Disclaimer: I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.
Warnings: This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to connect to the universe of this fandom before the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Rorschach centric-fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!
Authors Note #1: Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is only my second Watchmen story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback. (Technically this is the first Watchmen story I ever wrote, but I got side tracked with "The Definition of Humanity" and worked on that instead).
Howl at the Shadows
Chapter 1
There was a fading, spray painted mural of a slavering dog etched into the crumbling brick of the alley way. It was superimposed on a stiff, frayed looking American flag that had been painted into the background; the image itself only just visible in the low, flickering light.
The abstract composition spoke volumes about the frenetic nature of the times, displaying the petulant disregard for law and property, the obscene failure of the education system and even that of misplaced nationalism. It was all there, the mistakes wrought by moral flesh, toppled by the siren call of avarice and greed. Sins of the weak, the lust driven, and the greedy.
But what was worse was the irony that came with the nature of these particular deficiencies. Because in an abase and somewhat capricious way, the fact remained that likely the only attention that would ever be paid to these problems was that of the over worked and under paid city worker left with the task of someday white washing this very same message into oblivion. And more contemptuous still, was the fact that those responsible for this particular defacement were also undeniably correct, whether what the end was result was what they had intended at the time or not.
The method was unlawful, crude, and an offence to the eyes. But here in the back alleys, the narrow dead end streets choked through with the blood and debris of a city slowly suffocating in the growing mires of its own filth, its presence caused barely a ripple. After all, this mural was only one of countless thousands. Graffitists, the wayward artisans of the night, mismatched martyrs for neither cause nor profit. Hooligans, snivelling children, the undeserving future generation.
And if he had been paying more attention, he might have even noticed it…
Instead, he had been caught off guard. His attention caught on the strange, seemingly gravity defying way that Nite Owl's hair curled when it was soaked through with sweat. Loose pinwheel curls that escaped in the odd tuft from the edges of his cowl, the ends dark with moisture and plastered wetly to his temple. He found himself inexcusably distracted as Daniel grinned over at him, meaningless platitudes and happy words of victory slipping from his lips as he cuffed the last two remaining thugs to the light pole. The sickly neon glow reflecting off his goggles as he turned to face him, his smile easy and all too open as Daniel met his gaze through the protection of his mask.
So that was why he never saw it coming. The last remaining Top Knot huddled down silent and still on the fire escape above them. At least not until it was too late. Because by the time he caught the tail end of the movement, the darkening shadows reflecting off the lens of Daniel's goggles, the man hidden above them was already moving. Body snapping forward with malicious intent, as the low life flung himself off the metal ledge and towards his partner, an unsheathed buck knife flashing a vicious silver in the low city light.
No.
And as his boot heels dug into the pitted concrete, soles skidding as they caught against the loose gravel and dirt, he caught a glimpse of the wall to his right. It was just a flash, a blur of color and motion that only comes when the lighting is poor and ones focus is elsewhere, but he could have sworn that for a long, impossible moment that the glowering canine had somehow moved. But the dog merely looked on, teeth bared in a wordless snarl from its place on the mural, painted deeply into the cracks and crevasses of the decaying brick until it seemed more like an extension of the building itself rather then an offence to it.
The last thing he saw before his body rose, flaring to meet their attacker with the sickening crack of flesh meeting flesh was the sight of its sharp, greying teeth glinting out sullenly under the buzzing, florescent lights, it's jowls pulled back like a warning.
The world went technicolor as darkness blinked spasmodically on the edges of his vision, cutting through all the brightness, all the cacophonous sounds that roared through him, promising nothingness. Relief. He moved to shake it away but his limbs only fluttered, alarmingly weak as he tried, and inevitably failed to move. He pulled in a fractured breath, forcing his empty lungs to fill, repeating the action again and again until a measure of clarity returned. The world shifted back in a shattered, piece meal mess of razor sharp edges and dull colors. It was only then that he realized he was lying face down in the gutter; the acrid smell of blood and shit rising, mixed with the rotting debris of a city balanced on the knives edge of perdition. He was choking in it..
'Focus.' The voice hissed, wounded and angry.
He blinked, chasing the darkness back again and again as it encroached. Danger. His brain back peddled frantically, but the darkness was insistent, consuming, and malicious. He scrabbled against the pavement, the pockmarked surface abrasive even under the protection of his thick leather gloves, catching roughly as he struggled to rise. Only he couldn't. His legs weren't working anymore. And for the first time in a long time, he tasted the wretched tang of fear.
Rocking slowly, he managed to pull himself to one side, the arch of his hipbone biting into the concrete as his hands found purchase against the rough brick at his back. Pulling himself up until his head was just skimming the graffiti painted paws of the mural above him. Until it looked almost as though the snarling canine was looming above him, honed muscled poised to strike.
His head lurched sideways, lolling exaggeratedly as he sought to bring his eyes back into focus. He felt the nail of his index finger splinter, ripping right along the quick as he tightened his grip on the crumbling pavement. He didn't even feel the pain. Though he knew he would later.. Nails took a long time to heal, he knew that from experience. Darkness loomed, arching from the shadowed corners of the building at his back as he slowly took in the empty alleyway around him. Wait, that wasn't right... His scalp was flowing, hair going liquid red underneath the covering of his face and tricking down from his temples. Like warm sweat and rain. When had it started raining?
He looked up, only this time Daniel was straddling him, hunched down in a low protective crouch, lips moving without sound, teeth bared and gleaming in the low light before his muscles bunched and then unfurled, lunging out of sight once more like a bird alighting from a branch, swooping down to strike it's prey. Then he was alone again, with only the ghost of the breeze from his partner's cape, snapping through the air above his head to mark he had ever been there at all… He was losing time. Something wasn't right..
There was blood in his mouth, sliding like melted copper across his tongue, rippling down through the grooves and offending his palate until he nearly gagged. He wanted to ease the mask over his lips and spit it out, but he couldn't remember how to move his arms. Instead it seeped down from his lips as he struggled to breathe, his throat working sluggishly as the blood continued to flow, dampening the mask until it was suffocatingly heavy against his lips.
His skull throbbed.
He had almost forgotten why he was lying there, hands spidering out along the muck encrusted pavement, weakly searching for something he couldn't quite bring himself to define, when he felt more then heard the concussive, meaty impact of a body hitting the ground. Sensing the breathy whoosh as air abruptly left bruised lungs, and hearing the fractured echoes of a long groan of pain that he knew instinctively was not Daniels.
Their assailant..Yes. But he thought he had-..
His teeth ground together viciously as he felt the vibration of each and every punch Daniel dealt out, slamming their attacker into the wall, against the fire escape, the dumpster, and then to the ground again. The hits sounded furious, and clumsy. As if the mans usual brand of heavy grace and stylistic finesse had been abandoned in favour of blinding rage. The moment where control was abandoned for the release of the feeling..
'Righteous brutality.' The voice murmured vindictively, remaining scathing even as his vision started to grey out around the edges, turning the fallen form of his fedora, lost to a puddle of tepid water only inches away into a confused mass of escaping color. He reached out to grasp it, but his hand never made it.
To the left his ears only just caught the screeching grit of dirt and pulverized brick grinding under roving boot heels. The sound rumbled, echoing up to the surface and growing closer until the sudden spray of dirt and filth that pebbled across the fabric of his face caused his head to snap back, body arching instinctively backwards as the static buzzing in the back of his mind reached a sharp, defending crescendo..
Somewhere off in the distance, a dog started crying.
The deck plating was unforgivingly cold; jolting bolts of discomfort up his limbs as Daniel dragged him through the Owl ship's rear hatch. The chill temperature leeching through the blood soaked layers of his costume as though they held the thinness of a single sheet of worn tissue paper. His mind whirled, stuck on the strange nature of the sensation as it seeped in through his tight leather gloves, hitting his bones with a dull, all consuming ache that set his teeth on edge.
Why was it so cold? It was still high summer, with the murky city nights almost as sweltering as the muggy heat of the day. Oppressive and heavy. He hated summer. The heat brought out the deviancy in droves. It was like spawning season for Mackerel. With the people folding to their baser needs, turning indecent and far too willing the moment the sweat begins to flow.
The pulse at his temples throbbed angrily, as if reproaching him for every tug, pull, and awkward fist full of fabric that Daniel grabbed as he attempted tow him further inside the cockpit. Apparently trying and failing to multi task with the ships systems as he nearly over balanced trying to reach the control to close the off ramp. The ships hull spun. Caught in a whirl pool orbit undetectable outside the confines of his own conscious mind.
'Head wound, possible concussion..' His brain supplied. The voice snide and all but dripping with distain as it continued. 'Getting sloppy. Distracted, slow, impotent! Got what you deserved.' It remarked disgustedly.
There were hands digging into the meat of his armpits and the base grunt of Daniel's breath gusting in his ear as he dragged him across the floor, propping him up against the control panel with one last heave of effort. The over polished nub of a joystick dug into the flesh of his shoulder, his elbow dangerously close to the flame thrower controls, but he didn't even have the presence of mind to care. Instead he embraced the harsh edges and unyielding sharpness of the ship already humming to life under his skin. It gave him something to grasp, something to help pull himself away from the welcoming darkness already skirting around the very edges of his vision.
Because instinctively, even he knew that this was the type of darkness he must run from.
It was strange, fearing the darkness. Even as a child, the night and its looming shadows had never frightened him. As from a young age he had always known that far worse monsters walked boldly in plain sight, living freely in the world around them under the guise of normalcy and false morality. And after that hard learned realization, the nightmarish spectres of twilight held little sway in his adolescent mind.
There was more to fear from the light of the day then there ever was in the dark.
Instead it was the politicians, the privileged elite, the whores, false prophets, molesters, presidents and liars that should be truly feared. The purveyors of perversion and indecency. They knew no limitation, no morals, only driven like animals to feed the base need for more…more...more..
His chin tipped into his chest. Tired.
'Hurt bad. Stay awake. Weakling!' The voice hissed vehemently. He shook the fog away. But that didn't make any sense either, how could there be fog inside the Owl ship? Daniel obviously hadn't been keeping up on the ships basic maintenance. Must investigate further.
He realized belatedly that Daniel was talking to him, hands curling around his shoulders, digging into his trench coat and shaking gently as his head lolled back against the edge of the console, struggling to stay upright as Daniel continued to speak incessantly, the words echoing out in demanding, incoherent ripples of sound.
"Rorschach! Rorschach!" There were too many echoes. Confusion. He shook his head again, regretting it a moment later as pain lanced down his sinuses, the cloying stink of spilt blood filling his nostrils as he breathed in a series of slow, deliberate breaths. Focus. Have to-…
"Hang on buddy. Don't you-… Fuck!..Rorschach?..." Filth was slipping from Daniel's lips, sweat slicked and slippery. Profanity. It was unneeded, unwarranted. He was about to tell him so, but he was brought up short when he realized he couldn't find the words. And while such expression had never come easily, this lapse was far different then anything he had ever experienced. It wasn't that he could not find the words to say, it was that he couldn't even begin to form them.. This wasn't right.
Head… Aching…Sleep?.. Yes..
"Rorschach! God damnit!" The world shifted dizzily on its axis and it took him longer then it should have to realize that somewhere along the line he had been moved. As instead of being propped up against the console, all sharp edges and unyielding iron, he was now mashed up against the curve of a broad chest and sinking back into warmth. Daniel. His mouth worked in protest, but the words never left his tongue.
It was only in the quiet that he could hear himself breathe..
The man leaned forward, hands skittering along the upturned collar of his trench, digging uninvited through the grimy layers of his suit and scarf to flirt with the unsteady beat of his pulse. And as the man's breath ghosted across the newly exposed skin of his neck, his color high, burnished in a stark, ruddy crimson, the sharp tang of fear and adrenaline laden sweat washed over him. Daniel smelt afraid.
"..Don't you go anywhere on me man!"
He was just about to remark on the foolishness of such a statement when the Owl ship shuddered. The autopilot controls jolting abruptly, like they often do when the ship slides underneath the surface of the water when they head back towards the Brownstone. But this time the walls began roaring, the rippling echoes shattering through the calm, chasing the sound until the very metal beneath their feet began to sway and buckle. The sound vibrated up through his bones until his tightly clenched teeth screeched together. Enamel meeting enamel with an offensive, chalk grating sound that sent bile surging up his throat.
It was too much.
Pain seared up his spine, rolling up through his skull in an impossible thrumming rush that broke down every hastily mended barricade, every wall and chasm he had built to keep reality and his own desolate thoughts from spilling over into one another. Rumbling isolation, self made solitude. Until he couldn't help but reach up and capture the man hand, still hovering undecidedly just above his shoulder, desperate for something he didn't know how to ask for as his leather gloves curled around the mans gauntlets and pulled tight.
He didn't remember the scream, but his ears recalled the echoes..
A/N #1: Please let me know what you think, and indeed if I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!
A/N #2: I am experimenting with a new form of writing in this story. It is a form of 'stream of consciousness' style writing with my own personal twist. So if it seems disassociative, flowing, awkward, or seemingly out of style, it was most likely deliberately meant. I was/am trying to capture Rorschach's state of mind, both normally and in terms of the events of the plot, so hopefully this experiment works out. Let me know either way.