detroit: become human oneshots

if it's alive, it will do anything - hank/connor

SUMMARY: Connor finds Hank passed out on the floor and takes care of him.
WORD COUNT: 5117

Connor had arrived at the Lieutenant's house to find the man unconscious on the ground. So, naturally, he hurtled himself through a window without a second thought as an attempt to save the man, despite it costing CyberLife.

Even knowing Hank could take care of himself, Connor felt something akin to nausea– if androids could even feel anything of the sorts– when he saw Hank collapsed on the ground. He landed on the kitchen tile with a concerning thump, though he felt no pain even as he scurried away from the dog that greeted him. He backed away on all fours and held up his hands defensively.

"Easy... Sumo," Connor said, remembering the dog's name that Hank had told him at the station. "I'm your friend, see? I know your name, I'm here to save your owner."

Connor found his mouth upturned in a smile, which was entirely foreign to him, so he forced it down into something more neutral even as the dog sniffed him. Sumo huffed and walked away, going instead to eat his food and Connor felt relief wash over him. He stood up, immediately going over to check on Hank. Something in him knew that even if it wasn't part of his mission, he would have checked on the man regardless.

Connor knelt to examine Hank, using his analysis software. He scanned the bottle of Black Lamb that Hank had clearly been drinking from and detected 40% alcohol content. Seeing how much was drained from the bottle- which he realized had only been opened recently- Connor felt concern twinge in his chest. That much alcohol shouldn't be drunk in such large portions.

A wave of dread came over him when he scanned the revolver and found that there was one bullet left. His reconstruction software booted up without him realizing, and before he could stop it, a simulation appeared in front of him. Hank, falling off of the chair and onto the floor, the gun falling out of his hand. One bullet. Connor swallowed, though it was entirely unnecessary.

There were still two clues left to analyze, said his analysis software, so he glanced over to Hank's chest, and tracked the man's heartbeat. Other than slight arrhythmia, there was nothing particularly concerning. It only slightly alleviated his worries, though; the simulation his reconstruction software had played out in front of him was plaguing his mind.

Connor scanned the last clue, which was the traces of scotch whiskey that remained around Hank's mouth. Connor licked his lips involuntarily, resisting the strange urge to get a better analysis of the alcohol. His software, ever helpful, provided "ETHYLIC COMA SUSPECTED."

"Lieutenant?" Connor attempted, and his tone hardly expressed the concern he was feeling for the drunken man. He shook the man gently, which only got him incoherent grumbling. "Wake up, Lieutenant!"

Hank opened his eyes, hardly looking around the room before closing them again. Connor shook him more roughly this time, and Hank grunted.

"It's me, Connor," He said uselessly, moving to help Hank up. "I'm going to sober you up for your own safety. I have to warn you, this may be unpleasant."

"Hey!" Hank interrupted. "Leave me alone, you fuckin' android! Get the fuck outta my house!"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I need you," Connor said, continuing to help Hank up. Though he was referring to the report of a murder at the Eden Club, he feared the truth in his words. "Thank you in advance for your cooperation."

Connor attempted to play off his words and he couldn't tell if it worked or Hank was too drunk to notice them anyway.

"Hey! Get the fuck outta here!" Hank slurred, hardly able to stay standing even with Connor's arm firmly around him. Connor lifted him, at which he yelled something incoherent, and he had to dedicate an embarrassing amount of his processing power to not lose the synthskin on the hand that held Hank's.