Who: Cherrie, Jack, Rorschach, Sam, and Winnie What: Jack is the life of his funeral party! Where: A nearby cemetery When: 2:30 AM two days after Jack’s death Warnings: Happiness/fainting from the girls, confusion from Jack, paranoia from Rorschach.
The night was calm and silent, the air utterly void of any energy or electricity. It was perfect weather for a funeral. As Rorschach thrust the blade of his shovel into the earth, he wondered if God were watching this night. He often felt as if God’s interest in the human race was one that waxed and waned depending on factors that mere mortals couldn’t hope to comprehend. The death of a child rarely seemed to hold His interest for long. The systematic desecration of humanity’s legal and penal systems was met with indifference. Perhaps Rorschach was being a sentimental fool for even hoping that a mask’s passing would earn anything more than that.
After Warren Keller’s passing, Rorschach hadn’t kept any of his worldly possessions save for the rosary that currently burned in his pocket. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t sewn it back into the makeshift pocket he had created for it, but there was something more fitting about having it accessible for this occasion. It rested against two sheets of paper, notebook pages he had taken from Sam and scribbled notes upon. Though it had been over a decade since Warren Keller’s study in the monastery, Rorschach could still remember a great deal of his studies. Maybe it was ingraining. Maybe it was a sharp memory. Rorschach didn’t know. He didn’t care, either.
Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck and behind his ears, creating a stifling heat within his cloth face as he lifted another mound of dirt from the grave he had dug. Many past cultures buried their deceased in the fetal position to make digging their graves easier, but Rorschach refused to make such a compromise. In death, Corbinian would be laid to rest on his back, a proper burial. It didn’t matter that he had been there for an hour digging, drenched in sweat and dusted with dirt. This was important. This mattered.
As he finally lifted the last shovelful from the gaping maw he had forged to swallow Corbinian whole, Rorschach tossed the shovel onto the level ground above and followed suit. The grave was level with his shoulders, an admirable size. Digging his hands into the earth above, he clenched every muscle in his tired body and vaulted upwards, kicking at the grave’s opposite wall to force himself over the edge. Sitting on the ground beside the grave, arms resting on his knees, he looked down at the grave with a heavy sigh. Now, it was time to wait for three mourners, one mortician, and the man being returned to God’s earth.
Sam had arrived when Rory had, keeping close at his heels despite any common sense to come later; when the rest of the ‘party’ would show. She’d never been to a funeral before and frankly, wasn’t looking forward to this. Paying respect to the dead was one thing - and until Corbinian (he was still Corbinian, not Jack in her mind) gave away her and Rory’s secret, she’d admired him. She still respected him and the nobility and...all that confusing jazz, but it still caused for a confusing turmoil of feelings that made assisting digging Corbinian’s grave impossible.
She remained semi-awkward at the edge of the intended grave, attempting to look over to Rory and looking away immediately after. Her toes made deep holes in the dirt as she waited - wincing with each shovel of dirt that hit the ground. Eventually she found herself sitting near the grave, head resting in her hands - then up again and pacing as time passed. When Rory finally sat down at the edge of the grave she’d been hovering behind, looking for the rest of the crowd. She glanced over at him once before taking a seat, feet dangling over.
There was a moment’s pause as she debated how disrespectful it was, then decided it didn’t matter: Corbinian’s corpse nor anyone else was here. “How long is this supposed to last?” she asked quietly. As luck had it, she saw someone approaching and bit her lip. At least it would start soon.
Cherrie had never been a fan of funerals. She'd only been to two, but they'd been enough for her. She didn't enjoy losing people and she hadn't since her gran had died. This was a little different. She hadn't lived with him since she was a child. He didn't raise her, but she'd known him. It felt more like a loss of never being able to get to know her neighbor than losing someone she'd loved for what seemed like whatever. The hole in her chest was ripped open further by knowing just how much it upset the man's roommate. Winnie being upset had made her doubly upset. She took some time off from work to deal with it and to take care of her neighbor in her time of need. It wasn't a death in the family, but it was the death of someone in her building. That was close enough for her.
They'd arrived just a little after the grave had been completed, just enough to see the two sitting beside it. Cherrie held her breath, and attempted to focus on anything else but other's thoughts. It was hard to control herself when she was as emotional as she had been at that moment. It was hard to keep herself steady when Winnie's emotions were high as well. She wasn't familiar with Rorschach, but she did remember speaking to him briefly on the forums. The thought of their exchanged caused her to bristle a little at the sight of him, but this was neither the time nor the place. She had met the girl, a friend of her coworker in passing, but she assumed she was a friend of Winnie’s.
She'd dressed in some black clothes. That was fitting, wasn't it? She'd done it twice before. A nice black dress with some nice black shoes. They were going to be standing on grass, but it didn't mean she shouldn't look nice. She'd helped Winnie pick out something too. That hadn't been easy for either of them.
Stopping by the grave, she had one arm around Winnie, having helped her along toward their appointed meeting site. She'd never actually been to a 'secret' funeral before, let alone one of an actual vigilante. It was hard not to feel just how strange it all really was, but she tried to suppress the surrealism of the entire situation. That was only made much more difficult the more she looked at Rorschach's mask.
Thomas had made it abundantly clear in the car on the way to the funeral that he did not plan on attending, or on getting out. Jack didn’t care, particularly. He was more concerned with getting there as quickly as possible, in talking to Winnie and whoever else might have shown up. He couldn’t imagine who, or who would have gone out of their way to organize it so soon after his death. A funeral in the middle of the night. How clandestine; how fitting.
When the car pulled up to the cemetery, Jack was out of it almost before it was fully stopped. He shut the door behind him, not looking to watch it leave. He had his eyes fixed on the grave site, and the people gathered around it - more than he had expected, more than he had counted on.
He didn’t know what to say, or whether or not he should take care not to surprise them. Really, all that mattered was getting to them, and he crossed the space as quickly as his legs would carry him, still somewhat shaky from his awakening not a half hour before. He could see Winnie, and Rorschach, and Sam. Cherrie was the most surprising, but he was glad to see her standing so close to Winnie. The grief he had to have brought her made him walk that much faster. Though his muscles ached from digging, Rorschach refused to stay seated for long. The two women appeared in the near distance, arm in arm, clearly leaning against one another for support. There was little sentiment in the way he watched them, more objective sympathy. Loss was inevitable, and yet terrible. The loss of a great man was more so, even if his inevitable demise brought him down to the same level as the filth he fought against.
“Don’t know,” he replied to Sam as he stood. “Only rough plan.” Which was partially true. Rorschach had only been to one funeral in the past, and he was sure it hadn’t been planned to take as long as it had. Grief did strange things to people. It turned swift tongues into lead weights, teased endless silences out of brief speeches. He had his two pieces of paper in his pocket and endless memorized words to guide him, but no wristwatch to set himself to.
As nobody spoke, Rorschach cleared his throat to break the silence. “Bat arriving shortly,” he said, ducking his head until the brim of his fedora left all but the point of his black and white chin visible. “Then can start.” He glanced to the fresh grave, fingers clenching slightly at his side. He had never buried someone before. This would be an interesting new experience.
Seconds dragged on, and finally distant footsteps were audible. The Bat. He looked up, holding a hand out to the three girls as a signal to stand back. His footsteps were heavy and quick, carrying him over the ground and towards the figure. The first thing he noticed was the other man’s size. However, something was off. The Bat was almost as broad as he was tall, while this man was much slimmer. The idea of the Bat arriving without his mask - and, it seemed, without the body - was absurd. Rorschach didn’t like absurd. It never boded well.
Once the other man’s face was visible, Rorschach stopped dead. It shouldn’t have been a familiar face, as he had never once seen it in this world. But something about it struck him, a lightning bolt into his brain that he couldn’t avoid. As the other man approached quickly, registration hit him: this was the man from his dream. This was the man that had become Corbinian. Was it possible? Was it possible that the dead could jump from their graves and invade your dreams before walking the earth? He knew from Sam that meeting others in dreams was possible, but dead others?
He didn’t like this. Not one bit.
Pulling out his grappling gun, he aimed it for the other man’s chest. “Stop,” he commanded, voice deep and rough. “Name.” His grip adjusted on the gun, chin lowering slightly as he drew a fine point right where the other man’s heart should have been. “Or shoot.” It was an empty threat, to some degree. The gun would never kill. But it would stun, and just a few seconds to close the distance between them would be all Rorschach needed to add another body to this grim funeral procession.
Sam had managed a small nod when Winnie and Cherrie approached. At another time Sam would have offered a smile but here she could only shrug her shoulders a bit. She may not have known Cherrie well - or Winnie too, if she thought of it sanely - but it didn’t mean Sam couldn’t be polite. She acknowledged them, heaved herself to her feet and hoped that Batman would be with the body soon. The air was cold and even if she’d switched to nocturnalism, Sam didn’t feel comfortable outside at night; not yet. Rory was a comfort of course, but then again, he was in his mask. It was just a tad creepy.
The new figure on the horizon obviously wasn’t the Batman short enough; Sam had known enough about vigilantes in Musings as well as followed the news on this end to guess at what he looked like. She wasn’t expecting normal clothes or someone without a mask. Rory had come in his after all. Whoever this person was, he wasn’t supposed to be here. Simple enough logic; Batman would wear a mask. Sam hadn’t been given a reason to think Rorschach was a paranoid crazy yet - just worried a bit more then the average person. But then again, he was a vigilante. Sam trusted his judgment at this point.
There might have been a motion to stay behind, but Sam got to her feet, scooping up dirt into her palms. She glanced back at Cherrie and Winnie once before mumbling under her breath. As she ran off after Rory, a broadsword appeared in her hands. Just in case Rory needed any help. It was heavier then in her dreams, but that was alright. She could manage and she could do something aside from standing there and being useless - not when she could do something about it, unlike in her nightmares.
Winnie, who was clinging to Cherrie’s arm like she needed the contact to remain upright, had gone quiet as the man began to approach them. She hadn’t threatened like Rorschach, and she hadn’t chased like Sam. She’d stood still and quiet, her grip on Cherrie’s arm getting tighter and tighter as the figure neared, grip almost unbelievably strong for a girl her size. She’d worried it was the man in red at first, that he’d followed her there and planned to take out everyone, but then the stance became more familiar, the posture, the movements, and she screamed in the dark. “NO!” It was directed at Rorschach, and she ran forward, letting go of Cherrie’s arm and putting herself firmly between the approaching man and Rorschach’s gun.
Cherrie hadn't said anything, just nodded to the man in the mask when he spoke then to Sam when she nodded to them. She wasn't much for talking at the moment. She didn't feel she could actually speak if she wanted to. Luckily, no one had told her it was a requirement. The small amount that she did know about him didn't seem sufficient enough to actually comment on. There was so much more to the man that she had actually known, and she felt a little sad for not siphoning the information out of him. It was a selfish thought and she felt her heart turn in her chest.
It was only rivaled by the feel of the circulation being cut off by the small hands clenching her arms. It became much tighter as the mystery man approached them. This supposed bat guy didn't look much like a bat at all. She couldn't really make him out from where she was standing, but the man with the hat decided to pull out a gun, and the next thing she knew was Winnie had gotten in front of him, in front of the gun. "Put the gun down!" She had moved to where Winnie was standing, putting herself between Winnie and the man behind her. Winnie might have wanted to protect the man from Rorschach, but she didn't know who the other person was.
After a moment, it clicked and she realized what was happening. She stared at him in complete disbelief, the features all falling into place, and his identity manifested. "Jack?"
In a matter of moments there was a grappling gun and a broadsword to face down, and then Winnie was darting forward. “Winnie,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “It’s fine. No one’s shooting anyone.”
He looked up, eyes finding Cherrie before going back to Rorschach. “Yes. Or Corbinian,” he said, watching Rorschach for any signs he might drop the grappling gun. He didn’t know whether it could do any serious sort of damage, but he did know he didn’t want Winnie in front of it, and he moved toward her, hoping to nudge her out of the way. “Whichever you know better.” He looked between them all, eyes falling on the grave and resting there. “Not quite as dead as advertised.” As the women began to interfere, Rorschach lamented ever getting involved in this mess. The only thing that kept him there, rooted to the spot, was the knowledge that remaining here to remember Corbinian was right. However, staring down this anomaly, this not-quite-Corbinian, began to shake his belief that this was even right at all.
Winnie’s stand-in changed only one thing: the grappling gun raised from chest-height to forehead-height. He was unswayed by her presence, her emotional cries falling on deaf ears. This wasn’t right. The dead didn’t wander the earth. Spirits didn’t descend from Heaven or climb out of Hell’s mouth for one last hurrah. His grip on the grappling gun was steady and unyielding, even when Cherrie joined the group. Shooting a coworker was, admittedly, not the best way to make friends on the job. But they weren’t at Phantasia, and he wasn’t going to spare a woman that admitted cowardice by putting a barely pubescent girl between herself and an armed man.
As the man approached, subtly pushing the women out of the way, Rorschach didn’t budge. He didn’t step back, he didn’t sway, he didn’t so much as twitch. Were it not for the slight rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took, an observer might have thought him a statue. It certainly sounded like Corbinian. The height, build, and demeanor all fit. But why, why, why on God’s green earth was he standing there just inches before him after showing up in his dreams, after being shot in the head?
There was an unfamiliar burn in the back of his throat as Rorschach refused to lower the gun, arm still strong and sights trained on this man that claimed to be Corbinian. “Proof,” he grunted, voice low and choked with something foreign to him. “Give proof. Or be buried.” Where the hell was that damned Bat?
As Winnie and Cherrie shoved themselves into things, Sam’s sword lowered. She wasn’t the type to hurt the innocent - and really, she was just back-up for Rory, his second in this make-shift duel. But if Winnie and Cherrie were putting themselves between the man - Jack? - and her and Rory, they’d have to have a reason. A good one.
It took her a moment, then another for her to piece it together - not until Jack/Corbinian had moved forward. Sam moved a bit closer to Rory, elbow nudging against the back of his. “I thought you said he was dead,” she whispered. How the hell had Rory gotten this wrong? People made mistakes but...hadn’t Corbinian been shot in the head? Maybe Rory was a paranoid crazy after all.
Sam looked to Jack/Corbinian again before wishing her sword away. “What did I do in our dream?” she asked. She hadn’t admitted that and it would be something to test - though she was willing to believe, at this point, that it was him. It was just to get Rory to realize that they could calm down now...until they got back to Hamartia and she shook him for thinking this man was dead when clearly he wasn’t. It’s just a little annoying, on top of everything else that had happened lately.
Jack turned his gaze from Rorschach to Sam. "You stayed away from the crowd," he said. "And you went with me up to the rooftop." That should be enough, or so he hoped.
They were owed an explanation. He knew that. But explaining it was so difficult, particularly when it was all still so fresh. He had been dead, and the reality of that was going to take some time to fully sink in. "My ability," he said, "Is to be very difficult to kill. I simply wasn't aware how much. I thought...I thought that I could die. I am now starting to think that may actually not be the case." He looked down, eyes falling to the grave again. That was where he should be, now, not standing here in front of them. What had happened to him was an abomination, something not meant to happen on this earth. He had been dead, and now he simply...wasn't, anymore. "I was dead. I appeared to be dead, I was shot...in the head." His hand wandered to touch the back of his skull. "Now intact," he said, with a faint smile, dropping his hand again. "But not until I spent two days dead, as dead as any corpse. And then, an hour ago...I woke up."
"I know it's difficult to believe," he said. "But believe me when I say that it was as much a surprise to me as it is to you." He inclined his head toward Rorschach. "Will you put the gun down now? There are ladies present."
"You're dead." Cherrie might not have seen it with her own eyes, but she'd seen it enough times in Winnie's head that it was practically gospel. She'd been agonizing over this and he was just standing there all hunky dorey. "You're supposed to be dead." It was strange how foreign her voice sounded. These weren't words she was supposed to be saying. She should've been happy he was back, but it was hard, because she'd just spent the last 24 hours preparing for this moment, mentally and emotionally. It had been hard to carry Winnie over.
Everyone was crowding him, but it was all becoming extremely fuzzy for her. She felt like she should've been paying more attention to Winnie, but that thought didn't stick. Instead, she moved forward, compelled by his presence and the sound of his voice. It was like a moth to a flame.
Raising her hand, she reached forward allowing her fingertips to brush lightly against his cheek. She reached out with her mind allowing him to flood into her. His cheek pressed into her palm, finger buried in his hair, she looked up at him, or was it into him. Her breathing became shallow as recognition slowly flooded into her expression. Her eyes widened even further. "You...." she breathed. "...you....." and she collapsed.
Winnie was focused entirely on the man who’d returned to life, and she barely noticed Cherrie slumping to the ground. “Jack?” she said in a near whisper, almost inaudible above the commotion. Rorschach’s gun was forgotten, unimportant, and she threw herself at Jack, her arms winding tight around his neck.
She wasn’t letting go. Period. Sam’s question was probably the only thing that Rorschach seemed to even react to. He twitched just slightly, head tilting the smallest bit towards the girl. Smart question. Smart reaction. He glanced back to “Corbinian,” looking immediately to Sam once his response had ended. It seemed that she accepted it - this was proof. However, he wasn’t satisfied. Why did this happen? How did it work? And why the hell did the Bat dump this mess on him?
As Corbinian explained himself, Rorschach slowly grew to realize that this world, this “Humanity,” was a hell of a lot stranger than he had thought before. Not only was Sam able to wish him into the bathtub, but also the dead could apparently spring back to life in the wackiest way possible. As Corbinian’s short speech came to an end, punctuated with a simple request, Rorschach let out a low grunt. He let his arm fall, placing the gun at his side in defeat. Though Corbinian had explained the whole thing so very neatly - and really, was anything stranger than dreams occurring realistically? - he wasn’t entirely convinced. This was rotten. Like Corbinian’s corpse should have been.
Any internal monologue he had set up was cut short, however, by the sound of a body hitting the ground. He turned, looking down to see Cherrie sprawled on the grass. He stared at her for a moment before glancing up at Corbinian, head tilting to the side. “Hrm,” he grunted. Just as he was about to ask the recently deceased to ensure that they didn’t still have a use for the fresh grave, the redhead flung herself around his neck, holding on tightly.
With a sigh, Rorschach knelt beside Cherrie, removing his right glove. His knuckles were scuffed and raw, callouses blossoming at the pads of his fingers. After flexing his fingers once as if getting used to the sensation of air against his skin, he picked up her arm in his left hand and drew it close, exposing the wrist. He laid two bare fingers just above the heel of her hand, pressing lightly until he could feel a pulse. Though he didn’t have a watch, he could count that it wasn’t terribly swift or sluggish. She wasn’t dead. That was something.
“Fainted,” he said, replacing his glove and glancing up at the two remaining sane people in the graveyard. “Must move quickly,” he said. “Stay here dangerous.”
It had been a good enough explanation for Sam and she’d poked Rory once Jack/Corbinian was done. A mini-glare was attached to it for still being wrong. She stepped back a bit as Cherrie and Winnie started hugging and reacting - she didn’t know him well enough to have any part of this, other then a slight smile and a mumbled, “Glad you’re alive.”
And then Cherrie collapsed after touching him. Sam stared skeptically as Rorschach checked her statistics. Why would she faint now? Right after everything was working out and...Sam shoved the thought aside. She reminded herself she had no idea how Cherrie knew Jack/Corbinian. Yes, the combination of names was still necessary. “Split up or keep together?” Sam asked, already suspecting the answer. She looked to Winnie and the man she was clinging to, before going on, “How did you get here?” Wasn’t Batman supposed to bring him? Where was he?
When Cherrie reached out to touch his cheek and fainted, Jack tried to move to catch her, but by that point Winnie had her arms wrapped around his neck. Cherrie fell, but it looked like she was fine, and Rorschach verified it. He took the moment to hug Winnie back, tightly. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I got here as quickly as I could. I wouldn't have left you that note if I had thought this would happen." He still felt a touch guilty, as though he'd led her along, but there had been nothing for it - there was no way anyone could have predicted this circumstance.
Rorschach was right, it was dangerous to stick around here for long, and he nodded. "I can carry her," he said, releasing Winnie. "The Bat dropped me off," he said, with a slight smile for how totally ridiculous that sounded. "He didn't have his mask on and wasn't keen on being seen without it, so he chose not to stop in and pay his respects."
Winnie was still clinging to Jack’s neck, her face buried damp and tearful against his shoulder. She didn’t look inclined to let go, even when Jack released her, and she didn’t seem inclined to move, despite the comments of concern. She just clung, and everything around her faded with the shock of what had just happened, her knees buckling slightly without giving in. The shock of seeing Corbinian alive and moving around after witnessing him taking several bullets to the skull still hadn’t quite sunk in to Rorschach. That would require that he confront something emotional about this situation, and there was no time for that. As it stood, they were standing in a graveyard they shouldn’t have been in with one fainted woman, two teenage girls, a zombie, and a mask. They were a bullseye for any creep or psycho wandering the city.
“Split,” Rorschach grunted in response to Sam’s question. There was no way they were all heading back as a group. That was just asking for trouble. And speaking of trouble, the way Corbinian mentioned the note made the mask stiffen. He had blatantly revealed the fact that Sam was rooming with Rorschach. Not only did that put her at risk, but also it made a clear connection between him and Mike Caulfield. Damn Corbinian. Damn him to the hell he had escaped from. He said nothing at the apologies and excuses, turning away from the standing man as he began to discuss getting back to the Hamartia.
It was obvious that the redhead wasn’t letting go of him any time soon. “Will carry her,” he grunted, still not looking up. “Sam take shovel. Go with Corbinian. I take blonde. Meet at Hamartia.” The fact that the unused grave was still open and waiting for a body should have bothered him, but Rorschach wasn’t concerned. If anything, the people of Seattle should feel better in discovering a grave without a body to dump inside.
Jack wasn’t sure why, but Rorschach struck him as being angry. He could be wrong, of course - sometimes it was difficult to read his emotions with that mask of his. He waited for Sam to come closer to them and gave Cherrie a last look. He felt as though he should take her, but Winnie was still hanging on him, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and walked toward the cemetery entryway and back to the building.