Chapter Text
"You're full of energy today, aren'tcha?"
Another autumn day, another walk with an old man and his dog. Every day at two in the afternoon, Hank Anderson walked his Saint Bernard around his neighborhood on the same route like clockwork. Having a routine is part of a healthy lifestyle, and while Hank might be a decade or two behind on getting himself back on his feet, he was told it's never too late to want to better yourself.
A cold breeze flowed effortlessly through Hank's rather light jacket, and mussed up his hair, which he actually spent time brushing for once so it didn't look like an unkempt grey mop. He sighed and gave a gentle tug to his dog's leash. Fixing his hair later wouldn't be a problem. Keeping his 200 pound pet from dragging him across the leaf-scattered sidewalk, on the other hand, might keep him on his toes.
"Sumo, no."
Another tug. It looked like he was trying to eat something from someone's lawn, and since Hank didn't want his beloved companion to put any non-dog food items in his mouth, he moved his hand up the lead to keep him closer. It was hard enough keeping Sumo from eating everything Hank dropped around the house- be it potato chips or the remote. Having a whole outside world to shield him from felt overwhelming at times.
"Sumo! I said no!"
Speaking of overwhelming, Hank's behemoth of a dog caught on to the scent of something he really wanted to investigate. This happened more frequently than Hank would like to admit. Three days ago, Sumo lead him to a nest of baby bunnies. A week before that, it was a dumpster behind a restaurant someone had forgotten to empty. And today, Sumo's nose caught wind of neither food nor small, defenseless animals.
Hank held Sumo firmly in place while his eyes processed the scene before him. Rusty red stains splattered the otherwise autumn-themed sidewalk. Another gust of wind kicked up most of the fallen leaves, revealing a few splotches leading behind an abandoned house they walked by almost every day. Part of Hank assumed they were paint- the house did have a red porch, after all. However, with it being abandoned for lord knows how long, the more logical part of him knew the color scattered on the concrete all too well.
He wanted to keep walking. To pretend he didn't see anything. To head back home, turn on his TV and spend the remainder of the evening without a care in the world. He probably would have done exactly that a couple months ago when his empathy was so low it went from scraping the bottom of the barrel to sticking its hand right through and touching the floor below.
Thankfully, even if he managed to shove away the good in him, dogs tend to be inherently good by nature.
"Sumo!!"
Hank's deep, commanding voice could normally make fully grown humans stop in their tracks, so you'd think at the very least, it would slow down a dog. Much to his dismay, Hank was dragged around the corner to greet whatever fresh hell his so-called faithful companion stumbled upon.
A person.
It was a person.
A bloodied, pale, unconscious person in his mid-to-late twenties wearing semi-formal attire with his back against the house and his legs sprawled out on the ground. Blood dripping from the right side of his head aside, he looked as though he recently got back from a big corporate meeting what with his short, tidy hair and pristine clothes and all.
Being a friendly dog with an insatiable appetite for meeting new people, Sumo trotted up to the poor soul and licked one of his hands at his side. Maybe this new friend would want to play after waking up from his nap?
Hank didn't bother pulling Sumo away again. He didn't have his phone on him, so this guy would either have to wake up or Hank would need to sprint home and call an ambulance before anything else happened. He knelt next to him, cursing at the old joints in his knees for aching, and gave him a few taps on the shoulder while minding the blood that'd dripped onto his suit. He looked like he was breathing, at least. Maybe he'd be all right.
"You better not make me run all the way back home," Hank half-joked under his breath, only to feel horrible about it moments later. This guy was someone's son. Someone's boyfriend. Someone's favorite person to be around. And he might not make it home by the end of the day. "Please wake up, kid."
A closer inspection of the gash on the stranger's temple revealed it to be the diameter of a quarter. No doubt whatever caused the injury also left him barely clinging to life. Injuries aside, he also lost quite a bit of blood, though not enough to render him unconscious. Delirious, sure, but not out like a light.
Hank breathed a sigh of relief as the stranger's eyes fluttered open, revealing dark brown iris' to match perfectly with his hair and the occasional beauty mark dotting his face. His eyes darted around, first looking at Sumo, who'd taken to sitting next to him and tilting his head, then looking at Hank, who didn't know what to do since he didn't expect him to wake up so soon.
As quickly as his eyes opened, the stranger shot up from the ground and proceeded to dust off his suit, straighten his tie and fix up his hair as if he didn't have partially dried blood on the side of his face. Such a quick and unpredicted action nearly knocked Hank off balance; half out of shock, and half out of the guy almost colliding with Hank.
Hank stood up as well, albeit not nearly as fast and with more grunting than he would have liked. "Slow down, bud. You should take it easy for-"
"Do you know where I can find a Lieutenant Anderson?"
Despite his gentle voice and direct way of speaking, his words may as well have punched Hank in the gut. Even though Hank stood a full head taller than him, he couldn't shake the feeling of intimidation crawling on his back. When nobody calls you by a certain name for almost a whole year, it can be quite jarring to hear it again, especially if it comes from someone you've never met before.
"Depends on why you want to find him."
"Well-" he reached up to touch the wound on the side of his head, then held his bloodstained fingertips in front of his mouth as if he contemplated poking them between his lips "-my superior told me to locate a Lieutenant Hank Anderson for reasons I probably shouldn't explain to a stranger." He rubbed his bloodied fingers together before turning his full attention to Hank. His eyes beamed with enthusiasm, though his lips refused to bend into a smile, leaving him to look rather robotic. "Any help would be greatly appreciated. I was told he had a dog, so I'd like to find him... right away..."
Hank could see the realization wash over him in a small wave as he looked at Hank, then at Sumo, then back at Hank with shining eyes. If this guy had been given any sort of description of Hank, which was more than likely since he knew about Sumo, he probably already had a general idea of what he looked like and only needed another big piece of evidence to stitch everything together.
"Hello! My name is Connor-" he extended a hand, to which Hank automatically shook out of habit "-I've been assigned to be your Guardian Angel."
Hank's hand stopped mid-shake. His what now? Poor thing must have been hit in the head harder than he thought. "You, uh... You wanna run that last part by me again?"
"My name is Connor. I have been assigned to be your Guardian Angel."
"Uh-huh." Hank retrieved his hand and patted down his pockets just in case he actually did have his phone on him. He wasn't worried about Connor hurting him or being dangerous, but he was concerned for his mental health. "Tell you what. How 'bout we call up an ambulance and have some nice doctors check your head out? That cut must hurt like a bitch."
Connor reached up once more to touch his previously bleeding temple. "I can't feel pain, but if having a doctor look me over would make you feel more comfortable about me, then I'll gladly follow suit."
I can't feel pain.
"Yep. Okay. C'mon, we're going right now before anything else happens." He tightened his grip around Sumo's leash before gesturing with his free hand for Connor to follow him. "We should probably call up someone close to you while we're at it. Do you know your parents' number? Maybe a friend's, even?"
"No. I don't," Connor stated plainly as he walked at Hank's side. For someone who recently woke up from being bludgeoned in the head, he managed to walk perfectly fine. "Come to think of it, I can't remember much of anything before you woke me up."
And that right there is what kicked Hank into overdrive. It's bad enough when you find a half-dead person and he acts like nothing is wrong. It's bad enough when said person knows your name, your dog's name and your previous title. It's bad enough when the same weirdo claims he's your Guardian Angel. And yet, somehow, it got worse. On top of probably being an escaped mental patient who knew too much and got whacked in the head, it got worse.
Hank grabbed onto Connor's wrist and picked up the pace. He hoped he wouldn't be moving too fast for him, though if he couldn't keep up, Hank could easily carry him. Thankfully, he kept up relatively well for someone out of his damn mind.
"Can you tell me what you do remember?"
Connor briefly shut his eyes. "My name is Connor. I'm twenty-eight years old. I'm Hank Anderson's Guardian Angel. And I... I'm supposed... to..."
The edges of Connor's vision quickly went from somewhat blurry to pitch black as his line of sight rapidly closed in until he could only see whatever rested directly in front of him. He struggled to regain his footing as the world felt as though it dissolved to sand beneath his feet. Not wanting to drag Hank down with him, he sharply yanked his hand away from him before tumbling forward and just barely managing to shield his fall with his arms.
Hank's hand grasped at nothing. He reached out a moment too late. A second too late. Late enough for the fabric of his suit to graze the tips of his fingers as Connor collapsed into an unmoving mess on the concrete. Leaves scattered around him as he felt, making it appear as if they moved out of the way for him.
Hank cursed under his breath. He pushed him too hard. He made him move too fast. He should have known to take things more slowly. He should have offered to carry him in the first place. Hank could feel a heavy guilt nestle in the pit of his stomach, though he refused to acknowledge it for the time being. Nothing productive would come of giving up and sobbing out in public. Hank had a chance to fix something for once, and goddammit he was going to fix it.
With Sumo's lead wrapped around his wrist, Hank leaned over, swore up and down at his aching back and legs, and scooped Connor into his arms to carry him bridal-style. He kept Connor's head propped up on his shoulder for both comfort and to keep his blood flowing in the right direction. He felt... a lot lighter than he expected. And while Hank may be stronger than your average man, he had a sneaking suspicion Connor may have been underweight.
Hank shook his head. He could worry about the eating habits of a stranger once he got him to a hospital. The only real obstacle would be fishing his keys from his pocket without dropping the man in his arms.
"It's gonna be one of those days, Sumo."