Fanfic: Untitled
Series: Watchmen
Characters: Rorschach, some douchebags, a cat
Pairings: -
Rating: PG13 for violence and animal abuse? (I don't know how the hell to rate these things.)
Summary: Prompt fill for the WM Kinkmeme. Prompter wanted revengence for a kitty.
-
The cat was yowling loudly, louder than Rorschach knew cats were capable of. That was what had pulled him down from his rooftop surveillance; that distressed yowl from the alley.
Rorschach didn't personally like animals. Bad experience once. But he knew that it was people who turned animals into vile, children-eating beasts. Animals weren't just born that way.
So whatever was down there, causing a cat to make that sound, he was going to stop it. Sometimes people weren't the only ones in this city that needed rescuing.
He left the rooftop silently, but in a rush. As he dropped into the alley, he could hear snickering. He recognized that sound, too. Amused cruelty was familiar to him in too many ways.
He tried to control the rage that was quietly boiling away inside him.
Rorschach was behind them now; the group of boys responsible for the cat's distress. There were three of them. They were younger than him by far...but not too young. 'Spare the rod...' as they say.
One of them had the cat by its tail, and the other two were singeing off its whiskers with matches. Black paint spotched its otherwise white fur.
He wasted no time assessing the situation; one glance was enough before he was on the trio like a violent whirlwind of blind anger.
First, the boy who held the cat's tail. Rorschach grabbed his wrist with such force that bones snapped under the sudden grip. The boy didn't have a chance to register the pain before a gloved hand gripped the back of his head, and his face was introduced to the side of the nearest dumpster.
Next. Open-mouthed with shock, the second boy was still holding his matches, and they were still lit. Rorschach put them out in his eye.
Last, the boy with paint on his hands. He'd had just enough time to wet himself before Rorschach broke those hands.
Every. Bone.
Breathing hard, adrenaline and unfiltered hate thrumming in his veins, Rorschach upended the contents of the paint can on the boys' cowering figures. When the can was empty, he threw it at them.
-
The cat hadn't run too far once its tail was free. After searching the alley Rorschach found it wedged between two trashbags. Aside from the paint, the singed fur, the trauma, it seemed alright. The cat wouldn't need a vet, just a bath and and gentle pair of hands.
He knelt down to peer into its hiding place, a gloved hand offered in patience.
It took thirty minutes of coaxing before the cat came out, but when it did it climbed up Rorschach's thigh and buried itself beneath his trenchcoat, and stayed there.
-
Daniel came home to broken locks. Again. He wasn't surprised, just...exasperated. He was sure that Rorschach had filled his Dreiberg-Door-Damage quota for the week. His partner must have forgotten to pass on some vital piece of half-crazed, gravelly information. Or he was hungry again.
Dan went to his kitchen to meet his partner....who...wasn't there?
Splashing from the bathroom told him where to look next. But why? Rorschach didn't exactly strike Dan as the sort of guy to come over for a casual bath. Rorschach didn't strike Dan as the sort of guy who bathed.
Opening the door to his bathroom revealed something Daniel would not, could never have expected.
Rorschach had stripped down to his undershirt, suspenders hanging at his hips. He still had his mask on, and he was scrubbing something in the bathtub. His arms were covered in vibrant red scratches.
A cat sat contentedly in the tub, tail swishing through the shallow water.
"Cat didn't want to get wet," Rorschach gruffed, without so much as a hello. "Seems to like it now."
Daniel gaped.
Rorschach kept bathing the cat, with a weirdly gentle determination.
Characters: Rorschach, some douchebags, a cat
Pairings: -
Rating: PG13 for violence and animal abuse? (I don't know how the hell to rate these things.)
Summary: Prompt fill for the WM Kinkmeme. Prompter wanted revengence for a kitty.
-
The cat was yowling loudly, louder than Rorschach knew cats were capable of. That was what had pulled him down from his rooftop surveillance; that distressed yowl from the alley.
Rorschach didn't personally like animals. Bad experience once. But he knew that it was people who turned animals into vile, children-eating beasts. Animals weren't just born that way.
So whatever was down there, causing a cat to make that sound, he was going to stop it. Sometimes people weren't the only ones in this city that needed rescuing.
He left the rooftop silently, but in a rush. As he dropped into the alley, he could hear snickering. He recognized that sound, too. Amused cruelty was familiar to him in too many ways.
He tried to control the rage that was quietly boiling away inside him.
Rorschach was behind them now; the group of boys responsible for the cat's distress. There were three of them. They were younger than him by far...but not too young. 'Spare the rod...' as they say.
One of them had the cat by its tail, and the other two were singeing off its whiskers with matches. Black paint spotched its otherwise white fur.
He wasted no time assessing the situation; one glance was enough before he was on the trio like a violent whirlwind of blind anger.
First, the boy who held the cat's tail. Rorschach grabbed his wrist with such force that bones snapped under the sudden grip. The boy didn't have a chance to register the pain before a gloved hand gripped the back of his head, and his face was introduced to the side of the nearest dumpster.
Next. Open-mouthed with shock, the second boy was still holding his matches, and they were still lit. Rorschach put them out in his eye.
Last, the boy with paint on his hands. He'd had just enough time to wet himself before Rorschach broke those hands.
Every. Bone.
Breathing hard, adrenaline and unfiltered hate thrumming in his veins, Rorschach upended the contents of the paint can on the boys' cowering figures. When the can was empty, he threw it at them.
-
The cat hadn't run too far once its tail was free. After searching the alley Rorschach found it wedged between two trashbags. Aside from the paint, the singed fur, the trauma, it seemed alright. The cat wouldn't need a vet, just a bath and and gentle pair of hands.
He knelt down to peer into its hiding place, a gloved hand offered in patience.
It took thirty minutes of coaxing before the cat came out, but when it did it climbed up Rorschach's thigh and buried itself beneath his trenchcoat, and stayed there.
-
Daniel came home to broken locks. Again. He wasn't surprised, just...exasperated. He was sure that Rorschach had filled his Dreiberg-Door-Damage quota for the week. His partner must have forgotten to pass on some vital piece of half-crazed, gravelly information. Or he was hungry again.
Dan went to his kitchen to meet his partner....who...wasn't there?
Splashing from the bathroom told him where to look next. But why? Rorschach didn't exactly strike Dan as the sort of guy to come over for a casual bath. Rorschach didn't strike Dan as the sort of guy who bathed.
Opening the door to his bathroom revealed something Daniel would not, could never have expected.
Rorschach had stripped down to his undershirt, suspenders hanging at his hips. He still had his mask on, and he was scrubbing something in the bathtub. His arms were covered in vibrant red scratches.
A cat sat contentedly in the tub, tail swishing through the shallow water.
"Cat didn't want to get wet," Rorschach gruffed, without so much as a hello. "Seems to like it now."
Daniel gaped.
Rorschach kept bathing the cat, with a weirdly gentle determination.