Whatever the hell that means here. We don’t have “deviants,” or whatever, to hunt here. What does being “assigned” to me even mean to you?

[Hank is half-turned away from Connor now. Arms across his chest in these stupid floppy robes of his.]

‘Cause to me, it means we’re partners. And we can be partners whether or not you deviate. You having free will doesn’t change that.

[Unless Connor’s deviation ends up leading to him no longer wanting that. Which would be fair.

Sad, maybe, but fair.]

[Hank’s brow furrows. Lips parting and pressing together as he chews over that one word.

Family.

It might complicate things even further if he admits that’s where he’d been, mentally, back in his own world. Wanting that. And were they family? Hank doesn’t know, might never know.

Regardless, it’s the Connor here in front of him that matters now.]

You are. [He leans his head back against the bookshelf.] That’s how I see it, anyway. You’re my family. You and Sumo.

So that’s why I want you to have free will. And why I’m not gonna kick your ass.

And you don’t wanna hurt me either, right? Family, and all that. That’s why I wanted you to take off those robes earlier — you getting hurt is something that hurts me, too. That’s why I want you to stay safe.

[Hank has wanted to say these things for what feels like a lifetime.

It just took losing Connor a million times to push him to this point.]

And — [his shoulders sag in relief] — using my name sounds good, yeah. Real good. Little weird for family to be calling each other by their titles, right?

Sure thing, Con. [Hank says this even as he wants to grumble about how it wasn’t nice of him, not nice at all, but for once: he silences the contrarian in him.]

You keep that up — the whole “staying safe“ thing — and we’ll get through this just fine.

[He’ll have to ask Connor what he wants to do about this whole Aurora thing. Echo-whatever.

But for now, Hank is just... happy? Dare he allow himself to feel this way, lest Aurora-Echo-whoever snatch it away?]

[Does it make Hank a bad person that he himself has no intention of staying safe?

Probably. But Connor doesn’t need to know about that.

Connor’s safety is the priority. Between him and Sumo, Hank will probably have his hands full.]

Good. Glad we got that settled. [And Hank will remind him of this! Every chance he gets!!

He straightens up. Looks over at Connor’s smile — which makes the corners of Hank’s lips curl up in a dopey grin, too.]

You grab your pearl thing and let's get the fuck out of the “People” section, yeah?

Of-fucking-course it is.

[Hank remembers the directory... vaguely.]

You really wanna tempt fate there, huh, Connor? Really want to just walk into a room that oh-so conveniently labels itself hell?

Uh.

[Nice to have that heart to heart, or whatever, then Connor’s ready to throw himself into the Spider room.

This doesn’t sound ominous at all.]

You know what? Sure. Knock yourself out. Just don’t go licking anything in there.

[Please, Connor. Please.]

[Hank doesn’t know if his stupid robes of creeping are helping at all, but he — unlike Connor — at least hasn’t been wrapped up like a spider taquito.

Yet.

Maybe the spider is protecting something — the pearl, or some old book — because if it thinks it’s going to have a good time eating Connor, well, that is one stupid spider. And Hank wants to yell that, as if the spider might be able to understand — “you stupid! Fucking! Fuck!” — but if his robes are helping, he shouldn’t tempt fate.

He bites his tongue. Presses his lips together. If he keeps himself from yelling, he can... what? Outscare the spider? Toss the lamp at it to save Connor?

Maybe Aurora really will kick them out if Hank can manage to burn down the whole library. Heh.

Regardless: saving Connor is what matters. He doesn’t really try to walk quietly or carefully; that’s just how his footing takes him. Back to the lamp that, once in hand, doesn’t creak.

The monstrosity seems focused on Connor, anyway. And now the little spiders scurry away from the light, at least, as Hank makes his way back down the web-ridden path.]

Oh, Jesus.

[The spider’s got all eight gazillion eyes on him, so Hank doesn’t bother trying to stay quiet. There are so many webs around, with the added inconvenience of this being a damn library — and Connor’s all wrapped up, too. Goddamn.

Something is going to catch on fire, and Hank just hopes he can get to Connor before...

Hank’s next terrible idea is to reach for one of the shelves, pushing through disgusting webbing to pull out a book. Pressing it against the lamp’s glass, trying to get the fire to snap at the open pages.

And finally! The fire catches weakly, but it’s there. Ripping its way through the pages now. And he’s not going to brandish it like a damn torch, so he throws it at the spider.]

Oh, fuck. Oh, Jesus fuck fuck.

[Is it dead? Hank should probably try something else just to make sure, but he doesn’t know what. The nearest shelf is too heavy to topple over onto the nasty fucker, so he abandons the attempt.

If Hank dies, he’ll die for Connor. And with any luck, maybe whatever Aurora takes from him will be the memory of all this.

With his back to the shelf, he sidles his way over to Connor. Hank doesn’t think he needs to breathe, but what if he needs oxygen for his blue blood to keep functioning or whatever?]

Fuck, fuck. [Hank doesn’t know, doesn’t know shit — but as long as he can get Connor out fast enough, things will be fine. Hopefully. CyberLife probably considered scenarios like this. Not giant spiders and their disgusting webs, but the prolonged absence of whatever an android might need. Blood. Those little pump thingies.

So Hank grabs Connor, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The spiders, even the larger ones, feel irrelevant now as Hank moves as fast as he can toward the exit.]