Many thanks to Lucky_Lucy, who had the patience to correct this chapter! Enjoy your reading^^

Chapter 4: Delirium

He was weightless, while he floated in an invisible place where thoughts had no meaning, but he still existed. He hadn't noticed it immediately; it was an awareness that had grown in him fragment after fragment, when glimpses of thoughts reached him through the dark shroud that enveloped his consciousness. And during those moments, suspended between sleep and wakefulness, he wondered how much of what went through his head was real.

Sometimes he had brief moments of lucidity, when pain assaulted his nerves with such violence that he regretted not being unconscious anymore; it hurt when he tried to move, it hurt to rebel against the weakness that was clouding his mind, it hurt to breathe. But he still fought, because those perceptions proved that his identity hadn't been swallowed by darkness yet. Other times he only felt pain as his body was burning from the fever and the only thing he was aware of was agony. And then there were the times when his weakness muffled any other sensations, leaving him too exhausted to attempt to move or open his eyes. And he could always feel someone at his side, a reassuring presence that didn't give him any danger vibes.

Rorschach.

It was the name that he associated to the warm knowledge of being safe, of having someone watch his back without even needing to ask for it. If for New York Rorschach had been a dangerous psychopath to be feared and jailed, the Terror of the Underworld whom no one dared to face but everyone hated, for him he had been the most important person in his adult life, together with Hollis. As strange and difficult as relating to him could be, Rorschach still was a precious partner with unshakable loyalty. He was the safety of a friend, someone Dan had entrust his life to every night since they had started patrolling together.

It had happened by chance, on a night when the bunch of criminals he was fighting had called for reinforcements. In a few moments, his probability of coming out of it alive from it had become very low and he had realized how foolish and dangerous his dream of playing the masked hero was, how absurd his hopes had been – to remain alive while following a fantasy that should have belonged to a child, not to an adult man. Not even in that moment he had regretted it, though, not even when his blood had flooded his mouth and he had been too hurt and dizzy to avoid the hits.

Then, without any warnings, a man in raincoat and fedora had come to his aid, darting among the criminals like he was a shadow born from night herself. The mask covering his face, when the man had turned to face him, resembled a dark, moving skull in a white background.

He was shorter than Dan had imagined, but he had realized immediately who his unexpected savior was: everyone knew Rorschach, even if the few who met him usually ended up in jail or in the hospital.

There had been no need for talk, they had just found themselves back to back and after a few minutes they had been the only ones who were still conscious.

Only then Dan had allowed himself to slide down to the ground, panting and aching everywhere, now that the adrenalin was fading away. His eyes had never left his savior, though, and as soon as he had regained his breath and assured himself he had all his bones in their place, he had smiled.

"Thanks for your help."

Rorschach had continued tying up the criminals, ignoring both his smile and his words.

"It's not bad to have someone who has your back. We could patrol together, next night, what do you think?" Dan had asked him, trying to get a reaction from him.

Rorschach had turned his back to him without even sparing him a glance.

"Humpf," had been his only answer while walking away. But he hadn't said no and the following night Dan had found the mysterious vigilante waiting for him in that exact spot.

A month later, patrolling together had become a habit.

A year later, Rorschach had started ransacking his house for food.

Two years later, Dan had managed to convince him to stay for the night when when the wounds and the exhaustion were too much even for the most implacable vigilante of New York.

Then one day, while he was shopping choosing Rorschach's favorite food like it was the most normal thing to do, while he was whistling remembering the last fight in which they had managed to knock off a whole gang of fifteen people without suffering any serious injuries, he had realized that it didn't matter if he didn't know his name or his face: his partner – his friend – was the person he trusted the most in the whole world.

The only one who could give him a sense of complete safety.

Now, however, Rorschach was no more.

A red stain in the snow, the fedora gliding towards the ground as his only remains, the echo of a scream he hadn't even realized he had released, while desperation tore his chest apart in a more painful way than Adrian's collected revelation of their failure as heroes had done.

Rorschach had died because of Adrian. Because of Jon. Because of him, since he had failed again – a flabby failure who sits whimpering in his basement.

He hadn't been able to save fifteen millions people.

He hadn't even been able to save the one who had been his best friend.

"You have never had the world's fate in your hand, Dan. Nor have you had Rorschach's. Believing otherwise is just self-destructive arrogance."

How much worth could the absolution coming from an assassin retain?

But it didn't really matter, because since Adrian had said those words he had been feeling less guilty. Despite the turmoil still whirling in his chest, he had stopped having nightmares every night, had even managed to sleep without waking up with his throat so dry he wasn't even able to swallow and his back drenched in cold sweat. The images of Rorschach's death, of the destruction of New York and of Ozymandias laughing next to a pile of corpses had visited him less often and if he had to be honest with himself, the one with Ozymandias hadn't visited him at all. He had had a different kind of nightmare, instead, one when he relived the night spent in his company. It was a strange one, not always unpleasant, that truly became a nightmare only when he opened his eyes in the dark and his mind recalled the horror that hadn't been in the dream.

Only once had he woke up screaming, feeling blood on his hands and a last pulse under his fingers. A dream where he was straddling Adrian like in the hotel room, but instead of stopping he kept hitting him with increasing violence, reducing his face to a bloody pulp, before closing his hand around his neck and strengthening his grip until the light disappeared from Adrian's eyes.

The horror he had felt when he had woken up had tormented him for days, like he had really assassinated his former friend with his bare hands. And Adrian would let him, he hadn't even tried to defend himself, Adrian would have died for real if he hadn't stopped.

He knew he should kill him, he knew it even if he didn't remember the reason, but the image of Adrian's bloodied face and his sad eyes that had focused on his own without any resentment made it impossible for him to breathe.

He tried to move his body, but he was so dizzy and everything was so confused that he wouldn't be surprised to find out he had been reduced to pure mind, with no nerves, flesh or bone anymore.

And now he wasn't able to discern between reality and illusion anymore, he didn't know where he was and his body was burning, he was suffocating, his eyelids were glued together but he desperately wanted to break the veil that was clouding his mind and to stop drowning in the darkness...

He opened his eyes.

The daze that had enveloped his thoughts and sight dissolved, now only his nearsightedness prevented him from putting details into focus, but he didn't need his glasses to recognize the man who sat beside the bed; the same man he had perceived by his side in the few glimpses of lucidity during his delirium and that now seemed to be smiling at him.

"You are not dead, Dan."