Hank x Connor | O N E S H O T S

I

Suicide, Pedophilia, incest, sexual abuse//

Hank heard about the rumours. Last year a boy killed himself in his new house. Apparently he was only 23 too.

Hank sighs and sits down on the couch. He didn't believe in the rumours that say that the boy hunts this house.

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Hank washes his face and looks at the post-its.

Brush my hair?

Nah.

Smile?

Fuck no.

Hank sighs out and walks inside the bedroom. This house feels so cold. But it's alright. He can bare with this.

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Hank looks around. Where was he? This was the house, sure, but... It looked different. He was in the bedroom, instead of his bed and wardrobe was a desk, on top of it were pictures of a man and a boy. And then a wardrobe and a smaller bed than his own. Soft yet dirtied, crumbled blankets layed on it. Hank frowns when he hears a dog bark alarmed. He follows the sound, which came from the bathroom and his eyes widened.

A man around his early 20s was in the bathtub, blood leaking from his mouth and his eyes rolled back and dried tears visible on his cheek. An antidepressant medication can was on the ground, the pills spilled on the floor and his arm dangling out of the tub, his hand seemingly holding the can. His curly hair was damp from the flowing water and next to him was a saint Bernard barking at him, trying to wake him up.

Poor thing didn't even realize he was dead.

Hank backs away but bumps into someone smaller. He turns around and sees the same male, looking up at him with pure white eyes.

He lungs at him.

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Hank opens his eyes and sits up panting. His heart was beating quickly, he was sweating and he was also shaking.

Fuck.

His eyes widened when he sees the dog walking around his room.

The saint Bernard. Hank gets out of bed and walks towards him slowly, shakily, swaying from side to side. He kneels down and the dog looks up at him. He wore a self made collar. And a small metal plate hang from it.

Sumo.

What a weird name for a dog.

He slowly reaches out and was surprised to feel his fur. Sumo leans into the touch but his blank eyes didn't leave him.

Hank feels himself shudder.

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Hank was surprised to hear a book fall on the tile floor of the kitchen. Where did that book come from?

Hank walks over and picks it up.

A cooking book?

He opens it curiously. Instead of recipes and pictures of baked and cooked goods, were stuff written in a neat handwriting and a photograph of the boy with a puppy. He looked around 15.