Author's Notes: Hi guys! Okay, so GN!Chapter, omg! Lol, yeah, this one was interesting because I had to deal with the Comedian more so than I ever did before, so let me know what you think of his motivations for what he says. Or rather, Daniel's views on his motivations. The Comedian has been a character that absolutely escapes me, so any advice/explanations would be awesome. Thank you!

Warnings: The crowd gets a little offensive. Even though you already know that.

29. American Dream

"Please… if everybody would just clear the streets…" Dan trailed off hopelessly as he watched the crowd below him fume and spit venom. He glanced at his companion in something touching on disgust. The Comedian hung off the surface of Archie's eye and sneered out at the crowd through the black mask that looked like a skull, toting some kind of large firearm and looking like a skeletal soldier. He seemed at home in the midst of chaos and fire.

"Lissen, you little punks," he called out to the public at large, "You better get back in ya rat holes! I got riot gas, I got rubber bullets…" he would have continued his list of inventory, probably for no reason other than he could, but Dan felt that was a little threatening and dammit, this could be settled diplomatically. He wasn't going to open fire against his own citizens. He swore to protect them when he took this job. He was not about to harm them now. Not while he was still in costume and still had a job to do.

"There's no need for panic," Dan pleaded through Archie's loudspeaker system. The Comedian shot him an irritated look that he ignored, "The police strike is being negotiated right now…" he trailed off again, but this time it wasn't because he knew his pleas were falling on deaf ears. This time, he was watching the journey of one lone beer can. One belligerent looking man somewhere in the front of the crowd lobbed it. It moved almost in slow-motion as Dan watched it's inevitable trajectory in horror. It hit the Comedian's head with an almost comical thunk! The Comedian yelled in surprise.

"Aak! Okay, that does it…" He prepped himself to leap down into the crowd and Dan couldn't do a thing to stop it. As if the Comedian would ever listen to him.

The rioters were unaware of their current danger. One nervy woman wearing a feminist T-shirt yelled out, "You pig! You call yourself the Comedian? You're a pig anna rapist!" Distantly, Daniel admired her bravery and he remembered a time when he felt the same righteous indignation towards those who thought they could break the law. Now, he just felt tired. She'd feel the same someday.

Someone else was yelling, "We don'want vigilantes! We want reg'lar cops!" Another, older woman supported him, spitting, "My son is a police officer, you faggots!"

But we're not trying to take their place, Daniel wanted to cry out, we could work together again. We worked together before. Please, we don't want to fight with you. We want to help you. But he remained silent, knowing that his words would mean nothing to a crowd of rioters out for his blood. Somewhere outside, the Comedian was counting, "…two potato, three potato…" Hell was going to break loose, and for all his genius and gadgetry, Dan could only watch.

"Four potato. Heads up!" The Comedian crowed, his eyes gleaming like beetles in the cruel light. He unhooked a tear gas grenade from his belt. Dan winced.

"God, look," He implored the people, the closest of which were already noticing the grenade and their anger was transmuting into something like fear, "I'm sorry. You haven't left us any choice. This stuff is dangerous, please clear the streets." And this time, they listened to Dan, because the Comedian had lobbed the thing in their midst, an answer for the beer can to the head. Or maybe he just thought it'd be funny. He was laughing in the street as the rioters fled.

"Ha! Look at 'em," He sneered cruelly, watching the scene.

"Comedian, this is a nightmare!" A part of him knew the Comedian couldn't give two shits how this turned out and that he shouldn't even be talking to him. Another part wanted someone to know how pissed off and helpless this made him and didn't care who exactly Dan told, "The whole city is erupting. How long can we keep this up?"

"Run you suckers!" The Comedian called out at the screaming people, covering their eyes and running every which way to escape the gas. He was laughing again and dammit, how is this funny? How in the world could you laugh at this and please, explain the joke to the class, Mr. Comedian, because the rest of us sure as hell don't get it.

"Comedian? I said…" He was interrupted before he could get further.

"I heard what you said," The Comedian didn't even look up from his gun, "My government contacts tell me some new act is being herded through that's gonna outlaw masks."

…Oh god, it's really happening. It's really going to happen. How could they do this? How could they think this? Don't they know that we're just trying to—

"Until then," the Comedian continued, "We're society's only protection. We keep it up as long as we have to."

--Just trying to protect them…

"Protection?" Dan echoed hoarsely as realization began ebbing through his consciousness. As he was finally beginning to understand the joke, "Who are we protecting them from?"

"From themselves," was the prompt reply as the Comedian picked his way through abandoned protest signs, litter and broken glass. He glanced over his shoulder to smirk at Daniel. "Whassa matter?" He mocked, "Don't feel comfortable unless you're up against some schmuck in a Halloween suit?" Before Dan could think of a retort, the Comedian drove the statement home:

"Speakin' o' which, where the hell are Rorschach and the others?"

Dan was pretty sure he looked like he'd been slapped, because the Comedian glanced back and grinned again. Suddenly, he knew what the Comedian was trying to tell him. He was trying to give Daniel the punch line to his big joke. But, like any good comedian, he couldn't just tell Dan the punch line. He brought Rorschach up to say here's someone who gets it, here's someone who understands the joke, even if he doesn't think it's very funny. Rorschach always understood what Dan was just beginning to see through the smoke and gunshots and spray paint. He wanted to scream, wanted to punch the Comedian in the face, wanted to track down Rorschach and punch him in the face.

Instead he replied, "Jon and Laurie are handling the riots in Washington," He swallowed against any bitterness or sadness in his tone, "Rorschach's across town trying to hold the lower east side," He paused again, working against the dull pain that came with saying it aloud, "He, uh, he works mostly on his own these days." Flashes of blood and ash and fists danced behind his eyes and he was glad for his goggles. That way, the Comedian wouldn't see and mock him any more.

"Rorschach's nuts," The Comedian shook his head almost regretfully. That's what you get for taking the joke too serious, "He's been nuts ever since that kidnapping he handled three years back," and the accusation that wasn't there (because why would the Comedian give a shit anyways) twisted Daniel's gut with something like overwhelming guilt. "Him, Byron Lewis, Jon-goddamn-walking-H bomb-Osterman… all nuts."

Dan fought against the urge to punch him in the face and instead spat out, "But not you?"

The Comedian grinned cheekily back at him, "No. Not me. I keep things in proportion an' try to see the funny side…" Daniel wanted to ask what the hell was so goddamn funny when they both caught sight of a group of teens vandalizing a wall. "Drop that can, you little freak!" The Comedian shouted, firing his pellet gun without hesitation. Dan winced as he watched the other two teenagers picked up the injured one and carried him away. They walked over to the wall and Daniel could make out its message through the smoke:

Who Watches the Watchme

It was unfinished and Daniel momentarily entertained himself with the fact that it basically read "who watches the watch me." Watch me. But who will watch me? He was well aware his thoughts weren't making much sense, coherency fading out in favor of dull horror and something akin to nausea. Predictably, the Comedian barked out a laugh.

"Ha! You seen this?" He gestured at the wall, "I seen that written up all over durin' this last two weeks! They don't like us an' they don't trust us."

"This whole situation…" Daniel murmured, still staring blankly at the wall, "…it's horrible."

The Comedian shrugged, "Well, me, I kinda like it when things get weird, y'know? I like it when all the cards are on the table."

What he said made sense and that scared Daniel more than he cared to admit, "But the country's disintegrating. What's happened to America?" The land of golden opportunity, the land of the free and brave, "What happened to the American Dream?" The last question slipped out, more to himself than the Comedian, an almost private joke with himself. He remembered when he was applying for Harvard, one of the questions was "in your own words, tell us what you think the American Dream is and if we can reach it". It had seemed like such an easy essay until he finally sat down to writing it. After over a week and intense research on the subject, Daniel had opted to try another essay prompt and to this day couldn't define the American Dream.

"What happened to the American Dream?" the Comedian echoed, something like triumph tinged his voice, "It came true!" he adjusted his gun and stood against the backdrop of smoke and ruin, "You're looking at it."

Oh.

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A/N: Aw, poor Dan. Always attracts the crazies. :) Well, I'm actually getting a little nervous now. There's only two more chapters of and about the Keene Act and then we get into the scary sea of 1977-1984 where Ror and Dan barely see each other and are annngsty… So I hope that won't be too much of a downer. :/ I guess we'll see.