Detroit: Become Human; Deviant Days (Hank, M)

[BananaFan]

Okay, I have recently gotten into the game "Detroit: Become Human" and I fell in love with Connor and Hank. Yes, I ship them. Yes this fic is about them. 

I was kind of talked into posting this story here, and I do intend to continue it after Part 1, so if you like it please let me know so I can get motivated to keep writing it!

This fic takes place just after the game ends, in the perspective of Connor, the android. I was a bit...aghhhmmm...self-indulgent with this as you might see during the end of part 1. Fet!Connor was a thought in my head and one day I just sat down and wrote a thing for it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Fair warning though, there is a LOT of plot, because that's kind of how I roll. There will be more snez later in the story. Sorry!

 

Without further ado, here you go. 

 

DEVIANT DAYS

 

 

 

It’s over. It’s actually over.

What am I thinking? It’s been over for weeks now. But...it doesn’t feel that way.

Feel. I’m still getting used to that, too. Feeling things. Having emotions. Being deviant.

It used to be such a dirty word. The kind of word people sour and spit out. The only human I know that never used the word like a spear against me is Hank Anderson. He was skeptical at first, distrusting androids in general, but the Lieutenant has had a soft spot for deviants since I knew him well enough to break into his house.

My head swings over to the recently repaired window. A smile cracks my demeanor. Another thing I’m not quite used to yet. Hank tells me that I look ridiculous when I try too hard to smile.

Speaking of…

I lift myself from my position on the couch. It is still early. Well, ‘Hank’ early. It’s 9:30, and I have been awake for two hours. Sleep isn’t something I ever thought I would need. It’s not really a necessity for me physically, being an android, but the flood of emotions and awareness tends to overwhelm me if I go too long without some sort of break. Sleeping helps. I suppose that’s why humans like it so much.

Even though Hank doesn’t normally get up until past 10, sometimes 11, I feel a pull to start the day. I shift uncomfortably, dipping my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. It is technically Hank’s hoodie, but he said I could have it.

It smells like him.

That’s another deviant feeling, I’m certain. Lately, I’ve been having...strange feelings that pull me to want things. Human call it attraction. I don’t understand it fully myself, but I haven’t mentioned it to anyone, especially Hank. I suppose I could talk to Markus about it. He is the only android I know who has experienced romantic feelings. But I can’t just pull Markus away from everything just to ask him about attraction and feelings.

Hey Markus, sorry I know you’re conducting a peace treaty with the nation, but I just wanted to ask you about this guy I think I like…

No. That would be completely irresponsible. I can handle this on my own.

I think.

My weekly deviant meetings sort of help. Hank insists that I go to them. He is quite adamant about it, telling me how confusing emotions can be and how he himself isn’t ‘qualified’ to coach me through ‘what five-year-olds learn’. I usually don’t talk during those meetings. Other androids have much more complex things on their mind. Our emotion coach allows us to stay after the meetings to talk about individual problems, but I haven’t chosen to participate in that. I would rather get home ASAP to see Hank.

He has done so much for me. More than enough. After androids were freed, I had nowhere to go. Hank has let me stay in his home. I sleep on the couch since it won’t cause me physical discomfort. It hurts Hank’s back. I don’t want Hank to hurt. So, I sleep on the couch, except on the rare night I have nightmares. But in those cases I don’t sleep. Neither does Hank, since I tend to get...vociferous in the middle of the night.

I still think about the time Hank spent the night calming me after a particularly rousing nightmare about a deviant and a rooftop...leftover trauma from past experiences. We fell asleep on the couch watching a recording of the national dog show.

Overall, I think I’ve done well to earn my keep. While I’m not technically assigned to Hank anymore, I still help him investigate. There was confusion at the precinct about how to compensate androids, and so we are not required to take jobs but we can volunteer for now. So, I go with Hank sometimes. Okay, every time.

 

I make my way to the kitchen and flick on a light. Hank’s stove is electric, but even with the simpler option I am unsure of how cooking works, really. My function was detective work and crime simulation. Cooking? Not in my programming. I don’t know appliance intricacies like how high to set the burners, or recipes like how much salt to put in a dish.

But Hank did teach me how to make bacon. “Long as it don’t crumble to ash in my mouth, I’ll eat it”.

And so, I get out a package of bacon and begin to cook it. Grease crimps the slices of salted pork and crinkles them into waves. It takes a while -- longer than I think it should have. But I make a bulging plate of bacon, all levels of doneness decorating my pile. I don’t think I have the hang of it yet.

It is now just past 10:30. I want Hank to eat warm bacon. I set the plate on the counter and stare at the dog staring at me and drooling.

“Sumo, that is Hank’s bacon. Do not help yourself.”

Sumo gives me a beg with a dip of his head. If anything could deviate an android, it is the pleading look of a bacon-starved canine.

I frown. “I’m sure Hank will give you some when he gets up.”

There. Perfectly reasonable. I leave to fetch Hank.

I knock at the door, perfectly polite. “Hank? It’s me, Connor.” I open the door. I don’t know why but when I step inside the room it feels warmer. As if the heater is running on extra for this room. Hank is face down on a pillow, arm splayed out, fingers wrapped in a sheet -- wait, no. Is that a piece of cloth?

His breathing sounds off as well. Perhaps I should analyze him.

Hank Anderson. Seemingly sound asleep. Heart rate, slow. Breathing through mouth, slight apnea. One leg under covers, one leg out. Hot and cold? Glass tipped over on nightstand. Nightcap gone wrong?

I go to his bedside, making sure not to disturb him before I lean close enough to brush fingers across his brow. Sweat clings to his flesh like a sheen.

Then, his meaty grip wraps around my wrist and he jerks me away from his body, sitting up stiff and alert.

He blinks at me and my heart pounds.

“Connor…?” his bushy brows knit in confusion. “What are you doin?”

He releases me and I straighten.

“I was merely checking your temperature. You seem to be sweating in your sleep, as well as experiencing mild congestion.”

Hank waves me off with a deep growl. “I don’t need my temperature checked. I’m not a fuckin child.” He pushes himself fully upright and rubs fingers over the bridge of his curved nose. The way his voice sounds, as if it’s a chore to speak, tugs at me. All scrapey and... well I have no life experience with illness but I have plenty of data on it. Hank is definitely exhibiting symptoms of...something. And it’s making me feel again. A deep and clutching emotion, as if fingers were wrapped around my heart and squeezing.

“Hank, you should let me take your temperature. I can diagnose-”

Hank makes a gruff noise as he brushes past me to stand. “No thanks, Doctor Connor.” He stretches arms over his head and yawns, but the action makes him wince. He must have a sore throat as well.

His ‘doctor’ jab is a hit against practitioners as well as myself. Hank doesn’t like seeing doctors, especially for, as he calls it, “booboo kissing.” He made that reference when I had to give him stitches last week from a work-related gash.

It’s up to me again. And so I reach for his forehead, this time acting as quickly as I can. My fingers brush hot skin and I get the buzz of a reading before he can knock me away. 100.5°.

“What the fuck, Connor!?” he snarls at me, impaling me with a hard stare. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

I blink at him, unsure of how to respond. My chest feels like it’s constricted. Are my biocomponents under pressure?

“Hank you have a fever.”

“Don’t give a shit,” he says as he throws on a large tee.

“You should take fever reduction medication and get rest-”

“I’ll be fine, Connor. Ain’t my first cold.”

Hank turns to leave the room. I follow, feet padding across the carpet to shadow him. Hank takes a moment to pat Sumo on the head before he sees the state of the kitchen and pauses. His eyes fall onto the mound of cooked bacon, and he cranes his neck to squint at me.

“The hell is this?”

“Bacon. I know you like bacon. So I made bacon.”

Hank sighs. “Only bacon?”

“Yes.”

“All the bacon?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head.

I tilt my head, unsure of the problem. “Have I done something wrong?”

Another sigh. Hank looks at me and I can see his face soften. “Nah.” He runs a hand through his rangy hair and looks away. He takes two of the bacon slices and sticks them in his mouth, then slips one to Sumo. The dog inhales the meat, licking at Hank's fingers for good measure. 

I wait at the counter, fingers drumming on my thighs, watching Hank mill around the kitchen. I like watching Hank. Humans fascinate me sometimes. He opens the fridge and I hear bottles clink. I stiffen, knowing what he is reaching for. 

“Hank, you shouldn’t drink when you are ill.”

Hank links his gaze with mine, hands still busy pulling out a beer. He stares at me as he pops the top. Then he takes a swig and moves to grab the plate of bacon. He chows another slice on his way to the round table, moving to take a seat, chair creaking as his weight is pressed into it.

I am not sure what to say that wouldn’t upset him more. I don’t think he should be drinking, but if I say too much...will I make him mad? I don’t like making Hank mad.

“Dammit Connor,” he snaps at me, but not with the usual anger he directs at, say, Gavin. It’s more of a frustrated gnarled sound. I flinch at the swear, but he continues with a softer sound. “Sit down. I know you want to.”

I do want to, but I still struggle with etiquette. Human interactions are still awkward for me. I rarely know whether or not it’s okay to want something.

I take a seat across from Hank.

I watch him eat his bacon for a minute, doing my best to avoid scolding him for drinking, but every sip he takes makes my hardware whirr. I’m not the best at hiding my emotions, either. After polishing off most of the beer, Hank fixes me with a look.

“What?”

“N-nothing.”

But it isn’t nothing. I watch as Hank drags a knuckle across his sculpted hooked nose, the gnarled joint flashing the luster of moisture at me. He sniffles. My ears pick up the sound as if they were dedicating the noise to the score of a symphony.

What is happening right now?

Of course, I know the answer. I can feel my LED flickering with every breath Hank drags in. Each puff he releases. I count three.

Then, “HrRRRSHuuueh!” Hank bows forward, spritzing the back of his hand, decorating his skin with moisture from his expulsion.

Error 504

My processing unit blips. I lose temporal function for a moment. What am I looking at? Hank. Why? I think he just...sneezed? I run a diagnostic. I am functioning within parameters. But...something made me freeze up. Something gave me an error. What was that? Why am I sitting here again?

“Connor,” Hank’s gruff voice snaps me back to the present. “What are you staring at?”

I swallow, a reflex I’ve picked up from being a deviant. “S-sorry Lieutenant.”

Hank’s brow knits. He’s looking at me like I just rebooted. His voice is all curiosity and gravity. “You haven’t called me Lieutenant in weeks.”

I realize what he’s talking about and abruptly begin to feel bad. “S-sorry...Hank. I…” I’m not sure what else to say. There is no reason for my malfunction. Is there a glitch in my programming? Well, obviously yes. I am a deviant. But, could there be more? My diagnostic came back: sensory overload. What could be overloading me? I am sitting at the table watching Hank eat bacon. I do not see or hear anything that would cause a strain on my systems.

Yet…something did.

Hank once again snaps me out of my thoughts. “What’s on the itinerary today?”

I access the station’s cloud. “There is a witness for the serial killer case.”

Hank scoffs. “It’s not a fuckin serial killer.”

I sigh. We’ve had this discussion before. “There is no MO, no pattern, the deaths have all been random.”

“I’m tellin you, serial killers are rare as fuck. You get one in a blue moon. It’s also not our case. Gavin will pitch hell if we interfere.”

I nod. That is true. “We could check out that woman’s missing android.”

Hank fixes me with a calculating stare. “You know where it probably went.”

I do know. If it is a deviant, it would be on its way to find Markus.

I looked at the bacon plate, nigh untouched since his first few pieces. Perhaps I should have cooked something else.

“We could…” I fish the room for something, eyes locking onto a pinned menu of a local restaurant, “go get some Chinese food.”

Hank seems to perk up at that. “Now you’re talkin.” He stands and slides open a drawer to snag some takeout napkins and stuffs them in his pocket with a liquid sniff.

At least I am getting him out of the house before his second beer.

 

 

 

 

 

[Koumii]

On 1/2/2019 at 6:58 PM, Bananagirl said:

Even though Hank doesn’t normally get up until past 10, sometimes 11, I feel a pull to start the day. I shift uncomfortably, dipping my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. It is technically Hank’s hoodie, but he said I could have it.

It smells like him.

This is just the cutest, okay.  I will never not love a hoodie thief.  

On 1/2/2019 at 6:58 PM, Bananagirl said:

“Bacon. I know you like bacon. So I made bacon.”

Hank sighs. “Only bacon?”

“Yes.”

“All the bacon?”

“Yes.”

THIS EXCHANGE MAKES ME SMILE EVERY TIME IT'S JUST SO CUTE, Connor's so earnest and confident in his decisions haha.

On 1/2/2019 at 6:58 PM, Bananagirl said:

Then, “HrRRRSHuuueh!” Hank bows forward, spritzing the back of his hand, decorating his skin with moisture from his expulsion.

Error 504

Same honey, same.

This is such a lovely and charming start!!  I know I've flailed everything I could at you before, but I'm so in love with your portrayal of these two dorks ❤️  I couldn't be more excited to see where you take the plot too!!  

Btw, I didn't fully understand just how thirsty I was for that quality Hank content until you put this in front of my face.  Thank you for your service omg ❤️

[Guest]

Oh my God, I’m so in love with this! I seriously hope you’ll continue because everything about this is just great! 💕💕

I honestly hadn’t considered the idea of a fetish!Connor until now but wow, I’m all for it. The whole sensory overload thing is such an awesome way to go about it too!

I’m also really enjoying all the concepts you added for deviants adjusting to normal life! And all your writing is so in-character which makes literally all of this even better, ahhh!

Okay, I’m done screaming about your fic (for now). I also have to say though, I didn’t know I needed Hank content until now either...so yeah, thanks for that. 😆

[BananaFan]

Thank you both so much! Ahhh you make me smile with your wonderful praise!!

The next part is a WIP, but I'm inspired to continue through your compliments!! ^///^