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Hank stood by him, cup of coffee in his hand. He seemed to be taking in the sight of the two RK800s, who were pinning one another down, competing against each other for reasons Nines thought was hilarious.
"You're not gonna join in whatever the fuck they're doing out there?"
"They could not overpower me even if they tried," It would have taken at least three RK800s to restrain an RK900. The best his brothers could do was shove him back— that's even if they were willing to work as a team. "It is quite literally impossible for them to hold me down."
"Well can't ya at least go easy on 'em?"
"That would be boring."
Hank raises an eyebrow, "And just how long have you been standin' here watching these morons?"
"For the better part of 7 minutes,"
He heard Hank muttered something along the lines of, "Jesus christ, it's too early for this," then proceeded to take a sip from his coffee. "Is there even a fuckin' end goal to this shit? Why the fuck are they even doing this— do I even want to know?"
Nines momentarily contemplate telling hank, thinking it would be funnier to leave the older man clueless, but decided against it. "They are 'peacefully' debating on who should go walk sumo next," The culprit in question was snoozing peacefully on the couch, ever oblivious to the world surrounding him.
Hank looked at him exasperatedly as if he could put an end to this whole thing—which, he could, he just decided not to. "Can't they both just do that together?"
Nines can't help but blink at that. He switches his gaze to Hank, then back to the two rough-housing androids, then back at Hank. He repeated this motion once again to emphasize how much of a horrendously terrible idea that was.
The man thankfully caught on, squinting his eyes at the pair of androids, both were now rolling over each other on the grass. "Alright, i see your point," He swishes his cup, scrutinizing his brothers' cat-like behaviours, "Why don't you go walk Sumo out yourself, to piss them off?"
Nines shrugged, unable to contain a small smirk from forming, "This is simply more entertaining."
Hank shook his head, "Goddamn children," he grumbled.
They stood there for approximately 2 minutes and 6 seconds, watching as one of the RK800— Nines could see, Sixty —continues to pin the other face down— Connor —with a knee on his shoulder, hands messing up the older android's hair with a scowl, as he starts having some kind of dramatic villain monologue. Connor's muffled voice saying, "Shut the fuck up!" was pretty funny. He sees from the corner of his eyes Hank's face suddenly lighting up akin to that time Connor had allowed him to eat a whole box of pizza in a day, then grinned at him, "Nines, you wanna b—"
"I am not betting with you on this, Hank."
The man huffed through his nose, side eyeing him, "And why the fuck not?" He said, insulted.
Nines had calculated who would gradually be the one victoriously walking out the front door with Sumo's leash on hand as the old saint bernard trotted behind said winner from the very moment they had started having petty verbal arguments to the point in which they are now currently scratching each others' faces in attempts of defense. He saw the percentages rise and fall on the two RK800s' accounts—the pair being both evenly and unevenly matched at the same time.
"It would be unfair to you," he ignored the man's offended squawk, "They both have a slight fifty-fifty chance, with one of them having a two-percent higher rate of overpowering the other," to be a little shit, he adds, "Though, I am not telling you which."
Before Hank could respond, an extremely concerning loud thump followed by the equally loud, panicked, "Oh, fuck—!" startled them both. Nines had taken his eyes off of his dumbass brothers for 5.8 seconds— a grave misjudgement by him —to find himself looking out the window in horror as he observed what had just occurred.
Sixty, who had seemed like he was losing the fight moments ago, now kneeling over Connor—his position blocked the older android from their view, however, his body failed to block what was the clearly small splatter of thirium on Hank's fence from where Connor had presumably hit his head.
Hank was out the door in an instant, his cup of coffee abandoned on the counter, running to Connor's other side. Nines close on his trail, opted to crouch next to Sixty who had a currently bleeding Connor on his lap, looking only mildly guilty. Connor, for his part— the madlad —only held a hand to the back of his head, thirium slowly dripping down his sleeve, with a slight grimace, eyebrows pinched. It was the same expression he'd make when Sumo shat on the floor that one time. Nines bit back a snort.
"Jesus fucking christ! What the actual fuck is wrong with you two?!" Hank sounded two steps away from an actual heart-attack, this poor old man. Realizing the man was waiting for an answer, Connor spoke up, his face twinning Sixty's mildly guilty look, "..'m sorry, Hank. We... got a little too reckless," soft-brown eyes looking anywhere but Hank.
"Damn right," he lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Why can't you two idiots just work it out with fuckin', rock-paper-scissors or some shit, I don't fuckin' know," he heavily sighed, setting down the palm of his hand on Connor's forehead.
Sixty snickered, lifting an eyebrow, "In our defense, we did try that— but, being RK800 models has its benefits, it seems,"
"Jesus," Hank deadpanned, "you think you can stand, Con?"
"It should be fine, it's only a minor cut," Connor groaned as he adjusted himself to properly sit upright instead of leaning against Sixty, using both his hands to support himself.
"A minor cut, my ass," all of them, except Connor, mumbled. Connor frowned at that. Nines added more fuel to the fire by saying, "You're an idiot," which, rewarded him a piercing glare that he was very much accustomed to. Connor was very easy to piss off when it comes to him and Sixty—for some ungodly reason.
Connor manages his stubborn moron self halfway through the hallway of the living room before reluctantly admitting he needed Nines' help to get to the couch unscathed. Dumbass.
Once they were all seated, Connor in the middle, Nines and Sixty on either of his sides, all bundled up, Hank decided they were good enough to be left alone to their own devices while he took Sumo out for his walk—said he trusted them not to burn the house down more than he trusted them not to get kidnapped, which, was fair enough, he supposed.
On one hand, he could tell Connor was upset for not being able to walk Sumo out today, after all, that was the main reason this whole thing happened. On the other hand, he knew Connor wanted to spend as much time with them as possible, and Hank was in need of an exercise anyway, so really, it's a win-win. Connor could go walk Sumo out tomorrow.
And he knew damn well Sixty didn't actually care about who walked Sumo, he just wanted an excuse to make the oldest stay at home longer—though, Nines was sure he also wanted an excuse to pack a punch or two on Connor.
Nines was content like this—with his older brother who does not have a major head injury, and his second older brother who's probably feeling a little guilty, but will undoubtedly forget about this whole incident the next morning.
This was enjoyable.