The Ginger Ale Fiasco
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson
Tags: Sickfic, hurt/comfort, swearing, self-sacrificial androids, fluff, domesticity, father son relationship
Summary: Connor will do anything to look after Hank when he’s unwell, including going to the store for him in the height of winter in nothing but his shirt and trousers.
But that’s fine. Because androids don’t get sick… right?
Read it on AO3! Or, read below!
Connor didn’t envy being human. Sure, he appreciated the ability to feel emotions and live life somewhat like them, but there were a multitude of limiting factors affecting them that didn’t bother androids. Humans were easily injured, they couldn’t have parts simply replaced, they had to eat and drink, among other various daily tasks. And another thing, they got sick.
All in all, he didn’t see the need to have any of these things to be considered alive. Sure, he didn’t mind the recent developments in android food and drinks, because it allowed him to experience the pleasure of taste. However, he couldn’t say he wanted any of the other features of humanity, thank you very much.
Being sick was a key one he was glad to never have to experience.
Or so he thought.
It had been a regular winter’s afternoon at the DPD, when Hank had groaned for the fifteenth time in the hour before standing up on wobbly feet.
“Fuck this. I feel like shit.”
“I have noticed a slight rise in your core body temperature- it would be advisable to go home and rest.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you at home.”
But Connor hadn’t let him get far.
“No, Lieutenant. You’re in no state to drive. You’re coming with me.”
“That’s mildly threatening.”
“I’ll become worse if you don’t follow my instructions, Hank. Come on.”
It wasn’t long before they were back home, and Connor had bundled Hank into bed with one too many fluffy blankets. The android fretted to make sure he had light food, water, a damp cloth—
“Jesus Con, I’ve got a cold, I’m not dying.”
“Okay…”
“I’m not! I’m—” he paused, coughing into his arm, “—not that old.”
“Whatever you say.”
Hank watched him as he fussed over something or other at his bedside. “You know what, whenever you… you say that, I don’t think you’re fuckin’ listening.”
“Of course.”
Hank groaned. “Look, just leave. I’ll be fine. Go—do something more fun. Let me congeal in peace.”
Connor sighed, stopping at the doorway. “If you insist. But I’ll be right in the other room if you need anything!”
“Whatever.”
The android rolled his eyes as he walked back into the sitting room. “Hank’s a grouch when he’s sick,” he told Sumo, “I can’t blame him though. It must suck.”
Sitting and… doing something more interesting (just sitting there, worrying), turned out to be incredibly boring. His mind immediately strayed to ways to help Hank feel better and suddenly, something shone out to him.
“We don’t have any ginger ale at home. Or crackers. What if he feels too ill to eat? I haven’t prepared for all eventualities. I’ll be right back, Sumo. I’ve got to go to the store.”
And so, Connor was once again out of the house, wrapped in nothing more than his shirt and trousers, when he realised, it was really fucking cold.
“Goddamn.” He swore under his breath, bringing his arms around his middle. “It’s really fucking cold.”
Indeed it was. He shrugged mentally, continuing his journey. The store wasn’t too much further away. Besides, he was an android. He may be able to sense the cold now, as a deviant, but it didn’t matter. He was built for this.
He was not built for this. He came back home with a light dusting of snow on his shoulders and fingers feeling frozen to the bones. The warnings in his head about the low temperature had given up being red and blaring, instead sitting at the back of his mind, judging him.
But it was fine. He had the crackers, and the—
Fuck, he’d just dropped the ginger ale on the floor. Somehow his frozen fingers had dropped the bag and something had broken the cans. Fizzy yellow liquid began to spill out. But alas, he didn’t have to worry—Sumo was here! To try and make even bigger of a mess by licking it!
“S-stop! Sumo!”
He groaned, grabbing the cans, and throwing them in the sink before scrambling for a dish cloth so he could mop it up. Sumo had, fortunately, sensed his lack of patience and walked away with his head hung low. Connor groaned, sinking to his knees, which made a strange cracking noise on the ground. There went that damn warning again. Cold temperature… screw it, he had a task to do. On the ground. Which felt… awfully nice… for a little sleep…
Which was rudely disturbed by someone shaking him awake. He grimaced as he came back to, feeling the sticky fizzy drink soaked into his shirt, where he had… laid on it.
“Mmmph…”
“Connor, the hell are you doing? This is my damn floor!”
That got him up, back onto his knees where he swayed, gyroscope recalibrating.
“Huh…”
Hank was looking down at him, nose red, eyes full of anger and confusion and concern.
“Goddamn, that’s gonna be hard to wash out of your clothes. Your job.”
“Hm.”
Hank knelt down a little, sniffing, before waving a hand in front of Connor’s face.
“Hello. Hello? Earth to Connor? Anyone in there?”
“Hank.”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What do you want?”
“…Well, I was wondering where you were and then I found you on the kitchen floor, sleeping in what looks like a pool of… ginger ale?”
“Hmm. Was it nice?” Connor asked.
“What?”
“The ginger ale.”
“I didn’t fucking taste it—whatever. You seem… odd. Odder than usual.”
“Thank you.”
Hank glanced at the side of his head.
“Your LED thing’s red. You, uh, injured?”
“No. I do appear to have a… a rather low core temperature, however.”
Hank paused, looking to the bag on the floor, and then to the front door.
“You went outside.”
“Yes.”
“Without a coat?”
“I wasn’t going to be long.”
“Goddamn, you’ve made yourself sick.”
Connor laughed and brushed Hank’s hand away, trying to stand up by himself. He stumbled into Hank’s chest. “I’m not sick. Androids don’t get sick. I’m in the peak of health!”
“Yeah, alright, and that’s why you look worse than me. Come on… I guess we both got to sleep this off.”
“You don’t understand. I’m fine. I look after you. You—” he attempted to push Hank away. “You go and rest. I’ll go out and buy more ginger ale.”
“What is it, with the ginger ale?”
“Humans need it.”
“I fucking hate it.”
“Oh.”
With the opportunity open, Hank managed to push Connor into his room, before gesturing to his bed. “C’mon. I assume sick androids need what sick humans do.”
“I’m not—ugh. Whatever.” Connor sat on the side of his bed. “There we go. Now you, you go and rest.”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not sure I can trust you not to do somethin’ dumb while I’m in the other room. Now scooch other.”
“Excuse me?”
Hank gestured to the bed. “I’m sleepin’ here today. If that’s okay with you.”
Connor sighed, getting into his bed and making the necessary space for Hank to join him. “Fine. But I don’t need to be here, you know. I’m fine.”
“Say that without your LED doing a lightshow and your eyes looking tired as shit, and I’ll believe you. Now, sleep.”
“Yes, dad.”
Connor had meant to say that with a snarky tone, not unlike that of a teenager who was berating their nagging parent for worrying too much. Instead the word got choked up in his throat and left an awkward silence hanging in the air.
“I mean, I don’t, I—”
“Get some rest, son. I need it. My head’s killing me.”
But despite his grouchiness, Hank laid back against the pillows with a smile on his face.
11 notes
·
View notes