings.]

You wanted this once.

Oh, fuck off. [Hank’s hand is shaking as he jerks it away from Connor’s grip.] Fuck you. We are not doing this. Fuck the man I used to be, too. I’m not... I’m not like that anymore. You think I’m that cruel? Thought you knew me better than that, Connor.

Thought you wanted to stay here on Etraya with me.

[Hank is running his mouth, on and on, and he knows he needs to stop: in one breath he’s saying he’s not the man he used to be, and in the next he’s an asshole all over again. The same asshole that’s hurt Connor time and time again.]

That a lie, huh? You just wanna die, and then — what? What happens then?

[When the anger is unleashed, Connor knows he's done wrong. He listens to every word, buries them deep in his core so he never forgets them, and is quiet until Hank finishes.

Maybe it was a lie. Maybe he doesn't deserve--

Is it always this painful to be a deviant?]

I'll make sure not to bother you, lieutenant.

[And then Connor walks past Hank, his shoulders cowed, his expression shuttered.]

[Hank grits his teeth. Almost wants to let Connor go and cool off, and maybe he would — if this were anyone else.

But it’s not: it’s Connor, who reads into shit in ways that aggravates Hank to no end. So he whirls around to grab Connor’s wrist with his free hand, because he is not leaving things like this. Not for a goddamn instant.

Because an instant is all it would take for Aurora-Echo-whoever to take him away again.]

How many times do I have to tell you that you’re family?

[The gun feels so heavy in his hand, and Hank almost wants to toss it away. But he’d rather have it close — in case Connor gets any more stupid ideas.]

Family, yeah? You remember that? Even after I almost shot you. So what kind of man would I be to just... Fuck, Connor. This shit isn’t easy. But family doesn’t ask family to shoot them in the goddamn head.

[When Hank seizes his wrist, Connor winces. Thirium will trickle down over Hank's fingers as Connor talks.]

How can you trust me again? I've hurt people, Hank. I've hurt you.

[He breathes out as slowly as he can.]

I don't want to ever do that again.

Jesus fuck. I’m — [staring at the blue blood on his fingers as he pulls back] — how many times do I gotta tell you that I don’t give a fuck about me?

I just wanna...

[But it doesn’t matter what Hank wants, does it? Not really.]

Safe. And happy. You remember that? This is neither of those things, Connor. And if you don’t want to be around me, I fucking get that — [again, Hank couldn’t blame him] — but I don’t know what would happen if you died. Would you come back here? Would you go back to Solmara? I don’t want to find that out, Connor.

[Connor realizes, belatedly, that he can like now. He could lie and tell Hank he didn't want to be around him any more, find a corner to crawl into, and then hope Hank never finds him.

But Connor knows that's not really what he wants. He needs help with this transition into deviancy, what emotions are safe to feel, which emotions are dangerous and toxic. All of Connor's knowledge couldn't have prepared him for this.]

I'm not sure I can be happy, Hank. Not after everything.

It’ll be hard as hell. I know that. And you know I do — don’t you go and say I don’t.

[And it’s greedy of him to say, but Hank will hate himself either way, so:]

I don’t want to do this again, Connor. I don’t want to lose someone I care about. Don’t want to lose you.

[Connor isn't sure if he's capable of facing 'hard as hell,' but he supposes he does have to try. He nods, but doesn't look up at Hank.]

It won't happen again.

[For now.]

[Now it just feels like he’s pushing Connor to be who Hank wants him to be. Nodding along to get the old man to shut up. But what else did he expect?]

You made me want to live, y’know. After everything. Back in Detroit. And I’m sorry I can’t be that for you. If you want to leave — [Hank turns his hand, watching how the thirium pools in his palm] — I understand. You can go wherever you want, Connor. Be whoever you wanna be. As long as you’re safe.

[Looking back up at Connor, expression pained:] Can you at least do that for me? Stay alive. And someday you’ll find what you need. I know you will — because I did.

[Connor really needs a chance to sit in his feelings, to evaluate them one by one and absorb them. He's so flushed with emotion, that he's just nodding along.

Is he... tired? Even though androids don't get tired? Perhaps it's an issue with his processing power. He's only able to handle so much at once.

Connor would like to head back now, he thinks. Perhaps apologize to the others if he can. But maybe they will only be angry. He does remember a practice that dogs do, where they sit in corners when they've done wrong. Perhaps that is what he should do.

He'll lead the way back toward the elevator, holding it for Hank.]

[Hank follows. He knows what he wants, sure — but it’s selfish, wanting Connor to live and be happy. Everything Cole never got to do, never got to be.

And every time Hank opens his mouth, he just hurts Connor more. Just pisses himself off.

Connor deserves better. Hank doesn’t care that he almost got shot; hell, he’d almost expected it.

Connor... deserves better.

Hank still grips the gun. Making sure the hand holding it doesn’t face Connor as they head into the elevator.]

[Connor is silent on the elevator ride. His emotions brewing and stewing inside of him as he tries to get a hold of them. It feels like too much, too soon, so he says nothing to Hank.

Not on the elevator ride.

Not on the walk back to Hank's apartment.

Not as he settles into one of the corners in the room Hank assigned for him. Connor faces it, hands buried in his hair as he tries to understand what he's feeling.]

[Hank keeps his eye on Connor. No longer sure what to say. What to do.

But Connor is alive. Maybe that’s all Hank can ask for right now, even though he wants everything. Despite the fact that he knows from experience that shit isn’t that easy.

He’ll see Connor’s smile again. Hank has to cling to that. Even if it’s not for a long, long time.

Once they’re back at the apartment, Hank watches Connor head to his room. Mouth slack-jaw as he wills the words to come, but nothing does.

He’s done enough damage. Every conversation they have feels like one step forward and two backward. Ticking further and further toward... Hank doesn’t want to know. But this is what he does: he fucks everything up. Loses everyone he cares about. Hurts everyone he loves.

So, after pausing to give Sumo’s head a pat, Hank shuffles off to his own room. Not wanting to upset Connor again whenever he comes out; not wanting Connor to have to see his ugly mug. And he wasn’t trying to hide it, exactly, but he pulls out the bottle of whiskey by his bed.

For Sumo, it’s perhaps odd both his dads have vacated the front room. He goes to paw at Hank’s door first since it’s closest, but there’s no response. Whimpering sadly as he goes to push open Connor’s door, which was mercifully left accessible to the nosy dog.]

[Connor hears Hank retreat to his room and Connor is both wistful and grateful. He needs help navigating the landscape of feelings, but feels he has no right to ask for that help, not after all that he's done.

Sumo nudges his door open and Connor can hear the sounds of heavy paws.]

Sumo, I nearly killed him today. I've done terrible things. You shouldn't... go to Hank, Sumo.

[Sumo cocks his head. He understands a few of those words, mostly the names, but if Connor is giving him a command — well, he’s never been great with those. No matter how much Hank tried to train him when he was younger.

So Sumo noses his way into Connor’s room, sniffing around. Tail wagging as he makes his way toward Connor.

“Borf,” Sumo says.]

Go to Hank, Sumo. [Connor repeats from where he's curled in on himself in the corner. He's not sure how good of a companion he'll be right now.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

cw: potentially suicidal ideation

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cn: mention of Cole

no subject

no subject

no subject

I need a Sumo icon for this exact moment smh

no subject