Who: Sam and Rory What: Rory saves the day! Erm. Night. Where: Hamartia, 505 When: Late night/early morning after the Vigilante Meeting Warnings: Angst. We’d warn on Rory-hugs but he’s had a bath semi-recently.
Her plan was simple and a good one. Rory would leave for his meeting, she’d wave him off and wait for five minutes. She’d make three wishes for quietness, invisibility, and for poofing downstairs before following him. How could he get away with magic on her side? She wouldn’t have to spend another night alone, half-asleep and likely to be consumed by nightmares. And besides, she wasn’t going to let Rory get himself shot and she’d like to have seen Corbinian in the real world.
Of course her plan of camping out on the couch didn’t go too well. She kept up the pretense of studying as Rory shuffled about, attempting to remember why Euripides was the greatest of the tragedians while fighting off sleep. Caffeine pills and coke only went so far when Sam was already running on empty. She yawned once, then twice. She shifted her position on the couch, moving from an upright position to laying on her stomach. It wasn’t comfortable enough and she laid down on her back. By the time Rorschach walked out the door, Sam’s book had fallen on chest and her eyes had drifted shut.
It took a while to reach the land of dreams but it was enough for her to shift about. She’d not reached a deep enough sleep for ages and when she finally reached it, it was deep. Her book slid to the floor, spine up in the air as her arms curled inward. Her long sleeved pajamas, chosen to hide cuts and wounds as much as to fool Rory that she would stay in shifted. Scabs ripped open beneath band-aids and band-ages, while others that were older were visible as her shirt hiked up to her belly-button. Her sleeves rode up revealing newer marks – fresher – and her hands were webbed with necks and marks. Sam wasn’t the type to try and kill herself but one could be fooled.
Occasionally, as the dream carried on and familiar scenes replayed a sound escaped her. A whimper or a half-strangled shout. As footsteps moved down the hall she pulled her legs struggled to break from sleep, red lines seeping from beneath her pajama pants. The cuts didn’t go through her pajamas, merely forcing themselves into her skin as she fought to get away in her dream. Rorschach had had one hell of a night. Drenched in sweat and the stench of death, he made his way as calmly and normally as he possibly could into the Hamartia complex. Watching Corbinian die like that, and subsequently seeing his killer get away, ate at his soul. This could not end. He had to find the red mask, and he had to do it soon. But for now, he was too tired and too winded to bother. The night was over, and he had lost this round. He hadn't even thought about the Bat or the others - they either made it or didn't, there was no use in thinking about it.
Opening the door to Hamartia 505, he slumped inside and turned the lock behind him. Leaning against the wall, he let his bundle of jacket, hat, mask, gloves, and grappling gun clatter to the floor. Dragging a hand through his damp hair, he leaned forward and slowly began to make his way through the apartment.
He needed to sleep. His muscles were starved for rest, and his mind needed the reprieve from conscious thought. Passing the living room, he hesitated, turning to see Sam asleep on the couch. He could see the book on the floor, spine bent out of shape, in what clearly was a case of her falling asleep while studying. Not wanting to leave her book to bend out of shape, he moved quietly over to her side and picked it up, closing the cover properly and setting it back down.
Just as he was about to leave, his gaze fell on a flash of white flesh beneath the hem of her shirt. It wasn't the skin that caught his attention, but rather, the fact that it was marred by ugly red marks. Hesitating, he looked to where her sleeves had hiked up, seeing similar cuts. Some were scabbed over, some were freely bleeding, and some had been poorly covered by bandages.
Rorschach was speechless. He had seen injuries before, that was nothing new. But this was his roommate. This was someone he knew and saw regularly. Things like this didn't happen magically overnight. He missed something. He missed the cause, and he had been completely fooled. After watching Corbinian take two bullets to the head and then losing his murderer, this was just another powerful defeat that left his soul feeling numb and vestigial.
Just as he was about to leave, Sam's legs gave an automatic kick. Surprised, he pulled back, gaze drawn to her moving legs. One of her pajama legs had bunched up around her knee, revealing an expanse of calf. It was covered in cuts like the rest of her, but this was different. Before his very eyes, a cut was growing over Sam's calf. Growing like someone was cutting her right there, right now, in front of him.
Rorschach wasted no time. He made no effort to be gentle. Sitting up on his knees, he grabbed her shoulders forcefully and began to shake her, voice loud enough to hopefully gain her attention. "Sam," he said in a tone that was commanding rather than conversation. "Sam, wake up. Wake up, Sam." This dream was hardly distinguishable from the others. There'd been a chase, the shadow-man with his glove, eventually getting caught before he tormented her again. Nothing stood out about it other then the constant moan of not again in the back of her mind. She hadn't figured out how to make herself wake up; she could barely remember it was a dream as she dreamt. It was familiarity, a similar pain, and a recurring spreading of cuts across her skin that marked the repetition. Nothing ever saved her until it was too late and there was no pattern.
This time though, something external managed to break it up.
Just as a blade came down on calf, something grabbed her. It jolted her, shook her, and a light came creeping into the dream. For a moment Sam was convinced it was the shadow-man - because the pain was lessening on her leg - and she screamed. This wasn't normal, the words weren't a claim of possesion and it was speaking to her. It was familiar, it was harsh it was-
Sam's eyes shot open and she pushed herself upright. She couldn't go far, not with Rory's hands on her shoulders, but her elbows got up somewhat. Tears streamed down her face as she breathed hard, reorientating herself with reality. It had been a dream, only a dream, and she was alive - Rory had pulled her out.
She didn't look at him and glanced at her bloody legs and pajamas. Somewhere around her shoulder she could feel a familiar sting. She took one deep breath to try and calm down - not panic in front of Rory who'd saved her and managed to spend time on her while some guy was killing vigilantes out there - but couldn't. Too much had piled up and she sobbed. She reached for Rory, breaking free from his grasp to wrap her arms around his neck. She tucked her head against his shoulder, crying harder then she had since she was a child. The last time she'd truly cried had been when her mother had left; since then, Sam fought them back and put on a brave face. Everything piled up: her secrets, Freddie, the confusion with Dante, Bonnie who'd vanished without a trace, the killer out there, the torturer of those kids, her nightmares which crept into reality, and Rory now finding out. She clung to him and sobbed, her whole body shaking as she lost control. The second Sam's eyes opened, Rorschach wasn't sure if he should be relieved or worried. Immediately, he considered calling an ambulance. He knew that this couldn't be explained by Humanity's doctors, but Rorschach was no medic. He didn't know if Sam needed a doctor now or not, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to be safe or sorry. As she sat up slightly, his grip lessened on her shoulders without releasing completely.
As the tears came, he took a deep breath, just watching her. He didn't know what to say, if he should say anything. He wasn't sure what would be appropriate and what would be absolute nonsense. So he opted for nothing, staying quiet as she surged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight, desperate embrace.
It had been a very long time since Rorschach had been hugged. Back in Musings, the parents of rescued children - when he managed to find them alive - had sometimes hugged him out of gratitude. But those instances were very rare. Now, they were nonexistent as his role in Humanity seemed to be much closer to that of the Grim Reaper. This new world wasn't as harsh as Musings, which seemed to make him seem all the more unforgivable by comparison. He didn't quite understand it, but he didn't try either.
As Sam clung to him and cried, he slowly wrapped his arms around her back and returned the embrace. He kept his arms loose, not wanting to crush her, and simply let her cry. After a few moments of nothing but her sobs, he finally spoke up. "Safe now. Am here." Sam wouldn't have minded if Rory had wrapped his arms more tightly around her; she was surprised by any contact at all. They normally kept a good line of personal space up, reinforced by bathing issues and different schedules. But now, Rory - especially without that mask - was a human being. Her roommate. Now her brother thanks to a few slip-ups. He was the only person she truly trusted on this side of this portal and she clung to him. If her father or Irene had been here, she would have done the same. All of her usual pride had evaporated in the prescence of honest fear.
She nodded slightly, still crying as he spoke - because she did think he'd be able to stop somethings - and then realized he might not understand. Still buried into his shoulder, she got out, "It always happens, he gets me every time. Whenever I sleep - don't let me sleep. I can't sleep-" She didn't want to blubber more and pulled her hand around to bite on it, silencing herself. A bit of blood, from an older wound filled her mouth but her crying was slowing. She could manage. As she seemed to calm down a bit, Rorschach felt relief. It was good to see her at least slowing down, showing some sign of improvement. Though her voice was muffled slightly by her tears and his shoulder, he was able to make out her words. The explanation and subsequent request were a bit worrisome.
Once she had silenced herself, he spent a few moments just looking down at the crown of her head before replying. "When start," he said, clearly not asking a question. He was demanding information. There was a tinge of urgency in his voice, a command that proved he meant business. She didn't pull away from him - if anything she snugged herself a bit closer. Her hand pulled from her mouth and she rested her cheek against his shoulder. Though her throat was hoarse and her head hurt - along with the cuts still on her body, probably staining Rory's clothes too - she could think straight. Sam counted back, remembering the first meeting all too well. She shivered lightly.
"Last Friday. Almost a week ago." Guessing at Rory's next line of thought, she swallowed and went on. "Did you see me go and - did I do it?" It was a gut feeling now, even as she'd been in denial all week. She hadn't done this, she wouldn't purposefully hurt herself. Sam knew herself well enough to know that. Feeling her lean in closer, he shifted a hand to rest between her shoulder blades, over her upper back. He assumed that it was a nice, neutral place for a hand to go, a place that would be comforting without imposing. Comforting people had never been Rorschach's strong suit. It hadn't been Warren's either. Both men were united by the fact that they were fairly awkward with people on a personal, social level. He was just trying to not make that terribly apparent as he thought of ways to calm down a frightened - for rightful reasons - 18 year old girl.
At her question, he shook her head. "No. Did not see. Don't think you did. This...something. Creation." It had to be. There was no other explanation. If Sam could wish him into the bath, someone else could hurt people in their dreams. It made no less sense than anything else in this insane world. Sam had already travelled in dreams - she'd been in Mr. Morgenstern's and Corbinian's. Other times she could have met others, but how would she know? She hadn't gotten any names or put them together. A quiet sound came from her as she thought it out.
"He's always there - the shadow-man. I thought he was in my mind. You think he's out there somewhere?" Before he could even answer she went out, voice small and more than a bit scared. "He has a glove with knives instead of fingers. It's what he uses - usually uses on-" She swallowed. "I don't know what he looks like." Comforting frightened people was very, very difficult for him. As she started to explain, he nodded, not particularly sympathetic as he was focused on just getting facts. As she broke off with a fearful swallow, voice tiny and frightened, he realized that pushing now would get them nowhere.
"Okay," he said, trying to make his voice sound reassuring. "Good. Good start." More attempts at being reassuring. He tried to form a facial expression that would be encouraging and comforting, though it ended up as a bizarre sort of sideways frown. "Are...they regular? Every night?" She couldn't see him from where she was - head facing out to the kitchen across from the living room - but he sounded less gruff then normal. Maybe it was how tired she was. As she rested on his shoulder, her eyes wanted to drift shut again, getting a full night's sleep - something she hadn't had in days. She shifted her arms, pinching her skin to get rid of the feeling, but still holding on.
"Whenever I fall asleep," Sam affirmed. Though after a moment of thought she shook her head, snotty nose rubbing against his jacket. "No. At night. I fell asleep in class a few days ago and didn't have a nightmare." He didn't bother to notice when she rubbed her nose on him. If he needed more clothing, he would just tell Cherrie. She seemed terribly eager to ensure that he was wearing decent clothing, and was much better at finding it than he was. At her answer, he pondered this. If it only happened at night, that lent credence to this being another person's doing. After all, if this was just Sam, wouldn't it happen whenever she was asleep, no matter what? If this were the case, then clearly the person doing this wasn't active during the day.
Hesitating, he glanced down at the crown of her head. "Only at night," he confirmed with a nod. He wasn't about to say this just yet, but there was a logical solution. However, she had school. He couldn't just tell a girl who was in school to start sleeping during her classes. She'd fail. It took her awhile to piece it together, content to just lie there for the moment and let Rory figure it out. Eventually though, Sam realized Rory wasn't saying anything else. She thought about it and what it meant...it definitely was a Creation...and what it meant for herself.
Dang.
"It's early in the semester," Sam said cautiously. "I can drop out of some of my classes - I could still go to the ones in the late evening." And she could go to night school or take courses online. Rory slept throughout the day - couldn't she just switch? Would everyone understand? Hearing her piece this together made him cringe slightly. Having to compromise her life because of this person was wrong. They'd have to find this shadow man, but how? She had mentioned dreaming with Corbinian before. If only he weren't dead now - he surely could have shed some light on this. Now, it was just Sam and Rorschach, as they always had been, but for some reason this now felt somewhat lonely.
"Could do," he agreed, tilting his head slightly. "Don't know how college works," he said truthfully. "Ask teacher?" That would go well. Sam pictured going up to any of her professors - her academic advisor even - explaining some mad man was attacking her as she slept, chasing her and tormenting her, and the wounds carried over. She bit her lip. "I'll do some research. It can't be that hard."
She pinched her arm again before turning her head towards Rory. She'd keep to his hours - rise like he did because he was off to save the world and... she remembered the reason for staying up earlier. The masked killer. "How'd the meeting go?" And because there was no reason not to, she asked. "Did you see Corbinian? How's he doing?" "Good," he replied. "Research good." Which was true. He really couldn't offer any help for this, so he just confirmed that she was indeed doing the right thing. That was all he could do, really.
At her questions, he stopped cold. Shit. He was planning on just not telling her about it, letting the dust settle before breaking the news. But here she was, asking him point-blank, and what could he do? He couldn't lie. And if he told her to just ask later, she'd know that something was wrong. There was nothing to do except the easiest, most painful thing imaginable.
"Meeting started fine. Talking. Many masks. Many young masks, young female masks." His gaze fell to the floor, avoiding hers as he continued. "Not long after start, maybe ten minutes, red mask came in. Holding guns." He took a sharp breath, steeling himself for the words that were about to come. "Shot Corbinian. In head. Fired ten shots into group of masks. Left. I pursued, but lost." In the morning - no, tomorrow night - she'd get on a computer and do some research. Message her friends who were at the college and see if they knew anything. If not, she'd have to prolong the switch long enough to drop out. Lots of kids took off a year between high school and college - it wouldn't be too weird if she stopped. Her life was on the line.
With her head turned, Sam was able to see his reaction. Rory tended to be monotone - either blank or angry. This evening with him being semi-nice was the most expressive she'd ever seen him. Actually seeing him caught and depressed made her fear the worse - and Rory saw bad stuff every day. Before he even said it, Sam could guess.
She shut her eyes and hugged Rory a bit tighter. Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes. She'd only met Corbinian once and in a dream, but he'd also kept hers and Rory's secrets - and she'd heard of what he did on the streets. He had been a hero and had been killed by the masked killer (what she assumed was the masked killer), while trying to help others. "It's not fair," she muttered under her breath. Why did people like him get hurt, when he was a good person? Who was helping people and getting rid of the criminals out there? "It's not fair at all." He could feel Sam cracking in his arms, but didn't let go. Taking in a slow breath, he shifted his hand slightly against her back, almost rubbing it soothingly. "Nothing fair," he said simply, closing his eyes tightly and tucking his chin to his chest. "Good people die. Bad people live. Life not fair."
With nothing left to say, he just held his roommate, inwardly saying a prayer for Corbinian's departed soul.