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[bleps]

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[bleps]

[This is without a doubt a very drunk text. And as always, Connor frowns down at it.]

I can’t “detect” why things here are fantastical, Hank. Beyond the plain explanation that different worlds and universes apparently abide by wildly different rules than our own.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

bunch of hullshit is what it is u kno as well as o do this cant b eeal

[bleps]

Is that your [DRUNKEN] theory? That none of this is real?

Unfortunately it is, Lieutenant. But I would suggest that you try to look at the positive aspects of being here, rather than focusing on the negative.

cw for incoming discussion of a past suicide attempt

[fuck1ngusernam3]

fuck ir positifity hllshit. of course u wld h 1 of those ppl. u kno sumtimes shit iust sidks i mean i fuess ir makes sense tha id aee YOU buy whys my mind got 2 hand meballbthis freaky bullshit b4 i go like if this is the life flash n h4 ur eyes thinf i wantb2 akip the era whe e i watched kidw whows we can just cut 2 black alreqsy

[bleps]

[Hank's texting makes it hard for even an android to completely put it all together; but Connor does it, pulling out context and mentally deleting a stray letter here and there. He's able to explicate it with only a half-second delay.

And then another half-second, met with confusion.]

Hold on, what do you mean, "before I go"?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

hold on2 wat lifes always topsty turvy wen ur brainsead ha ha

[bleps]

You're not dead, Hank.

[The other man can't see it, but his frown deepens, and the next message comes quickly without time for him to respond.]

Why would you think that?

[He asks without having to. The memory rising to the surface as if it were starving for air; that night in Hank's kitchen.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

fuck y wldnt i. i tuess u sayin that means some part od me rememvered im chicken tho wldnt that h funny

[bleps]

[Connor doesn't consider any of this particularly humorous. Hank's self-destructive tendencies are hard to navigate around, always prevalent in the man; sometimes subtle, sometimes not. The last time he even briefly mentioned this subject, he wasn't met with a very kind reception.

He makes the calculated risk to do it again anyway. For the sake of clarity, because all of this is real. He's real.]

When I found you that night, you had passed out due to overconsumption of alcohol. By doing so, you avoided an unfortunate outcome. The bullet was in the next chamber of the cylinder.

Astoria took you from before I had woken you up. You were very much still alive. I thought we had already established this timeline.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

connir you cant proce wat ur sayin is real hy sqying u remember wat ur sating being real thats mot how logic woerks. udbthinkbi wld come up wba herrer story than that

fick i think i juwst ran out atain

[bleps]

["connir"..... god, Hank, you really don't need to drink any more.]

How is it fair that I have to bear the burden of proof in this instance?

[Except Connor knows that since he's the one making the claim, it does lie squarely on his shoulders to produce evidence. That's the difficult part; how does one prove that time has gone all wobbly and that he's experienced things that Hank hasn't?]

Can't you just trust me when I say that you were fine?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

askin meb2 trust u is hilaeious on multiple lefela lefela

l e v e l s fuck it

hey logizc bot was hink u can logic out whixh 1s

[bleps]

You don't trust me?

[The rest of Hank's almost indecipherable texting is ignored for this question.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

chrjst drinkinf this much is suppised 2 stip me feelinf guilty u fuxj

i nefer said i didnt trust u gode u can stop with the face. whatefer face ur makinf srop ir

[bleps]

[He is 100 percent making the face.]

You just wrote that asking you to trust me is humorous. It shouldn't be.

I wouldn't lie about any of this.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

no kid ur sense od humoe rlly is fucked isnt it. its notbdunny cause me trustinf YOU it’s funny bc ME trusting u its finny cause im a

this whole place is hist rlly goddamn funny all a ound

[bleps]

[There's that self-deprecation again, and Hank's explanation doesn't do much to comfort Connor.]

Because you're a what?

cw discussion of suicide

[fuck1ngusernam3]

bc im a spexial kind of moron who st ps into the same ttrapsbtwice andbthe sexond time i definitely knew berrer thats the whole reason imbhere

hey what do you think would happen if i did hace that gin with me do u thinkbthat wold make eferything stop fasrer or would all this tirn into somethinf weireder and worse


[bleps]

Hank, you're drunk. Please stop talking like that.

That's not a hypothetical that I'm willing to even entertain, much less discuss. Where are you right now?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

trapped in this owl creek bridfge shit riding alonf with you until my brain rins our of gas. why do you want to knowbdobyou want to investigate something oh part ner of mine

[bleps]

No. I’d just like to see you in person [when you’re like this] and I thought I would ask.

You’re in your room, I assume?

[It’s likely. It’s where Hank is fond of retreating to drink, he’s noted.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[His room is private - when the door’s not open to let Sumo in and out, anyway - and it’s where he keeps his shit. He wouldn’t be anywhere else.

At the moment it’s not open, so it is private, and Sumo’s plopped in front of it, having come back some time after Hank shut himself in.]

assume whatefer you wanr i xant fuckinf srop yiu i cant stop anythinf in this fuxking place

[If Connor does try to come in the door is unlocked. Hank will be on the bed slumped against the wall, doodling on said wall in the ash from the end of the stick he’d been dragging along the halls in his video earlier.]

[bleps]

[Connor doesn’t reply to this text, deciding instead to make his way directly to Hank’s room. When he arrives, he finds the door shut and Sumo plopped on the ground against it, in that way animals do when they clearly want in somewhere but are barred by a closed door and lack of opposable thumbs.]

Hey Sumo. [He says lightly and — ignoring decorum, because what’s the point of knocking when Hank is like this? — he opens the door. Eyes peer in, but first he lets Sumo through, if the canine is so inclined.]

Lieutenant?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Funny, that you still call me that.

[Sumo perks up and makes his way in and Hank doesn't look over at either of them, just keeps tracing over the older lines of ash on the wall next to him. He doesn't need hand-eye coordination to do this - he's been here long enough that he's redrawn this shit plenty of times by now.]

You really think it still means anything, or do you just like saying it?

[bleps]

[Connor follows just behind Sumo, but his eyes never pull away from Hank on his bed, who’s tracing something into the wall with ash.]

Because you’re a Lieutenant. Do you think that changes just because we’re no longer in Detroit? Am I no longer an investigative android, by that logic?

[But Connor’s voice has lost a small degree of its usual emphatic delivery. The rhetoric is a little quieter, tossing out a scan over Hank without saying as much, to check his status.

Said scan blossoms past the man and to the drawings on the wall, too, by their very nature. And Connor pulls his gaze away to see what he’s sketching.]