bakerstreet | it's only a bad dream

[Hank's reassurance about his nose is similarly only somewhat comforting, but Connor decides to let it go for the moment; he doesn't think pressuring about it anymore will get anywhere at the moment, and it seems not to be an emergency, so for now explaining the situation might be best. The sooner that's done, the sooner he can try again in regards to fussing.

He's quiet at the question, his first inclination to deflect by correcting Hank on how the entire repair cycle works and therefore distance what happened from the concept of a dream, but... Some part of him doesn't want to. Some part of him is still shaken, even though he can't exactly remember why, just bits and pieces of actual scenes but the emotion that came with them is somehow still perfectly clear.]

...Yes. The malfunction causes an experience that is in many ways like a dream, from what I understand.

[Having never had a dream before and all, and just knowing of them in theory. And as for the 'hearing about this happening before' comment--]

I had heard stories about this occurring, but nothing I could confirm. Therefore it didn't seem important to mention.

Sucks that your first dream was so shitty, then. [ Said with no small amount of real sympathy. Connor's been on a very honest, albeit slow, journey since becoming deviant. Or 'free', really, which seems like a better word for it. Deviant doesn't sit well with Hank, anymore.

But Connor's had enough of a hard time just acclimating to having emotions at all. This sort of thing doesn't seem fair. Which is maybe a good life lesson, just - a rough one. Hank sighs. His hand had come off Connor's shoulder when he'd sat up more fully, out of range of Hank's reach.

Hank hesitates, but then - fuck it. ] There room up there for me? My knees aren't thrilled about the floor.

[Connor notices and appreciates the sympathy, even if he isn't sure if it's warranted or not. He's so used to things going wrong and being a struggle every step of the way, and therefore he doesn't really feel any sense of disappointment at his first dream being a nightmare. At least he doesn't think he does? It's more a resigned acceptance, with the hope that maybe next time will be better.

At the question he's pulled from his thoughts again, LED flickering yellow as he moves a little further into the corner of the couch, even though that's kind of a feat in itself.]

Yes, of course.

[It's Hank's couch anyway; of course there's room for him, and Connor already feels guilty enough both for waking him up and for apparently hitting him in the face.]

I'm sorry for all the inconvenience.

[He says it suddenly, and it sounds so programed that it almost makes him wince, especially since he genuinely means the sentiment.]

[ There's no of course as far as Hank's concerned; Connor's allowed (expected) to have his own preferences, even when in Hank's house. Especially when in Hank's house.

Hank gets up out of his awkward kneel, turning and dropping himself back onto the couch. They ride in cars together often enough - in fact at this point they've shared Hank's couch itself often enough - that the proximity feels completely normal.

It's only the still-distressed charge to the air that feels unnatural. Connor's tone and canned apology doesn't help, either. Hank watches him from the side, frowning at the stilted wording.

Connor's face isn't always the most expressive, but he looks like he means it, Hank thinks; looks unbalanced and a bit at a loss still. ] This isn't the sort of thing you have to apologize for, Connor. It's fine.

[ The only thing that could make it not fine, after all, is if Connor isn't okay. Hank's already asked him, though, and doesn't want to press too hard if he really is fine. So he sits on that question a bit longer, sighing. ]

You want me to clear out so you can get back to sleep? [ Hank knows it's not really 'sleeping'. ] Or you wanna find something to do for a bit? I know I can't-- I don't always like going right back to sleep, after.

I believe hitting you always warrants an apology, even if it was unintentional.

[And that's the part he realizes he feels true guilt about; the rest of it--waking up Hank, causing him to have to deal with a problem in the middle of the night--does prompt a little guilt, but most of the apology is really about hitting him and also just because Connor doesn't know how else to ease that strange feeling of tension in the air.

He's quiet a moment at the rest of what Hank says, trying to resist the urge to be pedantic about the 'it isn't sleeping' thing, and instead just focusing on the questions. What does he want? He doesn't think he plans to complete the maintenance cycle any time soon--he can deal with any inconveniences that might come of not doing so if it means he doesn't have to repeat the experience from earlier--but he really isn't sure what to do instead.

But with Hank's last admission, he finally decides to ask--]

What do you do?

[After a nightmare, to avoid going back to sleep. Connor realizes that asking means he's admitting this entire thing is upsetting to him, but as much as he doesn't want to say outright that he isn't okay just yet he doesn't necessarily have it in him to keep up the illusion of being fine. It's another one of those ways that emotions make everything complicated and confusing, he supposes.]

Yeah, but I'll live. [ Hank shrugs, leaning back into the couch. Waving off concern for his health is something he could - and does - do all day. It feels oddly friendly here and now, though - this is worlds away from trying to convince Connor he's no longer an alcoholic.

Although he makes the mistake of touching his nose again, and hisses softly to himself. Yeah, he's...definitely gonna have a killer bruise tomorrow. At least. ]

Oh. Uh. [ It's a sudden uneven spread of emotions - glad that Connor's admitting it's upset him enough to ask for help, uncomfortable for the spotlight he walked right into, uncertain how best to help. ] Depends. On...what kinda nightmare, on how I'm feeling. Um...

[ Hank looks off to the side, thinking it over. For all the hesitation in his speech, he doesn't shift away. He's not uncomfortable so much as just...out of practice. ] Read a book. Watch TV. Go for a walk with Sumo, sometimes, even when it's ass o'clock. Anything that helps burn through all that jittery energy, lets you unwind enough to think about something else.

[Connor is absolutely not convinced by Hank's assurances, especially at that hiss, but he decides to accept the response for now and continue fussing about it tomorrow, when they're both back in the normal rhythm of the day.

So instead, for now he just listens, watching Hank's reaction but not drawing any attention to his awkwardness or the unsure pauses. But at the list of options, Connor suddenly moves, uncurling himself from the couch in order to get to his feet all in one motion before turning to face Hank again.]

I want to take Sumo for a walk.

[The suggestion sounded good the moment Hank said it; Connor likes spending time with the dog, and he definitely needs to burn off energy, even if it's only emotional for him instead of physical. Connor's restless enough when he's feeling calm, let alone now, although he hadn't really recognized that as the issue until Hank put it into words.]

[ Well. Looks like giving out a list of options was actually a good idea. Hank's eyebrows go up in surprise and amusement, staring at Connor in the semi-dark. But then a smile pulls unevenly at his mouth, softening his expression. ]

Be my guest. I'm sure he's got no issues with that. Do you, buddy? [ The last of it is, of course, directed at Sumo, who was woken up by the noise earlier but isn't young enough or concerned enough to have gotten up yet. ]

Uh. [ Hank plants both hands on the couch, but hesitates short of hauling himself up. ] Want me to go with you two? Or I can just, uh. Stay and guard the house. [ Hank doesn't want to crowd. He also doesn't want to have Connor feel like he's got to stew all by himself. Maybe throwing out too many options isn't helpful, but it's all he can think to do. ]

[Connor goes to retrieve Sumo's leash, because now that he's standing up he wants to keep moving, but he looks back over at Hank at the last question and notes the hesitation in getting up.]

Do you want to come?

[He can't tell if Hank is just trying to give Connor the choice, or if he really would rather go, or maybe if he'd rather stay; a walk in the middle the night after getting punched in the face probably doesn't sound like a lot of fun, he'd imagine. But if Hank does want to come, Connor thinks he wouldn't mind the company and Sumo, of course, would be delighted to have them both there.]

[ Hank wasn't expecting the question to be turned back to him. But he also can't see any other way to answer it except by finally moving to stand. ]

I mean, don't expect me to make a habit out of it. [ Please don't add 'midnight walks' to the well-intentioned-nag list, Connor. ] ...But yeah. 'Course I do.

[ Hank's halfway through the living room before he remembers that he's in boxers and a very ratty, very faded shirt that says 'Knights of the Black Death' on it. He's got less of an issue with the latter than with the former. ] ...Just let me grab some pants. Don't need the neighbors calling the cops.

[ And off he'll half-stumble, to go grab some flannel pajama pants that he always gives up on actually sleeping in, when it's too warm inside. ]

[Don't tell him what to the nag list, okay, it's still woefully inadequate at eleven items.

He finds he's happier than expected when Hank says he wants to come, brightening a little despite the entire situation, and while Hank is fetching pants Connor convinced Sumo to get up; it takes some effort and many repetitions of the word 'walk' before it sinks into the dog's sleepy, relaxed brain and he perks up too. Connor attaches the leash and goes to retrieve his own shoes, pulling them on while he waits for Hank to return.]

[ The half-second of a potential smile that Hank thinks he sees on Connor's face, as he turns to leave, is enough to reassure him that this is absolutely worth sacrificing some sleep for.

And his nose.

Hank spares a glance at himself, stopping in the bathroom quickly on his way back (now featuring pants). There's already-dried blood in one nostril - and on his knuckles, which he rinses off. It's swollen and discolored, but he's also pretty sure his nose has looked worse before. If nothing else, he'd rather go walk Sumo with Connor than bother wasting away in a night shift ER for a non-lethal injury. ]

Okay, [ he starts, coming out of the bathroom and almost immediately tripping over Sumo's leash. ]

You two ready?

[Okay, next time he should probably wait to put Sumo's leash on until Hank's not in danger of tripping on it, but lesson learned and no harm done, it seems. Aside from the earlier harm, anyway, which he's definitely going to nag Hank about in the morning.

But for now he nods, picking up the leash and leading the way to the front door. As they step out, he registers that the temperature is low--no surprise, it's winter in Detroit--but the night is otherwise calm, not snowy or windy, which is a relief; the cold itself doesn't bother Connor physically or otherwise, but to say he isn't a fan of snowstorms would be an understatement. He remembers, just briefly, a flash from his 'dream', but shakes off the thought--as well as the thoughts of the Garden--as he turns back toward Hank.]

Are you warm enough?

[Sumo's already pawing at the snow, delighted by being outside, so it's obvious the dog's fine.]

[ Hank's stubborn and lazy, but even he respects Detroit winters. He crams on his shoes and puts on his coat while they're walking outside. ]

I'll live. [ He's lived here his whole life, he knows what temperature to expect. It's not so bad, although Hank hasn't been outside at one in the morning for anything aside from work in...a while. Years, probably.

Hank watches Connor, thinks he sees a flinch but isn't sure Connor needs to get called out. Instead he just walks up even with Connor, jostling him lightly with his shoulder. ] Why, worried I'm gonna freeze to death on you? Too fat for that. I'm insulated.

[ Hank that's not how that works. It's also clearly meant to be a light-hearted joke. ]

[Connor allows himself to move with the nudge, the contact grounding and reassuring as he watches Sumo bounce--or well, trudge with energy--through some snow drifts, the light of the streetlamps glittering off scattered snow. It's pretty.

But okay, that comment about insulation is so stupid and wrong that Connor can't help but give Hank a sideeye for it, even though he's entirely aware it's a joke. And the absurdity of it really is funny, for some reason, especially the more he thinks about it, and the sideeye quickly turns into an eyeroll instead.]

Your insulation must be inconvenient in the summer.

[Going by the false premise that it would keep him that warm and all.]

Sure is, [ agrees Hank, with the fake long-suffering sigh of someone who's actually fully enjoying himself.

It's nice seeing Connor joke. He's getting better at it, too, something Hank considers saying but thinks better of. Sometimes it's best to just enjoy shit.

Not all the street lamps are actually lit, because it's Detroit, but the moon's bright and high in the sky and, quite frankly, Hank's not too paranoid considering he's walking next to a danger-robot and a dog that weighs half as much as he does.

He's on the wrong side to check Connor's LED, a fact Hank realizes too late to make the switch graceful, so he doesn't bother trying. Instead he shifts a bit, hands into his pockets, and just asks, ] Does walking-- do anything for you? If that's not rude as hell to ask. I know you don't actually get tired.

[It might be a little rude, maybe, but they know each other well enough at this point that a prying question here and there really isn't a big deal. Even if it were, Connor knows he still owes Hank a slightly ridiculous number of personal questions at this point.

So he's quiet a few seconds as he considers how honest to be, watching Sumo investigate every snowdrift and street light and scraggly bush he can find as they walk.]

It's giving me something to focus on, other than my thoughts.

[It's an honest answer, if not a detailed one, but Hank's right; he doesn't get tired, and because of that there's no built-in, eventual stopping point for his thoughts. When he fixates on something, there's no exhaustion or need to sleep that will pull him out of it, and so distraction is the only really effective thing he's found to keep himself from dwelling.

So yes, the walk is helping, although he knows the effect might not last. But maybe it will; it's emotionally calming, and perhaps that'll have its own effect on his thinking. He's still getting used to how it all fits together.]

it's only a bad dream

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