Chapter Text
When Connor came to, he was in a world of pain. His head felt like it had exploded, thoughts slow and sluggish as his processors struggled to adjust to consciousness.
He opened his eyes, and suppressed a gasp as he did. His eyelids actually slid open, eyelashes fluttering to clear the tears away as he looked up at a dreary gray ceiling and thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He tried to sit up, but found he couldn’t. His muscles tensed, feeling flowing in from his limbs, but they wouldn’t move or let him rise off the bed.
A sob caught in his throat, and he couldn’t stifle the high-pitched whine that came with feeling a weight pressing down over his body, covering him from toe to neck. His sensors quickly fed him information, being that he was tied down and secured to a soft surface. But he was suffocating, and his breath was sticking in his chest. He couldn’t suck in enough air to cool down his rapidly-overheating systems, stress levels approaching the high 90s.
Until a hand stroked his hair, gently brushing it out of his face.
A bearded man appeared above him, eyes tired but gentle.
“You’re alright, son. You’re alright.”
By his ears, he heard straps disengaging, and then suddenly he was free. He shot up as quickly as he could, ignoring the way the room spun as he did, and wrenched his body towards the man beside him.
“Hank?”
The man grinned, his eyes crinkling as he did, a brilliant light chasing away some of the shadows.
Connor was quickly wrapped up in his arms, pressing his face into a garishly-colored shirt that smelled like whiskey, coffee, and wet dog, and was so unmistakably Hank that Connor found himself sobbing all over again.
“It’s okay, kid, let it out. It’s alright, I’m right here. You’re safe now,” Hank soothed, his hand rubbing gently up and down Connor’s back, the other tangled in his hair.
It was surreal, the feeling of Hank’s shoulders hitching with his own half-sobs under Connor’s hand, the tickle of his beard against the top of his head, the way he clutched him so tightly to his chest. After so long, weeks, maybe months, of being suspended in his own body, feeling anything that wasn’t pain was welcome. Being able to move his own hands to fist the fabric of Hank’s shirt felt unnatural, as if his body wasn’t quite his.
“I…. I….” He couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t get his words out passed his overwhelmed vocal processors.
“I know, son, I know. Everything is gonna be okay.”
Hank was not typically an affectionate man, but being held like this felt natural. It coincided with all the images Markus had shown him of Hank. He’d had no feeling in his body when Hank had held him, or tucked him in, or stroked his hair before, but there was no denying how familiar it felt anyways.
“H….Hank.”
“I got you, Connor, I got you.”
Hank continued to soothe and rock him, not seeming to want to let go of Connor either. He had no idea how long they sat there, wrapped around each other like seaweed, half-laughing and half-crying together, before Connor finally pulled back to look around the room. Hank kept an arm around his shoulders, steadying him, while his other hand clasped his fingers over an external power source.
Connor’s attention was drawn back to his arm, down to where the cords protruded from his fingers, but froze when he saw the numbers littering his flesh. With the blanket peeled back, a sickening feeling rose in his throat.
Property of CyberLife.
With gut-wrenching clarity, his mind fed him the events that took place before he was deactivated again. He saw himself firing, shooting Markus, not once but twice. He felt the cold bite of the metal under his chin, heard the thud of heavy bodies hitting the floor. All while his mind screamed the translation of the binary code that was burned into his flesh.
PROPERTY OF CYBERLIFE.
What had he done?!
He wasn’t free. He wouldn’t ever be free! He’d almost killed Markus! He used Hank to get to his gun!
His flesh felt like it was still smoldering under his stare. In a distant memory, he could smell melting plastic.
You’re just another tool, another soulless machine for the taking.
Amanda!
He saw her grin, heard her laugh when the pain overwhelmed his body and he couldn’t move again. Only, he was. And in his memory, he felt his hand close over the cold steel of the gun. Felt his finger flex on the trigger.
I’m a monster.
“Connor? Connor!” Hank was calling him, and he realized he was clawing at his flesh, trying to peel away the message. If he had to, he’d claw his way right to his coding, wash away CyberLife’s claim with the rush of thirium over his wrists. He would never hurt someone for them again. He would never be their puppet again!
Warning messages popped up on his vision, letting him know he was taking damage.
PROPERTY OF CYBERLIFE.
Warning: Thirium levels at 65%
PROPERTY OF CYBERLIFE
Warning: Structural damage sustained. Thirium levels at 54%.
PROPERTY OF CYBERLIFE
Warning: Thirium levels at 41%.
PROPERTY OF CYBERLIFE.
CONNOR.
Someone was holding him, someone that wasn’t Hank. His wrists were held in an iron grip, one white hand wrapped around his own, dripping blue.
Markus?
Visible relief emanated from him, and Connor vaguely realized Markus had forced an interface, slipped past his defenses and invaded his consciousness. But he didn’t feel violated. This was Markus. This was the man who sat with him in the garden and showed him snippets of the outside world while the snow threatened to bury them both. This was the man who stepped between Connor and his worst nightmare. This is the man who endured Connor’s pain with gritted teeth and smiled anyways, because he wasn’t going to close their interface for something as small as pain.
I’m here, Connor, I’m here. Do you know where you are?
They… they…..
I know. I know, but it’s alright.
I…… I SHOT you!
It wasn’t you, Connor. It wasn’t your fault.
The voice in his mind was sincere, passing calm and serenity through the connection, though Connor could feel the frantic thrum of Markus’ thirium pump beneath his forced calm. But it was enough. Slowly, he matched his breathing to Markus, focusing on the feeling of air flowing in and out of his lungs after so long of not being able to breathe. His processors slowed, allowing him to process the other inputs from his senses. He saw Hank, covered in blue blood, speaking to someone at the door, taking another blanket. He saw Markus, pressing a strip of bandage to his wrist, arms positioned in such a way to block out Connor’s view of his own arm. Unless he went looking for it, he wouldn’t find CyberLife’s message.
That’s it. Good. Any better?
Connor nodded, exhaustion flowing through his body as thirium warnings continued to flash in front of his eyes. He dropped his head onto Markus’ shoulder, allowing his eyes to close as he pressed his face into the android, breathing in his scent for the first time.
In his mind, Markus hadn’t had a scent. But somehow, it was exactly what Connor had expected. Paint, spring air, and thirium. The last one should have been more concerning, but Connor’s sluggish processors couldn’t wrap their mind around the issue. Of course Markus would smell like thirium, whether it was his blood or the blood of his people, he’d only ever seen Markus inside of his head, or in the throes of battle.
I’m sorry.
Once the gate opened, Connor couldn’t seem to close it. His tears flowed anew, and he was helpless to stop them, to stop the thoughts pouring out of him.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“Shhhhh, Connor, it wasn’t your fault. Just breathe, you’re safe now. It’s over. It’s all over.”
He felt Markus breath pass over his ear and shuddered.
It wasn’t over. It would never be over.
You should restrain me, again, so I can’t hurt anyone.
Do you think you are going to hurt yourself again?
No, Connor shook his head against Markus’ shoulder for extra emphasis, but I might hurt you.
Hush, I trust you. You had the chance to shoot me, remember? You put the gun to your own head instead.
The feeling of cold metal under his chin…. The bite of the steel against his finger. One plunge, and it would be over. He would be free…..
Come back to me, Connor. You’re not there.
I’ll always be there.
Markus had his arm wrapped around Connor’s shoulder now, the other one still pressing the bandage to his wrist, even though the bleeding had probably stopped by now. He felt Connor trembling against him, felt the swell of his panic ebb and flow with Markus’ ministrations. How his heart ached. Of course Connor had woken up before he could be there, of course they hadn’t thought how he would react to seeing his skin….
I’m right here. Stay with me.
But what about….
Connor held up his other arm in Markus’ line of vision, never moving his face from where it was buried into his shirt.
PROPERTY OF CYBERLIFE.
It doesn’t matter to me. It never has. It’s just words, Connor. They don’t own you. Not anymore. You broke free.
He poured his own memories into Connor’s mind. The gun under his chin, again, but this time with Markus swell of pride and awe at Connor’s strength. The other android seemed flustered at this flood of praise, and shook his head again.
But did I break free forever? Or just that once? And that doesn’t change the fact that now, whenever anyone looks at me, all they will see is…..
You’re just another tool, another soulless machine for the taking.
The voice wasn’t Connor’s, and Markus recognized it as Amanda’s, the woman he had met briefly in the wasteland. What else had she fed him? He could only imagine Connor, trapped and unable to move or get away, as she filled his head with lies. The thought hurt. He should have protected him. Should have realized sooner. Should have spent more time in Connor’s prison with him….
A sob against his shoulder stilled his thoughts, and he pressed Connor closer to him, tucking his head underneath his chin. He’d held him like this so many times in his prison, but it was different now that Connor could move. Arms circled his chest, holding onto him tightly, bandage dropped and forgotten on the floor.
You are not a tool, Connor. You are alive. Every bit as alive as me. No matter what they did, what they MADE you do, it was not your fault. You are not, and never have been, a machine. You may not have always been in control of yourself, but that doesn’t make you a machine. You do have a soul. I’ve felt it. Hank has seen it. You’ve touched so many hearts, and you haven’t even met most of them yet. You are GOOD, Connor, so good. It wasn’t your fault. God, none of it was your fault.
He felt the disbelief prick at Connor’s thoughts, felt the rush of guilt and self-hate that followed, but Connor didn’t argue anymore. A quick check of his vitals showed his thirium levels were worryingly low.
I’m tired.
Would you like to go back to sleep?
Hank was watching them from the doorway, eyes indiscernible. In his hands, he held two bags of thirium. Nora must have stopped by when Markus was comforting Connor.
I’m scared.
Markus got a flash of everything going black, and then waking up in CyberLife’s prison, the wasteland that had been Connor’s own personal hell for months. He knew what Connor was afraid of. After what he’d been through, anyone would be.
How about I stay until after you fall asleep? I’ll make sure you stay safe, here, where they can’t find you.
Markus pushed Connor up, reaching for the blanket to tuck it over his arms and shoulders first, before cupping his chin and tilting his head up. It took a moment for Connor to open his eyes, but when he did, he met Markus’ gaze with his own anguished look, and nodded. . And this was the face of a man who had been tortured for months, for the crime of not killing his own people, for not bringing their enemy down upon their heads. All of this, was because Connor had been so much braver and so much stronger than any of them had ever thought to give him credit for. When Rupert escaped, and Kara, it seemed to be an act of chance. With the Tracis, a random slip of judgment. Why had they never thought, even for a moment, that Connor had already deviated? That he would be punished for helping his people?
They’d failed him from the very beginning.
Drink some thirium, then you can sleep. I’ll be right here, and Hank is here too.
Connor nodded, breaking his eyes away to watch as Hank approached the bed, seeming to know instinctively that they were nearing the end of their private conversation.
“Hey kid, you doing a little better?”
Connor nodded, shame creeping into his eyes, but Hank had none of it. He pulled Connor into a rough hug, only slightly less desperate than their first one had been.
“I’m sorry,” Connor said miserably. Hank pulled back and parked himself in his chair, swatting Connor’s words away like annoying flies.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there. You’ve had a rough go. Just drink these, and get some rest. We’ll take care of the rest. Right, Markus?”
Markus met his eyes with a nod, watching as Connor looked between them, seemingly confused about when their relationship had spawned.
“Don’t look so confused, son. While you’ve been getting your beauty sleep, Markus and me have been getting to know each other.”
Connor smiled at Hank’s understatement of his situation. In what might have bristled Markus as an insult to what he’d been through, Connor saw the worry and affection behind it, and laughed. It was small, barely a grin, but it was there. And it was exactly what they all needed. The tension in the room dissipated, and both Markus and Hank relaxed as they watched Connor quickly drain both packs of thirium, being careful to keep the extra blanket Hank had brought over his arms as he moved them. Someday, he would need to get used to his own skin, but today was not that day. Honestly, Markus was impressed at how well he was adjusting. He’d spent months in Hell, only to break free and lose control of his body again, nearly needing to kill himself just to ensure the safety of others, and then woke up again to realize his body had been marked by his tormentors. It would be a lot for anyone, yet here he was. Able to smile, able to laugh. Damaged, but as unbroken as ever.
Markus wished he had that kind of strength.
“Ready to try and sleep?” Markus asked once Connor had passed Hank the empty packs.
“Technically, I don’t sleep. I enter standby so my body can self-regulate….”
“Spare me the article, and just take a nap, kid,” Hank groaned good-naturedly. Connor shot him another grin. There was something sad underneath his smile still, but it wasn’t enough to overpower it completely.
Connor laid down, and Hank tucked him in like always, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Sitting on the bed beside him, Markus was the only one who saw Connor’s hand press into his leg, skin showing white in a silent request.
As subtle as he could, Markus brushed Connor’s hand with his own, and completed the interface. He didn’t press into the other’s thoughts this time, instead just providing what North often did for him, a peripheral awareness. Someone who was just there. If Connor needed anything, he had only to send the thought in Markus’ direction, and he would be there.
Not surprisingly, considering the strain put on his systems, Connor slipped into standby mode with little effort. His LED cycled a steady yellow. Not blue, as it should be, but anything was better than the red that had seemed constant.
Markus marked down the image of Connor sleeping peacefully, with Hank resting his head on the side of the bed, snoring loudly, in his inspiration database. He’d be painting this later, along with Connor’s laugh, and the way he had smiled in the garden when he first moved. These moments, these little times where no one was being hurt or shot or chased, he wanted to preserve forever.