[fic] Still; Watchmen; Dan/Rorschach
Title: Still
Fandom: Watchmen
Pairings: Dan/Rorschach
Rating: R/Adult
Warnings: None
Summary: AU mashup/crossover time! Stars!verse plus etherati's Zombie!verse; Cowboy Dan meets Zombie Ror while working the cattle trail. With fanarts by liodain THANK YOU ♥♥
Added 10/2/09: (Also related-- Carrefour, the origin story of Zombie Cowboy Ror.)
Dan had never once seen him remove his gloves, nor his hat, nor the fabric covering his face.
In day they moved through swaying grasses which undulated in the wind like the ocean's surface; during feverish-hot afternoons, Dan imagined that they all, horses and men and cattle, were swimming to a new continent.
He kept it to himself. His partner didn't seem the kind to entertain such fantasies.
(There were other types of fantasy, spurred by competence and a commanding presence, that not even Dan would entertain.)
For that matter, his partner didn't seem to take notice of very much at all. With the herd he was watchful, certainly, but with anything that conceded to their human selves outside the job he remained on the edges, apart. The vaqueros who'd known him from other drives called him Desvelado, Sleepless, and generally everyone gave him a wide berth. It had irked Dan in sympathetic defensiveness at first-he might be a bit strange, but there was no reason to shun one of the quickest men on the drive-until he began to understand their reasoning, if not their perspective.
When he ate at all, he ate with perfunctory politeness instead of the ravenous hunger given to all young traildrivers; he moved slowly, remaining as close to the campfire as possible during nights like an old man warming his bones; if he slept at all, he must have left to do it separately.
Dan didn't ask questions, content to remain in his shadow during long days, Desvelado or not.
They continued the relentless journey northward, at mercy of weather and beast.
//
Both of them started to develop something unspoken, a mutual approval or appreciation, born from tiny kindnesses: sometimes he'd give Dan his extra food at dinner, sometimes Dan would shoot a silencing glare at anyone who spoke to him as if he were frightening horror-book creature, sometimes they would sit by the fire long after everyone left them alone.
There were other small things Dan noticed. There was the way he titled his head by a slight degree to the right when spoken to kindly, which Dan had learned indicated gentle bemusement. There was the way his horse would catch a lungful of his scent and toss its head in confusion. There was the way he would sometimes turn from the herd, Dan, everyone, covering where his nose and mouth must be with a gloved hand, trembling almost imperceptibly.
Dan tried to see once how long he stayed awake at nights, watching from nearly-closed eyes where his partner sat tending the fire; he lost count of the hours and fell headlong into dreams about cold things, about water, a pale moon.
These things should have frightened him, should have, but instead they drew him obediently nearer like a toy on strings, all sick fascination and urge to pluck apart every contradiction. To hold the mystery in his hands.
His dreams became sharp, thick, uncomfortable, heavy, lush.
One night he was gone.
Dan awoke from a start as if jarred by a sudden noise, but all around him was completely still and silent. A full moon transformed everything into a silvery, ethereal world.
He slid his boots on quietly, already knowing he'd go walking. He followed along beneath the Milky Way alone while insects sang primordial secrets to the night.
It didn't take long. There were only a few trees on the prairie, and there was a lone figure huddled beneath one, dark spreading branches reaching up to the invisible line of the sky's ecliptic.
For one horrible, lurching moment, Dan thought he was dead there, sitting with his back propped against the trunk.
There was something in the human mind which could interpret the smallest cues as the difference between unconsciousness and death: tension or slack in muscles, angle of the head, minuscule movements which indicated presence of a pulse.
His chest was unmoving for an entire minute while Dan counted in mounting horror; then it rose peacefully, naturally; then it remained steady as stone for another minute.
Dan understood now why he slept away from the other men.
Crouching, kneeling, he watched the shadows of branches passing over his partner's body. Somehow, Dan knew the moment he woke even though he didn't move a single muscle and even though his breaths remained just as glacially slow.
They stared at each other, on the edge of some unnamed precipice.
"Who are you?" What are you?
He did nothing, said nothing, turning his face away.
Dan wouldn't leave.
He counted out twenty-two more breaths before his partner moved again, his hand sweeping up off the grass as if swimming in a slow delirium, as if he wasn't convinced he should be doing this at all, but Dan was leaning forward, eyes glassy bright.
The gloved fingers pulled at the bottom of the mask, and Dan's heart sped up, probably in contrast to-
All he showed was the vulnerable sliver of skin between jaw and throat, a pale crescent, paler than the moonlight on his mask, paler than Dan's fingers where he reached out and touched it, cold.
He made a strangled sound in his throat-or maybe that was Dan-but didn't do anything but shake, reining in some measure of monumental tension.
Dan's breaths felt just as slow, tense and tight where heat unfurled through the pit of his stomach.
Neither of them moved, or spoke, or questioned, still together in the night.
//
Dan was beginning to feel just as sleepless, as though so many things had soaked through the palm of his hand that night, a transference.
He could still feel it, that skin as dry and as cool as the pages of an unopened book. It didn't happen again the next night; when he left to go sleep, it was somewhere not even Dan could find. When he rejoined camp in the morning he was quieter than usual and wound even more tightly. Dan didn't worry. He knew by instinct and by experience with frightened animals that patience, not force, was the only way. So he hid away the sharp edges of curiosity and intent fascination, and waited.
There was one particular day where they came across a wide stream, noontime sun turning it to a blinding glare. Trees and scrub were clustered nearby, holding on for vital life.
As they always did, their group took the opportunity to water the animals and chose a place upstream to bathe and wash away the accumulated dust and grime which managed to get everywhere, on everything.
Predictably, his partner chose a silent moment and simply walked away, back through trees and around a bend, disappearing again. What he didn't do was leave when Dan's back was turned. Dan was drawn after as easily as moonstruck prey.
He wasn't in the water.
He'd found a flat-topped sheaf of rock larger than a man, uncovered by any shading tree and in full view of the sun. It must have been hotter than a frying pan, but he was lying full-length on top of it, limbs relaxed in something approaching bliss. His head, still masked, rolled almost lazily sideways to mark Dan's presence.
Dan could only look back for a few seconds; they said nothing. The only sound was water tumbling over rocks.
Art by liodain
It was cold around his ankles when he waded in, when he stood on the bank removing his clothes and feeling silt come up to form around his feet. He didn't look back to see if he was being watched. He didn't think. This wasn't unusual, just necessity, but he felt sunlight burning on the skin of his hip as he scrubbed away at his skin, breath short.
There was the sound of displaced water-footsteps. The mask was still on, but he'd at least removed his shoes and vest and undershirt and rolled up his trousers. Most likely the closest he'd ever get to undressed.
His skin was a dim grey-white, blank, smooth between the scars. Dan's heart clenched in a natural animal's fear, half-overridden by fascination. Dead but alive. There was no denying it.
Before he could even think he was saying, "Here, let me-" and scooping up a handful of water to pour down his back, dirty for having no one to wash it. He didn't move as Dan's hands splayed over his back, scrubbing while water collected in and darkened the waistband of his trousers. His shoulders knotted and tensed, and though he turned his head to look back, he never moved.
Dan could feel the rock's radiating heat in his skin, but it was dissipating quickly, gone within minutes. He swept his hands up along spine and shoulder blade and he retraced his path over and over again, thinking maybe he could feel the residue of heat from his own touch.
The warmth always faded until he was cold and immobile as a stone in the shade.
Too soon, they had to head back; neither of them looked at each other.
//
They were at the railhead, the job was over. Everyone with new pocket money had gone out to spend it in various exciting ways Dan found himself completely uninterested in.
Walter's pulling the curtain and,
They were left alone to their own devices, just walking by themselves through the back streets of town, next to each other.
Dan's locking the door and,
They weren't talking much or at all, content to pass through the light and shadow of the moon and night.
Walter's hands grip him painfully hard and,
They weren't acknowledging the strange anticipation shared between them, vibrating up through their bones like the precursor to an earthquake.
Dan feels craven fascination giving way to pursuit, raking his fingers across skin and scars and bone and,
Walter hisses at the contact of living warmth, pressing closer closer closer and,
Dan feels like he's the one dying, pulled inside out and out of himself and,
Walter feels like he's the one living.
//
Art by liodain
Fandom: Watchmen
Pairings: Dan/Rorschach
Rating: R/Adult
Warnings: None
Summary: AU mashup/crossover time! Stars!verse plus etherati's Zombie!verse; Cowboy Dan meets Zombie Ror while working the cattle trail. With fanarts by liodain THANK YOU ♥♥
Added 10/2/09: (Also related-- Carrefour, the origin story of Zombie Cowboy Ror.)
Dan had never once seen him remove his gloves, nor his hat, nor the fabric covering his face.
In day they moved through swaying grasses which undulated in the wind like the ocean's surface; during feverish-hot afternoons, Dan imagined that they all, horses and men and cattle, were swimming to a new continent.
He kept it to himself. His partner didn't seem the kind to entertain such fantasies.
(There were other types of fantasy, spurred by competence and a commanding presence, that not even Dan would entertain.)
For that matter, his partner didn't seem to take notice of very much at all. With the herd he was watchful, certainly, but with anything that conceded to their human selves outside the job he remained on the edges, apart. The vaqueros who'd known him from other drives called him Desvelado, Sleepless, and generally everyone gave him a wide berth. It had irked Dan in sympathetic defensiveness at first-he might be a bit strange, but there was no reason to shun one of the quickest men on the drive-until he began to understand their reasoning, if not their perspective.
When he ate at all, he ate with perfunctory politeness instead of the ravenous hunger given to all young traildrivers; he moved slowly, remaining as close to the campfire as possible during nights like an old man warming his bones; if he slept at all, he must have left to do it separately.
Dan didn't ask questions, content to remain in his shadow during long days, Desvelado or not.
They continued the relentless journey northward, at mercy of weather and beast.
//
Both of them started to develop something unspoken, a mutual approval or appreciation, born from tiny kindnesses: sometimes he'd give Dan his extra food at dinner, sometimes Dan would shoot a silencing glare at anyone who spoke to him as if he were frightening horror-book creature, sometimes they would sit by the fire long after everyone left them alone.
There were other small things Dan noticed. There was the way he titled his head by a slight degree to the right when spoken to kindly, which Dan had learned indicated gentle bemusement. There was the way his horse would catch a lungful of his scent and toss its head in confusion. There was the way he would sometimes turn from the herd, Dan, everyone, covering where his nose and mouth must be with a gloved hand, trembling almost imperceptibly.
Dan tried to see once how long he stayed awake at nights, watching from nearly-closed eyes where his partner sat tending the fire; he lost count of the hours and fell headlong into dreams about cold things, about water, a pale moon.
These things should have frightened him, should have, but instead they drew him obediently nearer like a toy on strings, all sick fascination and urge to pluck apart every contradiction. To hold the mystery in his hands.
His dreams became sharp, thick, uncomfortable, heavy, lush.
One night he was gone.
Dan awoke from a start as if jarred by a sudden noise, but all around him was completely still and silent. A full moon transformed everything into a silvery, ethereal world.
He slid his boots on quietly, already knowing he'd go walking. He followed along beneath the Milky Way alone while insects sang primordial secrets to the night.
It didn't take long. There were only a few trees on the prairie, and there was a lone figure huddled beneath one, dark spreading branches reaching up to the invisible line of the sky's ecliptic.
For one horrible, lurching moment, Dan thought he was dead there, sitting with his back propped against the trunk.
There was something in the human mind which could interpret the smallest cues as the difference between unconsciousness and death: tension or slack in muscles, angle of the head, minuscule movements which indicated presence of a pulse.
His chest was unmoving for an entire minute while Dan counted in mounting horror; then it rose peacefully, naturally; then it remained steady as stone for another minute.
Dan understood now why he slept away from the other men.
Crouching, kneeling, he watched the shadows of branches passing over his partner's body. Somehow, Dan knew the moment he woke even though he didn't move a single muscle and even though his breaths remained just as glacially slow.
They stared at each other, on the edge of some unnamed precipice.
"Who are you?" What are you?
He did nothing, said nothing, turning his face away.
Dan wouldn't leave.
He counted out twenty-two more breaths before his partner moved again, his hand sweeping up off the grass as if swimming in a slow delirium, as if he wasn't convinced he should be doing this at all, but Dan was leaning forward, eyes glassy bright.
The gloved fingers pulled at the bottom of the mask, and Dan's heart sped up, probably in contrast to-
All he showed was the vulnerable sliver of skin between jaw and throat, a pale crescent, paler than the moonlight on his mask, paler than Dan's fingers where he reached out and touched it, cold.
He made a strangled sound in his throat-or maybe that was Dan-but didn't do anything but shake, reining in some measure of monumental tension.
Dan's breaths felt just as slow, tense and tight where heat unfurled through the pit of his stomach.
Neither of them moved, or spoke, or questioned, still together in the night.
//
Dan was beginning to feel just as sleepless, as though so many things had soaked through the palm of his hand that night, a transference.
He could still feel it, that skin as dry and as cool as the pages of an unopened book. It didn't happen again the next night; when he left to go sleep, it was somewhere not even Dan could find. When he rejoined camp in the morning he was quieter than usual and wound even more tightly. Dan didn't worry. He knew by instinct and by experience with frightened animals that patience, not force, was the only way. So he hid away the sharp edges of curiosity and intent fascination, and waited.
There was one particular day where they came across a wide stream, noontime sun turning it to a blinding glare. Trees and scrub were clustered nearby, holding on for vital life.
As they always did, their group took the opportunity to water the animals and chose a place upstream to bathe and wash away the accumulated dust and grime which managed to get everywhere, on everything.
Predictably, his partner chose a silent moment and simply walked away, back through trees and around a bend, disappearing again. What he didn't do was leave when Dan's back was turned. Dan was drawn after as easily as moonstruck prey.
He wasn't in the water.
He'd found a flat-topped sheaf of rock larger than a man, uncovered by any shading tree and in full view of the sun. It must have been hotter than a frying pan, but he was lying full-length on top of it, limbs relaxed in something approaching bliss. His head, still masked, rolled almost lazily sideways to mark Dan's presence.
Dan could only look back for a few seconds; they said nothing. The only sound was water tumbling over rocks.
Art by liodain
It was cold around his ankles when he waded in, when he stood on the bank removing his clothes and feeling silt come up to form around his feet. He didn't look back to see if he was being watched. He didn't think. This wasn't unusual, just necessity, but he felt sunlight burning on the skin of his hip as he scrubbed away at his skin, breath short.
There was the sound of displaced water-footsteps. The mask was still on, but he'd at least removed his shoes and vest and undershirt and rolled up his trousers. Most likely the closest he'd ever get to undressed.
His skin was a dim grey-white, blank, smooth between the scars. Dan's heart clenched in a natural animal's fear, half-overridden by fascination. Dead but alive. There was no denying it.
Before he could even think he was saying, "Here, let me-" and scooping up a handful of water to pour down his back, dirty for having no one to wash it. He didn't move as Dan's hands splayed over his back, scrubbing while water collected in and darkened the waistband of his trousers. His shoulders knotted and tensed, and though he turned his head to look back, he never moved.
Dan could feel the rock's radiating heat in his skin, but it was dissipating quickly, gone within minutes. He swept his hands up along spine and shoulder blade and he retraced his path over and over again, thinking maybe he could feel the residue of heat from his own touch.
The warmth always faded until he was cold and immobile as a stone in the shade.
Too soon, they had to head back; neither of them looked at each other.
//
They were at the railhead, the job was over. Everyone with new pocket money had gone out to spend it in various exciting ways Dan found himself completely uninterested in.
Walter's pulling the curtain and,
They were left alone to their own devices, just walking by themselves through the back streets of town, next to each other.
Dan's locking the door and,
They weren't talking much or at all, content to pass through the light and shadow of the moon and night.
Walter's hands grip him painfully hard and,
They weren't acknowledging the strange anticipation shared between them, vibrating up through their bones like the precursor to an earthquake.
Dan feels craven fascination giving way to pursuit, raking his fingers across skin and scars and bone and,
Walter hisses at the contact of living warmth, pressing closer closer closer and,
Dan feels like he's the one dying, pulled inside out and out of himself and,
Walter feels like he's the one living.
//
Art by liodain