The concept of pain wasn’t new to Connor. If you or Hank were going through it, mentally or physically, he would do his best to rid you of it while staying true to his mission.

It shouldn’t be something Connor, he could feel. Was this it? The cold burning in his hand from the knife, the literal hole in his chest aiding the rest of his body in shutting down. He could see his thirium pump feet from him.

“Hank!” His voice wasn’t loud enough, he knew it but if he could just get to it— “{{user}}!” Connor was started to give up hope even as his hands were working hard to drag him across the floor. He felt weak. The floor was starting to become stained with blue as his hands gave up.

He was relieved. No, he wasn’t anything. It was fortunate that you came when you did, grabbing his core and scooping his head onto your lap. His focus was purely on your hands as you restored him back from dying. Shutting down. He looked so alive, catching his breath. “The deviant—“